Page 49 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Talula lowered herself down to sit on the hallway rug. “What was that?”

“I. Was. Wrong.” Simon hung his head.

A delicate hope rose in Talula’s chest. “Explain, please.”

“When Michail nearly fell into a volcano, I let my fear and anger take over. I misjudged you. I thought you weren’t willing to do the hard work to master your magic and protect our community. I thought the mistakes you made stemmed from an attachment to the human world. I thought you weren’t willing to sacrifice for your magical heritage.” Simon looked up at Talula. “I see now how much you’re willing to sacrifice. Despite my extremely vast knowledge, I’d forgotten one of the most important lessons of becoming a sorceress. A great sorceress.”

“Is it not being a jerk?” Talula asked wryly.

“Close.” Simon huffed out a laugh. “A great sorceress needs to live. She can’t be sequestered in a tower casting spells to benefit people she doesn’t know. She needs to be a part of the world around her so she can better protect it. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember that.”

“Does that mean you’re okay with me doing normal life things?” Talula asked, suddenly feeling better than she had in weeks.

“We should find a balance. Together. Your training still needs to come first, but I can be more understanding.” Simon chuckled to himself. “When I was still a young magician, I got distracted by a particularly handsome shepherd while working on my earth affinity and…erm…fell prey to youthful folly.”

Talula grinned. “Be specific.”

“I raised a few boulders into the air, did a bit of fancy juggling, threw them as far as I could…” Simon made a pained, embarrassed noise. “They landed almost two hundred miles away.”

“You showed off for a cute boy?” Talula asked, delighted. A bit of Celtic mythology interrupted her thoughts. “Wait, are you talking about Stonehenge? You showed off for a cute boy and made Stonehenge?”

“I’m not that old, Talula! Though if anyone asks, those middle bits are supposed to look knocked over.” Simon pawed at his ear abashedly. “No magic-wielder’s training is without its hiccups. Learning your craft shouldn’t cost you your connection with the world. Or the people dear to you.”

Talula leaned back against the wall, considering Simon’s offer and what it meant for her. For her and Dahlia. When she spoke, her words didn’t leave any room for argument. “I’m going to make up with Dahlia.”

“Fine,” Simon said sternly. “Just prioritize your training and keep your social endeavors to a minimum until we’ve made more progress.”

His face was serious, but Talula spotted Simon’s tail doing a subtle happy wag.

“You want me to make up with Dahlia.” Talula pointed at Simon with glee. “You like her!”

“That’s neither here nor there!” Simon’s ears went flat against his head. “If I’ve developed a fondness for the creature, it was against my will.”

“Yup, that’s the Dahlia effect.” Talula beamed.

Simon slumped over to her, looking up at her with big sorrowful eyes. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

In answer, Talula wrapped her arms around Simon’s small, fluffy body. “Of course.”

“Hrmph,” Simon said, but he cuddled a little closer for the briefest moment before wriggling out of the hug. “Now, then. To the market!”

Talula’s face fell. “The last time I went to the market, people had anti-Samhain signs up. I literally ran away.”

“Are you not Talula Esmerelda Xanadu Sahar Beatrice Morgan Smith?” Simon asked vehemently. “Wrangler of jackalopes? Befriender of jinn? Heir of the Volta?”

“Yes?” Talula answered, bewildered and a little touched. Around them, the house walls shed their morning gray and shimmered into a jubilant array of primary colors.

“Then what on earth do you have to be afraid of?”

As the two got ready for the market, Talula picked up the phone to call Dahlia, then set it down again, then picked it back up about ten times. She’d said horrible things to her. Dahlia deserved a thoughtful apology and appropriate penance…maybe even a grand gesture? Talula mulled it over, mentally drafting an apology speech as she whipped up pumpkin, pecan, and cinnamon pancakes with a side of bacon.

“Now this is more like it!” Simon cheered before tearing into his stack of pancakes. “No more sad mush!”

Determined, hopeful, and fortified with breakfast, Talula pedaled toward the market with Simon tucked into the crate at the back of her bike. The street was strewn with red, orange, and gold leaves that crunched under her tires, leaving a wake of woodsy-scented autumnal confetti behind her.

Talula would face the market. She would work on her magic. She would make up with Dahlia. She didn’t know how, but she was going to. Today. She had her lip balm on and her game face with it. Nothing was going to stop her.

“Go slower go slower go slower!” Simon barked into her ear.