Page 31 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Simon shifted in his seat irritably. “Can you halt the inquisition and converse with your teacher, who chose to take corporeal form after millennia of untethered magical bliss for you?”

With a half smile, Talula filled the For Tea Only kettle with water and set it on the stove. “Go ahead.”

“From what Sara has told me, you struggle with the magical basics—your elemental affinities, conjuring, creating illusions, as well as controlling the Volta.”

Chagrined, Talula looked away and chopped a handful of chives.

“Based on my observations and cursory evaluation, you’re able to create a small amount of witchfire, and your psychic connection to the Volta seems adequate,” Simon continued.

Talula perked up. “That’s not bad!”

“It’s not good, either.” Simon huffed. “No doubt because of Sara’s willy-nilly approach to magical education. You should be visiting other dimensions by now. Summoning tidal waves. Conjuring ambrosia from Jupiter’s own cup!”

“I know.” Talula felt Simon’s words like punches to her already battered ego. “I’ve tried so many different things, but nothing’s clicked yet.”

“Considering Sara’s undisciplined approach to magical pedagogy, your progress—or lack thereof—makes considerable sense. Your magical advancement requires structure. I can provide that.”

Talula loosened, a sudden sense of validation rising in her chest. She’d always struggled with her mom’s training methods. It never felt like Talula had enough guidance to succeed. Now here was Simon, echoing those same thoughts. Maybe Mom’s been wrong about how to improve my abilities. At that, Talula felt a rush of guilt—Sara was out there, putting her life in danger chasing the hunters, and still trying to do her best to support her daughter through this (albeit unexpectedly furry) magical instructor.

Refocusing on breakfast, Talula plopped two plates of eggs and buttered toast on the kitchen table. She let chopped chives fall generously over the golden tumble of egg curds, then poured two mugs of tea.

Simon took several deep sniffs of the plate. “What is this?”

“Breakfast.”

“I don’t eat breakfast. I sustain myself on the nectar of the universe.”

“That probably worked when you were just magical essence. But now you’re a dog. Sort of.” Talula snagged a fork and sat next to Simon. “You might need more than just universe juice.”

Simon scowled. “If I’d known manifesting myself into this stupid, squishy body would require so much maintenance, I’d have remained incorporeal.”

Talula inched Simon’s plate closer to him.

“Fine.” Simon shook out his fur, irritated. “After breakfast, we’ll return to the Volta so that we may provide refuge for magical beings.”

Talula’s fork halted halfway to her lips. “You’re coming with me to the café?”

“You’re not capable of providing portal aid unsupervised.” Simon prodded at his food with his nose. “It’s the wisest course of action. We can also rectify your ghastly lack of magical knowledge.”

Shamefaced, Talula took a bite of breakfast, but she had already lost her appetite.

At the café, Talula went through her opening chores, turning on lights and warming up the espresso machine. Meanwhile, Simon followed Talula around the café. Lecturing. “We need to go back to the essentials, starting with your elemental abilities, then moving on to conjuring, then illusions, while breaking up those lessons with Volta work.”

“Sounds good.” Talula tied on her apron.

“I’ll draw a circle of protection around you, and you can start meditating on the essence of air—”

“Now?” She whirled toward the dog.

“Yes! Why else do you think we’re here?” One of Simon’s black eyebrows rose quizzically.

“Because it’s my job?”

“Your job is to become the Guardian of the Volta, Arbiter of Magical Refuge and New Beginnings, Protector of the Adrift and Destitute—”

“Which I can’t do if the café is closed,” Talula protested. “Besides, we need to keep up appearances.”

“Sara assured me that this café was the least frequented establishment in the area. For whom do we have to keep up appearances?”