Page 4 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Sara offered an elegant hand. “Then come, my child. Let us open a new chapter for you. A chapter of peace.”

Tears gathered in Mina’s eyes. She took the hand that was offered. “Thank you.”

They both began to walk through the Employees Only door, but suddenly, Mina stopped in her tracks. “Wait!” The vampire turned imploringly to Talula. “Can I get that cocoa to go?”

Despite the solemnity of the moment, Talula grinned. She quickly poured the vampire’s drink into a to-go cup.

With that, Mina followed Talula’s mother through the Employees Only door. A few moments later, the shop shook, and iridescent blue light streamed through the floorboards.

Bye, Mina…or whatever your new name will be, Talula thought. I hope I get to see you again.

She took a sip of cocoa. It had gone cold.

Once the blue light receded, Sara returned to the front of the café. “I’ve got to run a few errands, but I’ll be back after closing. It’s so sweet that Mina was chatting with a local! When has that ever happened?”

Talula laughed weakly. Sara gave her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek and glided out of the café. As the door closed behind her, Dahlia’s warm brown eyes blinked themselves back into focus. Returning to her senses, she absently wiped at her lip with the back of her sleeve. “That was your mom?”

With relief, Talula saw that her mother’s sorcery had done its job. Dahlia didn’t remember the strange goings-on that had just occurred, but was aware enough to retain a few non-alarming details. Her brain had filled in any gaps with normalcy.

Talula sighed. “Yup.”

“Wow. She is some kind of…” Dahlia searched her human brain for words that would hold up to Sara’s etherealness. “Something.”

Talula thought of her own feeble attempts at magic in the face of a possible vampiric threat. She thought of her mother, dazzling them all without breaking a sweat. “Yeah, she is.”

It was nearly dark when Dahlia finally snapped her laptop closed and packed up. “Tell your mom I said hi!”

Talula waved goodbye, a pleasant barista smile plastered to her face. But as soon as the bell chimed behind Dahlia, she dropped her head on the cool countertop and let out a heavy breath. Sometimes it seemed like half the work of the Blue Moon was secret-keeping. The other half of that work, of course, was operating as a magical witness protection/way station.

The Blue Moon sat on the strongest intersection of ley lines on the entire continent. Those ley lines produced a powerful magical doorway known as the Volta. The Council, an ancient governing order of magic-wielders, magical beings, and Talula’s mom—this age known as Sara, High Priestess of Ten Thousand Thresholds, Enchantress of the 9th Realm, Guardian of the Forgotten, Master of the 42 Crystal Dimensions, Supreme Witch of the Age of the Antelope—had shaped the Volta’s magic for sanctuary-seeking. When magical beings were discovered, hunted, or just needed a fresh start, they’d head to the Blue Moon and give the pass phrase, “One caramel macchiato, four shots of espresso, two decaf, two caf, and a drizzle of raspberry syrup. No whip.” Sara would give them a new identity, including papers, professional résumés, references, and thorough social media histories, in a magical “flash drive.” Then the refuge-seeker would step through the Volta (glowing bluely next to the toilet paper stacks and cleaning supplies) and start a new life. It was why Sara had named it the Volta. It meant a lot of things in many languages, like “change” and “turn” and even “archway.” But Talula’s favorite translation of “Volta” had always been in literary theory—a poetical shift from one way of being to the next.

So yes, Talula had a magical portal in the basement of her family business—which was intentionally the worst café in town. Sara didn’t want to draw too much attention to the odd little shop and its secret operations. Despite the fact that Talula closed up shop before dinner every night, magical safe haven was available twenty-four hours a day, thanks to Sara’s sorcery and the Volta. (Though when Talula had asked her mother why the Blue Moon was an occult shop and a café, Sara had just said, “I thought it would be kind of neat!”) And for that to work, keeping humans away was vital. Even though Talula itched to brew delicious coffee concoctions or create breakfast sandwiches made from the freshest farmers’ market ingredients, too bad. Because, as Sara, Sage of the Silver Mountains, Excellency of the Brilliant Seas, Speaker to the Stars, and Co-Chair of the Bashful Armadillo Preservation Society would remind Talula, “If we stand out, people die.”

But at least Talula had the hot cocoa. Her hot cocoa. Because nobody went to god-awful coffee shops to drink cocoa. Nobody except Dahlia.

“Bad day, my heart?”

Talula jumped. Her mother had reappeared, joining Talula behind the counter with her typical otherworldly grace.

Sara was a sorceress. Just not in the strictest definition of the word. Sorceresses were mortal beings, creatures of flesh that were born with magic nestled in their heart like a second pulse. They lived long lives (longer than most) but did eventually die as mortals do. But Sara had not been born. She’d been forged, emerging from sacred flame millennia ago at the behest of celestial bodies beyond imagining. She was to the magical forces of the world as a storm to the sky—an expression of power inextricably linked to its source. Truly, it was a fluke that she was human-shaped. Sara could just as easily have begun her ageless existence as a phoenix or a dragon or a bolt of enchanted lightning. But humanlike she was. Enough to have a sweet tooth and occasionally stub her toe on coffee table legs, though not quite human enough to reproduce. Or so she had thought. Until Talula.

Talula, the progeny of such an illustrious being, was born an identity crisis. What did being both magic and human make her? Immortal? Omnipotent? Less potent? A fluke of magic and genetics? Nobody seemed to know. So she was just Talula—half sorceress, half human, and almost always confused.

As if sensing her thoughts, Sara wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “You don’t look like you had a particularly good day.”

Talula fiddled with her apron hem. “I tried some magic today, and it didn’t work.”

“Oh?” Sara tucked a stray hair behind Talula’s ear with a warm smile. “I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me all about it.”

Talula watched her mother put on the kettle and get out tea and mugs. She thought of herself as the Sorceress Lite version of her mother. Side by side, you could see little pieces of Sara in Talula—the wavy hair, the full mouth, the thick eyebrows and lashes, the oval face with a slightly pointed chin. But Talula’s eyes were a murky hazel instead of deep, stone-sleek brown. Talula’s wavy brown hair was duller than the silky black locks under Sara’s usual veil. Talula’s words weren’t accented with the lilt of a thousand languages mastered over millennia. She was just…Talula. Always falling short of her mother’s example. Just like today.

As the kettle heated up, Talula curled up on the café sofa. Shame-faced, she described her attempt at witchfire. Talula had spent years reading every grimoire in her mother’s collection, memorizing spells in languages only a few still spoke. But when it came to putting theory into practice, Talula hardly got anything right.

“I was so sure Mina was going to hurt—” Talula clamped her jaw down before Dahlia’s name could escape her lips. “The human. But I couldn’t even do witchfire. I failed. Again.”

“You know, I really don’t see the failure here,” Sara said mildly.

“Are you sure?” Talula asked, a little piteously. “It might have been a bloodbath, and all I could do was, I don’t know, become like a tea cozy for vampires.”