Page 61 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Talula reached for the electric kettle as the bell above the café door rang out. Heart leaping, Talula turned, expecting Dahlia.

But it wasn’t Dahlia smiling at her from the doorway. It was Nathan Green, the health inspector. He wasn’t smiling.

Nathan Green looked like a no-nonsense principal from a children’s book. Everything from his primly pressed button-up to his white goatee was pristinely kept. Usually, his tough exterior would crack a little around Talula’s mom because no one was invincible to Sara’s charms, magical or otherwise. But Sara wasn’t here.

“Mr. Green,” Talula stuttered. “H-hello! How can I help you today?”

“I’m here on official business.” Mr. Green pulled a clipboard out of his messenger bag. “We received a complaint about unsanitary conditions at the café.”

Talula’s heart thumped nervously. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Mr. Green raised a white eyebrow. “Need I point out the dog, Ms. Smith?”

He and Talula both looked at Simon. Simon, slow on the uptake, glanced around for the dog. When realization finally hit, he whipped his head around to stare at Talula, eyes bugged out, as if to say, Oh no, the dog is ME.

Talula thought about lying. Maybe saying that Simon was in service-animal training. But even she had to draw the line somewhere, and lying about Simon’s capacity as a service animal seemed almost laughable. She slumped. “You’re right. He’s a, um, recent addition to the family, and he doesn’t like being left behind. I’m sorry. We’ll pay the fine.”

“Not a strong start.” Mr. Green scribbled something on his clipboard. “I need to see the rest of the premises, starting with the food prep area in the back along with any and all storage areas.”

Like the basement, where there’s a giant magical portal. Talula’s panicked brain tried to assemble some kind of excuse—

Ding! went the toaster oven timer.

“My quiche!” she cried.

This time, Mr. Green raised both white brows. “Your what?”

“Why don’t you come see?” Talula said, seizing the opportunity.

The inspector clicked and unclicked his pen with an air of suspicion. “Alright.”

Talula turned to Simon. “Simon, stay here.” Emphatically, she pointed downward, toward the basement. Back turned to Mr. Green, she mouthed Hide the Volta. Simon gave a curt nod. Talula led Mr. Green into the back of the café, where the aroma of savory breakfast pastry filled the air. She propped the Employees Only door open for the health inspector to pass through (and for an invisible Simon to slink by).

Mr. Green examined the kitchen area, arms crossed. “I didn’t think the Blue Moon served hot food.”

“We don’t, but I’ve always wanted to expand the menu,” Talula explained. Not a lie.

“Is this why you’re acting like a chipmunk in a trap?” Mr. Green loomed again, but not as menacingly.

“It’s a new recipe.” Also not a lie. “I have a friend coming by. I wanted to see what she thought.”

Mr. Green shrugged. “Quiche tasting with a friend is aboveboard.”

“Since you’re here, I’d love your opinion.” Talula held up two plates and gestured to the little table where she usually ate her lunch.

He pursed his lips. “Professionally speaking, it’s probably not a good idea.”

Before Talula could insist, Mr. Green’s stomach growled. Loudly. Talula couldn’t hide her grin. The health inspector scratched abashedly at his bald brown head. “I skipped breakfast today.”

“Quick quiche, then you can resume inspection?” Talula set down the plates.

Mr. Green drew up a chair. “That smells…” He took a whiff of quiche. “Wow.”

Talula nearly dropped her fork. She’d never heard the inspector use adjectives outside of “adequate” and “acceptable.”

“Noosh-eh joon. Or, bon appétit,” she said.

They dug in. Mr. Green chewed, swallowed, then went for the second bite. Then the third. Then the fourth. Talula watched, almost too nervous to move. When only a bit of his crust remained, Mr. Green leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “You want my professional opinion?”