Page 153 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“That chicken smells good.”

“Thanks, it’s actually, um, technically stolen, so I’m gonna just—” Talula sent the chicken away. Magical blue miasma fluttered around her. Talula swatted at it nervously. “I can make chicken, though. Really good chicken. And I can do other magical stuff that doesn’t involve…stealing chickens…”

Dr. Jones shook his head and laughed. “I’m very happy to meet you and your magical self.”

He turned to his daughter (Dahlia’s arms were wrapped tight around his middle). “But honey, why are you here? Are you going to give your old man some lottery numbers?”

Dahlia’s throat worked, but she couldn’t say the words. She looked at him, begging for him to understand.

At first, he didn’t. Then, he did.

His body seized up for a moment, eyes seeing out into the future that awaited him. “Ah. It’s like that.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Dahlia’s eyes streamed.

“So you’re here…”

“For two hours.”

“No weird Doctor Who shit’s gonna happen?” Dr. Jones asked. Talula saw Dahlia in that question, saw that same big love for the world.

“No, sir.” Talula shook her head. “We actually needed to come back for the sake of reality. I have something I need to do.”

“But you brought her here?” Dr. Jones asked, adjusting his glasses to take Talula in. “With your magic?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got to hear this story.” Dr. Jones let his arm rest around Dahlia’s shoulders. “If I’d known my time-traveling daughter and her magical girlfriend were gonna show up, I’d have made snacks.”

Talula’s eyes found Dahlia’s. “How about I make some cocoa?”

Dahlia’s grin was luminous.

While Talula cooked, Dahlia talked to her dad. She told him everything. About quitting her job (“Good riddance”), about the Blue Moon (“I always thought there was something else going on at that place”), about Samhain (“I wish I could’ve seen those bastards shaking in fear of my girl”). About Talula.

He listened well, watching his daughter with a glow that outshone witchfire. He never let his hand leave hers, never missed a chance to crack a joke to make her laugh or ask a follow-up question. He proclaimed Talula’s cocoa was the best he’d ever had.

“You sure there’s no sorcery in this?” Dr. Jones teased, a cocoa mustache hanging over his actual mustache.

“Just the usual magic.” Talula ducked her head bashfully.

“Ah.” Dr. Jones playfully tapped the side of his nose. “I know what you’re talking about.”

Then Dahlia started asking her dad questions. For advice, for stories, for jokes. Her father, with his booming laugh and exceptional storytelling skills, happily complied.

Talula just watched, seeing all the beautiful flickers of Dahlia in her father, and vice versa. Dahlia was lit up like she’d swallowed a sun, her love a blazing beacon that could send warm, sparkling light across a thousand universes. And her father was a perfect reflection of that joy.

But the clock ticked on.

When they had thirty minutes left, Talula reached for Dahlia’s shoulder to break the news as kindly as she could. But Dahlia read the look on Talula’s face as easily as she could read her watch.

“Dad, we…don’t have much time left.” Dahlia blinked, sudden tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Honey.” Dr. Jones looked at his daughter like she hung every star in the universe. “Any moment with you is worth a lifetime of waiting.”

Dahlia let the tears loose, and Dr. Jones pulled her into his lap as if Dahlia were seven instead of twenty-seven. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” Dahlia sobbed.