Page 77 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Simon sat down hard, his ears still flat against his small head. “Your mother called.”

“What? How?” Talula’s heart raced. Why had Sara called Simon and not her?

“Astral projection. She abandoned her phone in case the hunters were tracking her through it.” Simon paced, his nails clicking against the wood floor. “Your mother is getting close to pinpointing the trophy hunters’ headquarters.”

“Then why do you look so upset?” Talula asked gently.

Simon stopped his pacing. “Sara found the missing griffin.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?”

“When Sara found him, his wings had been cut off.” Simon’s voice was quiet. “He was still alive.”

Talula’s stomach lurched. Bile filled her throat. She ran to the bathroom and almost didn’t make it. When she was done, Talula sat back on her heels, loosening her grip from the toilet seat. Tears pricked at her eyes. A warm weight pressed into her side—Simon was leaning his fuzzy body against her consolingly.

“Is the griffin…” Talula couldn’t finish the question. She was too scared of the answer.

“Dr. Hughes, the Council’s magical veterinarian, says he’ll recover. He’s a good candidate for one of her new enchanted prosthetics. But it’ll be a long road,” Simon murmured. “If it helps, it means the hunters have only just started their hunts. Maybe we can stop them before anyone else gets hurt. Or worse.”

Talula’s voice was hoarse. “That’s beyond cruelty.”

“I know,” Simon said hollowly. “It’s humanity.”

His words echoed off the bathroom walls, harsh and cold.

Talula thought of Emilio and Anna and her friends at the market. She thought of Dahlia.

“Not all of us,” Talula said resolutely.

“Us?”

“Yes. Us,” Talula said. “Humanity is what’s going to save the Blue Moon.” Humanity, a wannabe sorceress, and a canine wizard. “We have an idea.”

When she’d finished explaining her and Dahlia’s plan, Simon blinked at her, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’ll work,” Talula said determinedly. “Everyone in town will stop talking about us as Satan worshippers and start seeing Samhain as a magical fall celebration. Which it is.”

“You’d practically be advertising our secret like it’s some kind of carnival show!”

“We operate out of an occult shop.” Talula rolled her eyes. “We literally sell magic wands.”

“That’s a subtle homage to our greater objective. Your plan is a ten-meter sign that shouts ‘covert magical operations happening here!’ ”

“You said you trusted Dahlia to help us,” Talula reminded him.

“Perhaps I misjudged her.”

“Simon—”

“I’ve been lenient. I’ve been open-minded. I’ve even been flexible.” Simon’s hackles rose. “But this inane plan is the epitome of recklessness.”

“Can’t you think about it?” Talula demanded.

“There’s nothing to think about.” He turned. “Let’s go.”

When they finally made it to the café, Simon jumped into conjuring lessons. For the next hour, Talula tried and failed to conjure an apple into her hand. Worry for Samhain, the danger her mother was in, and the trophy hunters strained her focus. Talula’s mind wandered to the mysterious cookbook. She wished she could crack it open, see if it had any conjuring advice. But it would have to wait until she could be alone.

When it was time to open up the café, Talula decided to change the morning’s sour air. She queued up her favorite cheesy Halloween playlist and broke out the decorations. Simon grimaced but didn’t comment as she set out stretchy cobwebs, fake spiders, and plastic jack-o’-lanterns. She was hanging the Drink Up, Witches sign when the café bell chimed behind her.