Page 48 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“The petition has almost a hundred signatures last time I checked,” Kristen called. “In case you were wondering.”

Realization hit Talula like a brick. She whirled. “You started the petition?”

Kristen smirked in answer, as if to ask who else?

“You hate me that much?” Something splintered in Talula. She stormed up to Kristen, her voice scalded with anger. “Why? And why now? Samhain’s been going on for years! What changed?”

“God, calm down.” Kristen’s eyes lit up at Talula’s reaction, her laugh sharp. “It was fine when you were just the sad little café with an off-brand Halloween fair. But then I saw that you actually had people coming in the café. Regulars, even! If this keeps up, who knows what other freaks you’ll bring to town?”

“You want to cancel Samhain because you saw people coming to the Blue Moon?” Talula echoed, trying to follow Kristen’s villainous math. With a jolt, she realized Kristen had said regulars with extra venom. As if she’d seen the same person through the café window on one of her many podcast walks. “Because Dahlia started coming to the Blue Moon?”

Kristen’s face gave nothing away—almost. But once upon a time, Talula could read Kristen’s most subtle, secret expressions.

Talula gaped. Was this petition a twisted kind of jealousy? Or Kristen’s deeply internalized homophobia manifesting in townwide ridicule? Whatever the case, Talula felt a rush of pity. “Kris—”

“Don’t,” Kristen snarled. “I want you and everyone like you out of this town for good.”

With that, she stormed off.

Talula stood there, shell-shocked. Slowly, the facts crept in. The only reason Samhain was in danger was because of Talula. Because her vindictive ex had seen Talula happy with Dahlia, and now her magical community might not have Samhain. Again, her human life was at odds with her magical one. Again, she’d so completely failed her Magical Destiny because she wanted to belong to both human and magical worlds.

“It’s like,” she mumbled, blinking back sudden tears, “I can’t even be a person without making a mistake.”

“Talula?” Simon’s voice was quiet. “Are you—”

She shook her head. “Let’s go.”

That night, Talula lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and cycling through worries—for her mother, for her magical community, for herself—and self-loathing. She heard paws tapping outside her closed door. “Let me in.”

Talula didn’t move.

“I could magick this door into the fourteenth dimension if I wanted to,” Simon threatened.

Talula waited.

The sorcerer sighed. “I really don’t want to. The fourteenth dimension is just pickle spirits. Can’t stand the smell. Can we talk?”

Talula closed her eyes.

“Or, maybe we could go downstairs and you could whip up one of those things you like. The melty sandwiches, maybe? Or a pork chop? That might be nice.”

Talula turned over and curled up on her side.

“I know this hasn’t been easy. But I promise, it’ll get better.”

Talula pushed her face into her pillow, cheeks streaked with tears. She almost didn’t hear Simon’s last whisper.

“It has to get better.”

13

Talula woke to bedroom walls the same dull, dingy gray as the world outside. It was almost time for another morning training session. When she opened her bedroom door, she found Simon sitting on the hallway rug. “What are you doing here?”

“I, erm, never left.” Simon’s ears flicked back self-consciously. “I’ve decided you should go to the farmers’ market today. We should go to the farmers’ market.”

Talula’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why?”

“Because last night, after our run-in with that reptilian flatulence incarnate, I realized something…” Simon trailed off. “I…mrmrmmmm…”