Page 60 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

She called out.

The ground around Talula rumbled at a frequency so low it made her ears ache. She ignored it, her eyes out of focus, her mind concentrating on the call. A small part of her watched through peripheral vision, shocked as white specks pushed through the dirt like tiny alabaster seeds. The specks were beginning to pile, the ground rumbling a little more ferociously. Frantically, she cut off her concentration, ending the call. All was still.

An eerie white ring had formed around Talula. Heart pounding, she pinched up a few grains and brought them to her tongue.

Salt of the earth. Freshly drawn.

Talula stood up, taking in the speckled salt ring around her. A new wave of goosebumps spread over her chilled skin. She’d done it. She’d tapped into her elemental affinity for earth. But would this magical method work for any piece of earth?

Talula surveyed the backyard, spotting the stone path that led from the back porch to her childhood swing set. She reached down, into her newly discovered earth-grounded, salt-speckled self. She called to the stones, another form of earth, hand open. A stone shot into her palm, the pull almost magnetic. She tried it again, and again. Each time, a stone came when she called. Talula sat down hard in the center of her salt and stone circle.

I did that. I summoned this salt. I summoned these stones. This earth.

Then, she jumped up and screamed, a giddy yell that startled the birds and broke the morning quiet like the first firework of the Fourth of July. Euphoric with victory, she scooped up a handful of salt and headed back inside—there were more ingredients to discover.

Talula spent the rest of the morning puzzling out her “calls” to the other elements of the recipe. She had to look online to figure out how to make sun-dried tomatoes in the first place (they were less sun-dried and more water-extracted). To connect with her water affinity, she remembered summers spent by the ocean with her mother and the selkies. She’d spent hours swimming, relishing the feeling of the sea all around her, pulling at her limbs like she was just another body of water tugged by tides. For her air affinity, she thought of breath, the tiny molecules of air that flooded the cells of her body from her muscle matter to her brain. But fire she saved for last.

Talula pictured the flame of her life. She saw the blue tongue of a gas stove licking up the matte black of a skillet. She tasted the red smear of spice, her mouth burning and lips tingling as if fresh from a desperate kiss. She felt summer’s golden heat coaxing sweetness into a peach. This was the spark of life energy, her brightness, an essential part of her Talula-ness. She imagined skimming vibrant colorful fire from her magical core, like kaleidoscopic water from a well. She felt the zing of heat racing through her blood as she coaxed the flame from her core to her hands. Talula blinked back to her physical self and whooped with joy—rainbow-hued witchfire glowed generously over her fingers, palms, and forearms.

“Well done!”

Talula turned to see Simon standing in the entryway of the kitchen. His black eyes glowed with pride. “That’s the best witchfire I’ve seen you do so far! How did you manage it?”

Talula thought carefully about her answer. She watched the flames dance along her fingers and palm. “I think I needed to figure out how to do it my way.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all morning? Practicing?”

Talula angled herself to block the recipe book from Simon’s view. “Yup.”

“In the kitchen? That’s a highly irregular locale for sorcery training.” Simon looked around appraisingly. “But maybe the familiarity helps.”

As if to test Simon’s theory, Talula focused on the flame, coaxing it to grow larger and larger. When the witchfire had become a fireball the size of a pumpkin, Talula snapped her fingers. The fireball shrunk to a match point on her fingertip.

“Show off,” Simon scoffed. But Talula saw a slight, excited wag in his stubby tail. “By the way, what’s for breakfast?”

Talula grinned triumphantly. “Quiche.”

15

Monday morning, after her magical breakthrough, Talula opened the Blue Moon with a newfound lightness in her step. She’d lit every candle in the café with barely a thought. She’d sent crystals hurtling across the shop with her earth affinity. She’d summoned individual water droplets from a bowl and arranged them in different patterns midair. She’d conjured a miniature twister, which sent dust flying everywhere, mussing fur and hair alike. An unkempt but extremely pleased Simon deemed her work “satisfactory.”

“I’m sure your mother will be proud to know of your improvement,” he added as Talula warmed up the espresso machine.

Talula peered over at Simon. “Any news? From her or the Council about the hunters? Or whatever name they’re going by…Orion Hunts.”

“No.” Simon shook his head. “But we haven’t had any new missing creature reports, either. Perhaps it’s a good sign.”

Talula thought about Mhairi and how worried the rest of her selkie family must be. Sorrow carved a hollow in her heart. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“You are,” Simon said. “Mastering your magic and continuing to keep the Blue Moon open for refuge-seekers. Your dedication is paying off, at least for your elemental abilities.”

As she tied on her apron, Talula thought about why her magic suddenly clicked. The cookbook had helped Talula translate herself to herself, unlocking magic for her in new, instinctual ways. Plus, the quiche turned out beautifully. After Talula finished her opening chores, she popped a few leftover slices in the toaster oven. One for her. One for Simon. One for Dahlia.

“Can’t we eat it now?” Simon whined.

“You know it’s better warmed up,” Talula chided. “Want some tea while you wait?”

Simon let out a long, put-upon sigh. “Fine.”