Page 52 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Anna set her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t matter.”

“We don’t feed bigots. It’s company policy,” Emilio stated, scratching a spot under Simon’s chin so well, the dog’s eyes closed in total contentment.

Talula stopped by her usual vendors and saw just how much the anti-Samhain movement had impacted her usual market dealings. Jeremy rang up her cheese brusquely, carefully not mentioning the Keep Halloween Family-Friendly sign on his display. Elena apologetically piled extra herbs, leeks, and greens in Talula’s tote bag without charging her a cent (her anti-Samhain sign was mostly hidden behind an explosion of parsley). Talula picked up eggs from Wei, who received her with his usual grin.

“You’re not anti-Samhain?” Talula asked.

Wei took a sip of tea from his thermos. “Nope.”

“Aren’t you worried about losing customers?”

Wei smirked. “There’s no eggs like Wei’s eggs.”

After her regulars, Talula hit every stand in the market. She bought ruddy-skinned sweet potatoes, artisanal chorizo, a bottle of olive oil, a jar of pickles, and a year’s supply of dried hot chilies. Simon (begrudgingly) had to be evicted from the bike crate to make room for it all.

Talula was turned away at some places, cautiously welcomed at others, and sometimes completely ignored except for the exchange of cash and goods. No matter how she was treated, Talula tried to make pleasant conversation, hoping it would humanize her. But it was a lot to take. After the homemade pasta guy told her to go away, she found a quiet spot to sit and breathe for a minute.

Simon took the opportunity to grumble right by her ear. “I think we should just hex them. Hex them all into earwigs.”

“What is it with you and earwigs today?”

“I just think this overly saccharine behavior is grating.”

“I’m frustrated, too. But they think I’m in a satanic sex cult. Being mean would just add fuel to the fire and prove the jerks right,” Talula argued.

“Whether or not you fornicate with the devil under the full moon in plain view of his infernal court shouldn’t concern these people,” Simon huffed. “You deserve the same respect as that woman with the yapping little dog who kept talking about ‘gluten,’ whatever that is.”

Talula regarded her own yapping little dog. “How much do you remember about being human?”

Simon pondered. “The more time I spend here, the more things come back to me. Like, the universal need for human decency and the allure of handsome shepherds.”

“Do you remember how people were treated when they were different from everyone else?”

Simon was quiet, looking off into the distance. He murmured, “I have the faintest recollection of being…very young. Very young and very different. A lot of pain came from that, I think.”

Talula’s heart ached for the young sorcerer Simon had been. “Some things don’t change.”

“Some things are very difficult to change, young sorceress,” Simon corrected. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t be.”

“You’re pretty smart for a fuzzy über-powerful magical relic,” Talula teased.

“We should keep the earwig hex on the table.”

“Noted.”

Talula had saved Mrs. Bochart for last. As usual, the baker’s stand overflowed with the best baked goods in the state. But today, there was a devil worship? not in my town! sign perched on her table. Mrs. Bochart finished up an order with a customer, her expression warm. When she saw Talula, her eyes turned to ice. After a morning of dirty looks and meanness, that last jab of hostility made Talula’s blood boil.

She’d been trying to kill Mrs. Bochart with kindness for years. Maybe it was time to try a different approach. Talula wheeled her bike over to the display table. “Good morning, Mrs. Bochart.”

“What do you want?”

Wow, not ignoring me. That’s something.

“A baguette, four croissants, three apple turnovers, and to talk to you about Samhain.” Talula drew herself up as tall as she could. She spoke loud enough to ensure neighboring vendors could hear her. “Canceling Samhain would do serious damage to Pine Hollow. But making a Halloween party a moral battleground is going to hurt every small business in town.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Bochart growled, shoving Talula’s order in a bag.

Anger spiked in Talula’s chest. She took the bag and thrust her payment at the baker. “If you could put aside your bias for a second, you’d see that the Samhain festival has only brought good things to this place.”