Page 43 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“I know he’s not the easiest teacher,” Sara finally said, when they could speak without toppling over with chuckles. “But this is an amazing opportunity for you. His methods might be just the thing to unlock your limitless potential and ascend to the next chapter in your glorious Magical Destiny, especially in these uncertain times.”

Talula felt her stomach churn.

Sara laid a transparent hand on her daughter’s knee. “Just promise me you’ll try your best?”

Talula looked at her mom, her earnest eyes full of love and pride. After all, it wasn’t like her magical prowess could get worse, right? “I promise.”

For the entire weekend, Talula did try. She attempted to create illusions as Simon barked orders—like “Force the world we see to bend to your will!” and “Project your power outward, from the magical pupil of your mind’s eye!”—all of which were taken nearly verbatim from the pages of Simon’s beloved textbook. Still, no matter how long Talula worked at it, she didn’t get illusions. The only thing that kept up Talula’s spirits was the buzz of her phone. Dahlia had meant it when she said she’d text Talula morale-boosting memes and jokes throughout the weekend. Whenever she heard the telltale vibration of a Dahlia text, Talula would feel a small burst of joy in her chest. But after a dozen or so texts, it looked like Simon was about to burst into a fireball of rage.

“You might make more progress if you shut that thing up,” Simon finally growled. “I can smell your distraction from here.”

Abashed, Talula turned the phone off, and they resumed training. But by Sunday evening, Talula didn’t know who looked more tired—her or her four-legged mentor.

“I may have to consult some oracles.” Simon frowned. “It shouldn’t be taking you this long to grasp these concepts, especially with your mother’s bloodline. Maybe we’ll need a focusing tool, like a wand or a quartz of some kind.”

A hesitant voice called out from the outside of the café. “Hello there?”

Talula peeked through the blinds. Standing there was a short man in his forties, wearing a lot of tweed. His tiny spectacles were perched on the end of his wide-set nose. A bowler hat sat at an odd angle on his head.

“May I come in? My name is Michail. I’m looking for…” He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. “One caramel macchiato, four shots of espresso—that’s two decaffeinated, two caffeinated—and a drizzle of…raspberry syrup. No whipped cream, please.”

“Ah yes, I’m happy to see you made it,” Simon said. “The Council said to expect you.”

Talula opened the café door for the newcomer. “Come on in, Michail.”

“Thank you.” Tentatively, Michail ambled through the doorway, his footsteps oddly heavy against the floor.

“I’m Talula; this is Simon.”

Michail gave a tidy little bow. “Pleased to meet you both.”

Talula closed the café door and locked it, listening as Michail walked farther into the shop. His shoes sounded so strange. Talula glanced at the hem of his too-long pants and swallowed back a gasp. Hooves. Michail had cloven hooves. Talula looked up to Michail’s face. The newcomer had taken off his bowler hat, revealing a pair of corkscrew horns peeking out from his hair.

“It’s a lovely shop you’ve got here.” Michail admired the tarot collection on the occult side of the café. “Eclectic, yet homey.”

“Thanks,” Talula said warmly.

“But of course, you’re not here to admire the scenery. To the Volta we go,” Simon said, turning to waddle through the Employees Only door.

They made their way down the stairs to the basement, where the Volta glowed as blue and beautiful as usual, tendrils reaching out toward Talula in greeting.

“My goodness,” Michail said breathlessly. “What a wonder.”

The Volta shimmered even brighter, as if flattered.

“Unlike our work with the jinn, we won’t be summoning the perfect place of belonging for Michail. He’s already found it,” Simon explained.

“Not it. Him.” Michail pulled what looked like an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his jacket. With a click, it opened up to a picture of a grinning man with black hair that shot out in all directions. A pair of pointy ears peeked out from the strands.

Talula melted. “He’s absolutely dashing. What’s his name?”

“Linh,” Michail said, blushing. “We met on an art history Internet forum, can you imagine?”

Simon explained, “Michail will meet Linh in Pompeii.”

“We’ve always wanted to see the frescoes in the Villa of the Mysteries,” Michail said to Talula. He dropped his voice. “Especially, ahem, the House of Lovers.”

“Talula,” Simon commanded. “Take us to Pompeii.”