Page 66 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Talula hurriedly opened the window, cheeks flushed. “Hi?”

“Hey!” Dahlia whisper-yelled. “Sorry! That last rock was way too big for this kind of thing. Did I break your window?”

Talula shook her head. “What are you doing?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Dahlia shrugged, then turned her most intense, burning brown-eyed gaze on Talula. “And I have an urgent late-night craving.”

Talula felt her stomach swoop. She managed to croak, “For what?”

Dahlia held up a carton of eggs. “VENGEANCE.”

Talula went slightly (disappointingly) cold. “Oh. On what? Or who? Whom?”

“Whom,” Dahlia affirmed, ominous. “There’s only one person in this town deserving of these eggs. Your ex.”

“You want to egg Kristen’s house?”

“Or her car. Or her cat.” Dahlia nodded emphatically. “Well, not her cat. I’m not a complete sociopath. And I actually love cats. But I need you to come with me and show me where she lives.”

“Why do you want to egg Kristen?”

“Because I’m still furious at how she spoke to you! She deserves eggs.” Dahlia raised her fist to the sky like a mythical hero swearing to avenge his murdered horse. It was undeniably adorable. And also, absurdly hot.

Talula was torn between melting into a puddle and laughing loud enough to alarm the neighborhood watch. “I don’t know if egg vengeance is the right choice, but it’s appreciated.”

“Egg vengeance is happening.” Dahlia dimpled devilishly. “Whether I egg the right house, however, is entirely up to you.”

For a single heartbeat, Talula thought about what Simon would say about all this and how it fit into prioritizing her magical responsibilities.

But Dahlia’s grin was a beacon in the dark.

In a hushed voice, Talula called out, “I’ll be right there.”

Still in her PJ’s, she grabbed a coat, shoved her sockless feet into sneakers, and hopped out the window. The house subtly inched a nearby lattice under the sill for Talula to traipse down. She met Dahlia on the sidewalk. “Wait, how did you know where I live?”

“One of my jogging routes takes me around here.” Dahlia pointed at Talula’s porch. “I recognized your bike and saw you in your window.”

Talula felt warm all over, all over again. She turned toward the street. “Follow me.”

The two set out, Dahlia’s steps light but determined. She pulled a black knit cap low over her forehead. “Stealth mode initiated. Should we get ski masks? Alibis? Code names?”

“I’m open to code names, especially if you come up with them.” Talula chuckled. “This feels so high school.”

“I wouldn’t know. We moved around too much for me to make midnight-shenanigans-level friends.” Dahlia shook her head as Talula led the way. “Which is a bummer, actually, because I’m twenty-seven, and if this is high school shit, it’s extremely fun.”

Dahlia had a point. There was something deliciously thrilling about stalking through the night with low-stakes mischief in mind, armed only with the clothes on their backs, a dozen eggs, and Talula’s giant crush on Dahlia burning a hole in her sternum. It was a specific kind of teenage fun she hadn’t had in a long time.

In a lot of ways, Talula realized, she felt utterly adolescent—about Dahlia, about her magic, about her life goals in general. Even about her sexuality. She’d grown out of her baby-queer era just enough to feel gawky and uncertain, confounded and explosive with every tilt of Dahlia’s grin. Basically, in bisexuality years, Talula was a teen queer.

Dahlia rummaged around in her leather jacket and pulled out a flask. She offered it to Talula. “This might make things more adult.”

“Or is it actually more teenage to sneak around with booze in the middle of the night to vandalize your ex?” Talula joked. She took a gulp and immediately coughed as the spicy sweet liquid seared its way down her throat. “What is this?”

“Cinnamon whiskey.” Dahlia clapped Talula on the back a few times. “It’s autumnal!”

It was a fall-flavored punch to the sinuses. Talula took another, more delicate sip, enjoying the spice this time. She handed the flask back to Dahlia. “Let’s go this way. Shortcut.”

They turned onto one of the forest trails near Talula’s neighborhood. It was a cold night, Talula’s skin prickling with goosebumps despite her coat. The forest was eerie but beautiful, quiet but for the occasional sound of night animals shuffling across damp ground. Dahlia, ever prepared, flicked on a flashlight to illuminate their path and asked, “So, how are you, really?”