Page 71 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“You did that quite quickly,” Simon observed. “Usually there’s more grimacing and deep breaths.”

“No volcanoes, either.” Talula shrugged, admiring the sparkling blue miasma of the Volta’s magic fluttering around the basement. “Maybe tapping into my elemental abilities makes it easier for me to connect with the portal?”

“Perhaps.”

“Or maybe I’m turning into a Volta monster?” Talula joked.

“It’s possible.” Simon turned a cold, ruthless stare on his pupil. “If so, I’d have no choice but to destroy you.”

“What?” Fear drenched Talula from head to toe.

Simon’s stony gaze lasted for another two seconds before he erupted into barks of laughter. “Volta monster! Ha! That was quite entertaining.”

Talula rolled her eyes, but a grin tugged at her lips. “Thanks, professor know-it-all.”

“You’re welcome,” Simon replied, preening.

The two walked up the basement steps to the main café.

“So…” Simon cleared his throat. “It seems Dahlia has the town hall matter well in hand.”

Talula’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Did you just compliment Dahlia? Out loud?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “I know competence when I see it. Dahlia’s rectangular contraption of dancing calligraphy seemed to be full of answers to our current predicament.”

“That’s a computer—” Talula started but then realized something. “Do I have your blessing to go on the date?” (If it’s a date, Talula corrected herself.) “For Samhain?”

“Yes.”

“Do you even know what a date is?”

“I watch the larger rectangle in the living room. I know things about this world.” Simon gave an offended huff. “You still need to focus on your magical training.”

“Absolutely.” Talula nodded fervently.

“I don’t want you getting all gooey and distracted.”

“This is a goo-free zone,” Talula said, gesturing to her entire body.

Simon wrinkled his nose. “Unseemly.”

Chuckling, Talula grabbed a broom to sweep up the bits of dirt left behind by Dimitra’s fig tree. She hummed sunnily as she thought about going back to Dahlia’s house that night.

“You should tell your mother about this town hall meeting.”

“I did; she said not to worry.”

“And you must tell her about Dahlia.”

Talula gripped the broom so hard, her knuckles turned white. “Please don’t ask me to tell her how I feel about Dahlia.”

Simon gazed up at the ceiling for a long while. Finally, his eyes settled on Talula’s hazel ones. “How do you feel about Dahlia?”

“Big.” Talula didn’t even know the answer was on her lips until she spoke it. “Really big.”

“Then you must.”

“I don’t think—” she began, but Simon held up a paw.