Page 143 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“You will.” Damien grabbed a fistful of Dahlia’s hair and yanked. Dahlia yelped, and Talula’s magic-corroded heart lurched. Damien read it on her face, victory lighting his eyes.

“As long as I have her, I have you. As long as I have you, I have an extremely lucrative business model.”

Sweat trickled down Talula’s forehead, her pulse a panicked thunder in her chest. Damien was right. After all her sorcery and keeping the Volta’s power from totally destroying her, Talula was running on magical fumes. If she wanted to keep everyone safe, she needed more power.

There was only one way to get it.

Talula looked at Dahlia, the person who’d given her back the world. Who made her feel extraordinary and alive and exactly who she wanted to be.

“I love you.” Talula’s voice broke over the words. Bittersweet tears leaked down her cheeks. “I love you so much.”

“Talula!” Dahlia cried. “No—”

But it was too late. Talula stopped resisting the Volta, letting its unbridled power take over her. One last time.

Pain erupted through Talula on a subatomic level, her cells burning up with magic that was too big for her body to hold. With an agonized scream, Talula became a conduit for a power that could level a continent. She knew she couldn’t handle it. But for a few moments, she could use it.

Talula turned her gaze to Damien. She saw herself in his pupils, alight with blue-white fire, sparkling with magic. Damien’s fingers tightened on the trigger.

“Stop,” Talula commanded with the Volta’s voice.

Damien froze, his limbs as static as a statue’s. Dahlia wrenched herself free, and one of Damien’s pinkies snapped off with the force of her struggle. Talula didn’t even flinch at the sound. She flicked her hand at the Volta’s walls. A portion of the barrier swelled, then blew out, forming a clear, blue-tinged bubble. The bubble wrapped around the frozen Damien. The Volta pulled Damien and his new prison into itself, absorbing the bubble until he disappeared.

“Talula, stop!” Dahlia reached for Talula. “You’re dying.”

Talula was breaking apart and burning up from the inside out, like a house on fire. Sinking to the floor, she made one more request of the Volta, her friend, her partner, her end. “Take her home. Please.”

The Volta traveled again, stilling in front of the Joneses’ front porch. Tendrils of blue magic formed around Dahlia, drawing her out of the Volta’s eye and into the world. Dahlia clawed for Talula, but in a moment, she was gone.

Finally, Talula was alone in the blue.

“We did it,” she whispered.

Talula, relieved, closed her eyes and succumbed to the Volta.

34

Talula wasn’t sure if she was dead or dreaming. Or both. She couldn’t feel her body, which was kind of strange. But she felt no pain, which was nice. Talula felt empty. Light, even. As though she floated in eddies of cool water. Her vision filled with a familiar sparkling blue. It smelled a little like gardenias and rain.

If this was death, it wasn’t so bad.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” A voice moved through Talula’s thoughts, airy as a cirrus cloud. “But you’re not dead yet.”

Talula looked (without eyes, which was also strange) for the source of the voice. Floating amongst the blue was her reflection, but it was wrong somehow. More watercolory. And serene.

“You can stay, but you don’t have to,” the reflection said.

Talula liked it here. It was so quiet, and peaceful. She wished Dahlia could see it.

Oh. Oh.

Dahlia.

“There it is.” The other Talula smiled.

How do I go back? Voiceless, Talula asked the question to her watercolor reflection.

“You think you gave yourself to the Volta,” the other Talula said. “But was the Volta ever really separate from you?”