Page 8 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Talula pedaled harder, feeling the wind rush through her hair, the lingering warmth of summer on her skin, the thunder of her heart. She felt lifted by her ride, by the morning, by the autumn air, by the magic of the lip balm. For the second time that day, Talula reached for her power, channeling a different side of her elemental sorcery.

Lift, Talula thought. Lift.

Magic shivered under her skin, expanding invisibly outward. Talula felt air slip under the wheels of her bike, raising her an inch off the ground—

An obnoxious truck roared a few feet away from Talula’s left. She yelped, veered too sharply, and crashed into a shrub.

“Watch out, Dorothy, here comes the witch!” the driver shouted.

Talula could hear the shrieking laughter of the truck’s passengers as they sped away. She untangled herself from the bike and out of the bushes, heart pounding. Before Lightning McAsshole had driven by, Talula was sure she’d felt a connection to her air affinity, almost levitating her bike. But had she just imagined the lifting? Or was it just a post–farmers’ market hallucination?

The market.

Panicked, Talula turned to check her bike basket. Quiet, cold despair flooded her heart. Her market purchases were strewn all over the road. Strawberries were a red smear on the concrete, Romanesco broccoli smashed, eggs shattered, and bread crumbled on the dirty street. They’d been beautiful things, grown and made by people who were as passionate about food as Talula was. People who smiled when they saw her coming, who made Talula feel like herself and enough every Saturday morning at market time. Now those beautiful things were ruined. All because Talula couldn’t go a whole day without being reminded that she didn’t belong to the human world. Or her magical one.

For a moment, Talula couldn’t move. She just stared. When tears blurred her vision, she squared her shoulders and took a sharp breath. She salvaged what she could and moved some of the mess off to the side where, she hoped, birds and rabbits and other hungry creatures could enjoy the scraps. She walked her bike to the Blue Moon. She didn’t reach for her air affinity again.

Let’s be honest, Talula thought darkly. Dorothy has nothing to worry about.

2

The golden bell above the café door rang out as Talula entered, her arms full of her remaining market purchases.

“Hello, my heart!” Sara called from the counter. “Ready for portal practice?”

“Oh.” Talula’s stomach churned, sick with dread and self-consciousness. “Sure. After I put some stuff away.”

Talula headed to the back area of the café, where she kept the ingredients for her recipe experiments—her magical walk-in fridge pocket dimension. It’d been an unexpected side effect from one of her Volta training sessions. She’d gotten distracted thinking about cleaning out the fridge, which resulted in a few loud bangs, some mysterious fog, then voilà: Talula was the bewildered owner of a pocket dimension. She called it the Voltlette. Sara had magically shoved the thing into a pantry in the back of the café. Somehow, time stood still in the Voltlette, so summer peaches stayed perpetually sweet, and the slice of cake from Talula’s last birthday was still perfectly moist. The only problem was the organizational system. Talula had watched tons of International Space Station videos to figure out how to use a space where gravity was a suggestion at best. The key was sandbagged bookcases and a lot of Velcro.

Her salvaged market purchases safely stashed away, Talula turned to find her mother practically bouncing on her toes with excitement.

“Come, my extraordinary, one-and-only progeny. Your glorious Magical Destiny awaits in the basement!”

After the events of the morning and her recent magical mess-ups, the last thing Talula wanted to do was more, bigger magic. But her mother was looking at her with her enormous so-proud-of-my-baby-sorceress eyes.

Out of habit, Talula grabbed her blue pin-striped apron. “Let’s do this.”

The basement of the Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium looked like any other coffee shop basement. It contained plenty of dust, a mop bucket, a shelf of dry goods and cleaning supplies, an old couch, and a rickety safe tucked away in the corner. There was also a ten-foot-tall portal of glowing blue light that sparked and crackled with raw power.

As her mother led a series of focused meditative stretching exercises, Talula stalled. “How was the café this morning?”

“We actually had a human visitor!” Sara reached her arms over her head. “That sweet young woman from yesterday came in here asking for cocoa. I told her we have those little packets you add to water, but she said no thanks and left.”

“Oh.” Talula’s heart stilled in her chest. “Well, sometimes I do a little something extra with the cocoa. Just for fun. That’s okay, right?”

“Of course, my dear,” Sara said. “An occasional local popping by is good. It keeps us a part of the community. But let me know if she starts visiting more regularly. I’ll make sure she starts to feel disinterested in the café.” She wiggled her fingers, which was Sara code for general magical chicanery.

Talula bit her lip nervously—Dahlia had been a consistent regular for weeks now. But Talula didn’t want Sara to enchant Dahlia away from the café. Not when she was the best part of Talula’s day. So she omitted some truth and instead offered a different explanation for Dahlia’s visits. “I think she just likes the occasional cocoa.”

“She was raving about it!” Sara chuckled, finishing a complicated stretch. “That cocoa must be something special.”

Despite everything, Talula felt a little flutter of happiness. “I can make it for you now! It took a while to develop the right blend—”

But Sara shook her head. “That’s so sweet of you, but let’s get some portal practice in while we’re here. It’s going to be so much fun working on your magic!”

“Okay,” Talula replied, trying to hide her disappointment. She knew Sara meant well, but it still felt like a door slammed in her face. Sara wasn’t a foodie. Or interested in food, cuisine, or the culinary arts, unless they were right in front of her face. How could she be? If she wanted to, Sara could subsist off the light of the full moon, the energy of the universe, and whatever other intangible food groups immortal beings consumed.

Finally, the two turned to face the Volta. It was time for magic.