Page 76 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“He’s nice, but we’re not close,” Talula managed, finishing off her sandwich.

“Your mom was your everything, huh?”

“Yeah. She really was. Is.” Thinking about her mom reminded Talula of her promise to Simon. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Sara about Dahlia’s involvement in their Save Samhain plan (or Talula’s feelings for the young woman), but Simon was right. Sara needed to know what was going on. Talula checked her phone. No missed calls. No text messages. She frowned. This wasn’t like her mom. Talula needed to go home and ask Simon to make an astral projection call.

A few minutes later, Talula stood at the Joneses’ entryway, changed out of the borrowed clothes and back into her date/not-a-date outfit. It all seemed so strangely normal. Like she hadn’t just spent the night sleeping with Dahlia. But the lingering scent of pomegranate on her skin was proof enough.

“You’re good to work on Phase One?” Dahlia asked as Talula buttoned up her sweater.

“When did we give our plan phases?”

“After rice-and-curry self-portraits but before we tried gargling the cheap wine to see if it would taste better.”

Talula laughed. “We were helping it breathe more.”

“This was fun, right?” Dahlia leaned against the doorframe, as cool as a ’50s heartthrob. “Minus the dire circumstances, of course.”

It’d been the most fun Talula had had in a long time. Instead, Talula said, “Dire circumstances are the spice of life.”

Dahlia gave her a lopsided smile. “When Samhain’s saved, we should do it again. But maybe with fewer slide decks.”

“Knowing you, more slide decks,” Talula teased.

Dahlia and her crewneck’s jack-o’-lantern gave Talula matching grins. “You know me too well.”

But I want to know so much more. Talula’s eyes traced the divots of Dahlia’s dimples, the shine in her deep, warm eyes. But she didn’t say that, either. “I’d better get back to Simon.”

“Wait.” Dahlia reached for Talula’s elbow, holding her in place. Talula froze as Dahlia pressed her thumb to Talula’s mouth, at the corner of her lip. Talula gave a small gasp, thighs suddenly clenching. Gently, Dahlia drew her thumb over Talula’s softly parted mouth, cresting over her cupid’s bow, then sweeping upward and, suddenly, away.

“Eyelash,” Dahlia murmured, holding up a nearly invisible crescent of hair.

Talula couldn’t respond. She’d been rendered immobile by the most erotic eyelash-catching of her life. She was completely at Dahlia’s mercy, as if Dahlia had cast a lust spell with just the brush of her thumb.

Dahlia offered the lash to Talula. “Make a wish?”

With Kiki’s ring so near, Talula didn’t dare. Just in case. “We don’t need it.”

“You’re damn right,” Dahlia said. She flicked off the lash, then took a step back and saluted Talula. “You’re officially cleared for takeoff.”

Flustered, Talula croaked out a “see you later” and darted through the front door. As she pedaled away, she tossed a look over her shoulder to see Dahlia watching her depart. Talula’s skin hummed, a feeling somewhere between stage fright and sorcery. Giddiness flooded her veins, effervescent and reckless. When Talula was far from Dahlia’s sight, she reached for her air affinity. Even though her bike wheels only lifted a few inches off the ground, Talula soared home under a jewel-bright October sky.

Head still buzzing with lingering hangover and Dahlia’s touch, Talula came home to Simon sitting expectantly in the entryway.

“You look like something dragged right out of a pig god’s anus.” Simon sniffed at her, then curled his lip. “You smell like it, too.”

“Good morning to you, too, Simon,” Talula replied pleasantly.

“You should have told me you were going to be out all night,” he barked. “I almost sent a golem after you!”

“Sorry for worrying you. I didn’t realize I was going to stay over until much later.” Talula walked past him to the kitchen. The breakfast sandwich had been great, but she needed Sara’s potion. “Also, how could I have told you? You don’t have a phone.”

“You could have sent a raven. Or a telepathic missive.”

“I can’t do any of those things.” Talula fumbled around in the fridge, pulled out the bottle of hangover cure, and chugged. It tasted like rosemary, salt, and melted popsicles. As soon as the last drop slid down her throat, a wave of magic flooded through Talula’s body, chasing away the lingering effects of too much wine.

“Of course you can’t do those basic things. You’re a sorceress in remedial magic training!” Simon howled.

No longer hungover, Talula set the empty bottle down on the counter and stared at Simon. That kind of comment was better suited to the Simon of two weeks ago. Not this pro-Dahlia, shepherd-loving, budding foodie Simon. “What’s going on?”