Page 37 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Talula nodded. She saw this in action over years spent watching Sara constantly lose, then conjure-find, her phone.

“Does the Volta technically conjure?” Talula asked. “Like, instead of conjuring items, it conjures places ideal for the refuge-seeker.”

“Not quite.” Simon scratched thoughtfully at an ear with his back paw. “The Volta is bigger sorcery, a kind of intelligent magical portal. It can find the perfect new home for a refuge-seeker without the sorceress having ever dreamed it. It’s also a true portal, a doorway into a new place that you can move in and out of. Conjuring is more of a one-way street, so to speak.” Simon cleared his throat. “But before you can conjure, you must expand your knowledge by first conjuring a descendant of the fruit of the tree of knowledge.”

Talula looked at the fruit. “The persimmon?”

Simon glared at the fruit like it had personally insulted him and his entire bloodline. “An apple is more traditional. Or a pomegranate. Alas. Close your eyes.”

Talula obeyed, clearing her mind with a few peaceful breaths.

Then Simon started shouting orders. “That persimmon is yours! Take it! Take it because you’re a sorceress, heir to the magical might of the universe! You are power incarnate! The world is your mollusk! REACH OUT AND GRAB IT!”

“Is this in the book?” Talula asked, alarmed and somewhat tickled by the tiny dog barking like a drill sergeant.

“Of course it is. You need to put all of your willpower behind conjuring. You can’t be wishy-washy about it.”

“Simon,” Talula said, when she was sure a giggle wouldn’t escape her lips, “I think this coaching technique might have been more intimidating in your previous life as a sorcerer.”

“Why?”

Talula gestured at Simon’s short and fluffy body.

Simon visibly wilted. “I can see your point. But, you get the idea?”

“I do. Willpower.”

“Precisely. Keep those words in mind and give conjuring a try. Maybe picture a terrifying sorcerer with a big hat yelling at you?”

“I’ll try.” Talula closed her eyes. She looked around inside herself for the iron might it would take to rewrite reality. She felt herself go deeper into her core, where her power glowed. She focused on the persimmon she wanted to conjure, the one sitting on the counter. But as much as she reached for it, pressed her will into her magic, the persimmon didn’t budge.

After an hour of effort, Talula flopped on the ground with a groan of frustration.

“Quite,” Simon mumbled snarkily. He sighed. “That will have to do for now. Your ridiculous café is about to open.”

Simon waddled away to curl himself into a petulant ball in the occult section of the shop, tail pointed disapprovingly at Talula. She resisted the urge to stick him in the Voltlette and slam the door.

Dahlia arrived not too long after. “Good morning, everybody!” she said brightly.

Simon’s ears flicked back toward Dahlia, though he didn’t utter so much as a hrmph. But even Simon’s pouting mood couldn’t dampen the thrill that rushed through Talula. “Hey! Ready to write?”

“Not sure about writing today.” Dahlia yawned dramatically. She slid into her new usual place at the counter. “I texted this cute chef until super late last night.”

“That’s funny,” Talula teased. “Because this amazing writer bombarded me with her wordcraft until almost dawn.”

“Sounds terrible,” Dahlia said innocently, propping her elbows on the counter and setting her chin on her hands.

“The worst,” Talula said with a mock eye roll and a slight tilt of her lips. A thought struck: Is this…are we flirting? Cheeks burning, Talula grabbed a dishcloth and wiped at the spotless counter, her sudden boldness vanishing as if conjured to the other side of the world.

“Sorry I kept you up, though, if you’re half as tired as I am.” Dahlia yawned, more realistically this time.

“No, don’t be.” Talula shook her head. “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun staying up late.”

“Me neither.” Dahlia watched Talula’s face with a slight smirk. “Well, not clothed, anyway.”

In response, Talula’s body forgot the correct order of swallowing and breathing, and her esophagus found some spit for her to asphyxiate on. Talula dissolved into body-wracking coughs. When she finally got some air into her lungs, her face was red and splotchy.

(Simon huffed a sound of bone-deep exasperation.)