Page 74 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“But we need to show people that Samhain isn’t about Satan worship,” Talula added, hoping she sounded believable, “and that I’m not a witch.”

“Not necessarily. It’s harder to convince someone they’re wrong than it is to shift their focus to something more interesting.” Dahlia’s eyes widened. “So, what if instead of downplaying the witchiness, we turned it up to, like, level ten million?”

Wine muddled Talula’s ability to do metaphor math. “What do you mean?”

“Samhain is Satan. But magic is something else completely,” Dahlia explained. “If we amp up the magic, we make the festival theatrical and fantastical. Like fairy tales or those kids’ movies with talking animal sidekicks.”

“If someone says the festival is about devil worship,” Talula said slowly, “I say—”

“No, it’s about magic,” Dahlia finished for her. “Like wishing on a star and the power of true love’s kiss.”

“Would that still work with the traditional Samhain ceremonies?”

“Absolutely. But we won’t do it if it feels like we’re cheapening Samhain.”

Talula fiddled with her pen, thinking. Considering the entire purpose of the Samhain festival was magic-related, it was risky. But then again, wasn’t hiding real magic in plain sight the Blue Moon’s specialty?

An idea began to form in Talula’s mind. She connected the dots like lines between stars to form a grander, brighter constellation. Talula dug her spoon into the spiciest curry on the table. “You’re right.”

“About what?”

“Spicy food does give you great inspiration.” Talula braced herself and took a huge bite. “I know how we can bring magic to Samhain.”

She explained her idea to Dahlia, who whooped with glee. They talked through it, tweaking here and there, until a plan took enough shape for Dahlia to break out more celebratory wine. The night went on, Talula tipsy from whatever Dahlia kept pouring, the warm scent of Dahlia’s clothes, and the intoxicating thrill of hope.

Finally, when Talula’s eyes started to drift shut, she murmured, “I should go home.”

She stood up, tried to take one step away from the couch, then thought better of it and sat down on the floor.

“You should just stay here,” Dahlia replied sleepily.

“But I have a Simon.” Responsible-looking thoughts floated in and out of Talula’s head. “And a destiny.”

“If you’re going to save Samhain, you need to make good choices. No drinking and biking.”

“But—”

“Stay,” Dahlia said, reaching over to hold Talula’s hand. “Just…stay. Okay?”

Dahlia’s eyes were shining, making Talula shiver. “Okay.”

Dahlia tugged her out of the living room. Heart pounding, Talula followed Dahlia up the stairs. She was drunk but somehow painfully aware of her hand in Dahlia’s, how that contact was making other parts of her body feel. Simmering and sparkling, aching to touch and be touched.

Dahlia stopped in the upstairs hallway. She hadn’t flicked the lights on, so when she turned to Talula, she was all shadow. “I just remembered that there are no sheets on the guest bed.”

“Oh!” Talula sagged against a nearby wall. “That’s okay! I can sleep without sheets.”

“No!” Dahlia shook her curls. “What I’m saying is, you should stay with me.”

Talula wished that the lights were on. She desperately needed to see Dahlia’s face. To glean the teeniest, tiniest clue about her intentions. Because it sounded like Dahlia wanted Talula to sleep in her bed. With her.

So she asked, “You want me to sleep in your bed? With you?”

“Yes,” Dahlia said, and now Talula was grateful for the darkness. Her cheeks, face, and entire body felt engulfed in witchfire. Because sleeping in a bed with Dahlia sounded too good to be true. But then again, friends slept next to each other all the time, right? Talula swallowed, her mouth so very dry. “Okay.”

“Okay? Okay!” Dahlia flicked the lights on, pointed to the guest bathroom, and piped, “Extra toothbrushes and towels under the sink!” Then she darted away without meeting Talula’s eyes.

Still tipsy, Talula brushed her teeth and washed her face. Her pulse thundered in her ears, body restless with want for Dahlia’s scent, her skin, her touch. She splashed cold water on her face to dull the ache. It worked as well as the wine cooling the spice on Talula’s tongue. Finally, she crept to Dahlia’s room, took an anxious breath, and opened the door.