The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

Chapter 1

Ambience aside, the Blue Moon’s ratings were absurdly bad.

Which, of course, it was.

It was a way station. A magical way station.

And, besides, the coffee really was terrible.

The café chose to maintain its (barely) one-star Yelp status to deter human visitors and disguise its true purpose. For the most part, it worked.

That is, until Dahlia Jones moved to town.

“I’m writing a Western!” Dahlia exclaimed, her voice as bright as the golden bell ringing above the café door. A burst of autumn air followed her in. “I’m a genius. Also, cocoa, please!”

“Yeehaw?” Talula offered with a smile, ingredients already in hand. “Who’s your main character?”

Dahlia flung herself into her usual armchair. “Matilda the Mad, badassest cow-woman in the West.”

“Why is she called Matilda the Mad?” Talula asked, whisking cocoa ingredients.

“I thought it sounded cool.”

Talula raised a critical eyebrow at her customer. “Really thought that one out, huh?”

Dahlia gave her a shameless grin. “Not even a little bit!”

“Does she call herself ‘Mad,’ or did someone else give it to her?”

Dahlia pondered. “Both. I think she enjoys the reputation of madness. It helps her break societal rules. Like, ‘Oh, Matilda the Mad is talking to her horse, reading books, and wearing pants again? That’s because she’s insane!’ ”

Lips quirked, Talula nodded her approval. “Better.”

“Yes!” Dahlia scooted up in her seat excitedly. “Plus, her horse is named Phillip because it rhymes with ‘giddyup.’ Kinda.”

“You and names,” Talula groaned teasingly as she steamed a jug of milk.

This routine of cocoa-and-plot-hole-poking started weeks ago, the first time Dahlia Jones—a twenty-seven-year-old aspiring author—walked into the café.

Pine Hollow’s newest resident had taken one look at the place, declared the Blue Moon “a fertile petri dish for creativity,” and ordered a cocoa.

Talula knew she should’ve dumped some crappy Nestlé into a to-go cup to keep up the café’s horrible reputation, but Dahlia’s genuine delight and infectious grin had made Talula feel, frankly, concussed.

So Talula made the cocoa the way she liked it, with organic cocoa powder, vanilla bean paste, and wildflower honey blended into steamed milk and topped with homemade whipped cream.

Dahlia had taken one sip, tipped her head back, and yelled, “FUCK, THAT’S SO GOOD.” Then: “I’m Dahlia.”

There’d been a tiny dot of whipped cream on the tip of Dahlia’s nose.

“I’m Talula,” Talula had said, her heart sputtering like a firework about to lift off.

Then, Dahlia worked on her laptop for hours.

Periodically, she’d say things like, “Time travel logic is such a pain,” or “What do you think about gophers as a symbol for colonialism?” Talula, unable to resist utilizing her minor in English Lit, had answered.

To Talula’s surprise, Dahlia came back the next day with a brand-new story idea and a plea for cocoa. The routine was set.

Now Talula handed a fresh mug of cocoa to her favorite (and only) regular customer.

Dahlia smiled, her dimples like little parentheses. “Thank you. For the cocoa and the brainstorming session.”

Cheeks hot, Talula flapped a hand gracelessly at Dahlia as if to say, “Oh, you!” She darted back behind the counter before her blush got out of hand.

As Talula rinsed out the milk jug, she snuck a peek at her customer.

Today Dahlia wore a simple black top and a colorful shawl in vivid geometric patterns.

She always wore something a little eye-catching and different, like a horde of golden butterfly hairclips holding back her black, spirally tresses, or a pair of brightly embroidered loafers.

But really, for Talula, there was always another reason to look at Dahlia.

Which is why Talula didn’t notice when the vampire walked in.

“Excuse me.”

Talula’s eyes snapped into focus to take in the newcomer.

The sun-blocking outfit gave her away—a long black coat, its hood pulled low over her forehead, flowery parasol, sunglasses, gloves, and sleek black boots so shiny they hurt to look at.

The vampire lifted her chin to reveal the sharp angles of her immortal face and spoke.

“One caramel macchiato, four shots of espresso, two decaf, two caf, and a drizzle of raspberry syrup. No whip.”

Talula’s eyes darted to Dahlia—completely engrossed in her typing—then back to the vampire. After a nervous swallow, Talula gave the counter phrase, “We’re out of raspberry syrup, but someone will bring it soon. Would you like to take a seat while you wait?”

“Alright.” The vampire’s lip curled, revealing long canines. “I’ll wait.”

Talula discreetly tapped out an SOS text to her mom, watching as the vampire settled into the armchair opposite Dahlia.

Nervous sweat prickled at the back of Talula’s neck.

The vampire had said the code phrase. When travelers said the code phrase, they were promised fresh identities and safe passage to their new lives as long as they didn’t cause harm.

Those were the laws of the Blue Moon. Talula’s mother had written them herself.

But how did those laws hold up when a hungry vampire came across a tasty human snack?

It’d be up to Talula—and her mediocre sorceress skills—to enforce them.

If Talula could ensorcell as well as she could make cocoa, she wouldn’t be worried. But Talula’s magical skills were about as advanced as a cup of Swiss Miss.

Maybe, Talula thought desperately, I won’t need to do anything.

Maybe the vampire would follow the rules, Talula’s mom would show up to take care of things, Dahlia would be none the wiser, and everything would be fine.

Then Talula watched the vampire lean toward Dahlia and take a long, audible sniff.

Or maybe not.

Talula’s hands turned into clammy fists (like they always did when she tried any sorcery).

She sent a quick prayer to Mithra, Hecate, and any nearby deity who might be in a good mood.

Because the only magic that could stop a vampire in their tracks was witchfire.

Talula focused her power, picturing searing heat, scorching flames, and wild infernos.

But no glove of magical fire enveloped her fingers. They did feel warmer, though—kind of?

With predatory grace, the vampire moved out of her seat and took quiet, sure steps toward Dahlia.

Kind of warmer would have to do.

Talula straightened her spine and strode out from behind the counter, focusing on the slight increase of warmth in her palms. But then the vampire spoke.

“Excuse me, what are you drinking?” the vampire asked Dahlia politely. She sat down on the couch next to Dahlia’s armchair, her features softening with a smile. “It smells so good!”

“It’s the best cocoa in town.” Dahlia held the mug out to the vampire as if to show her.

“Oh,” the vampire said, slumping a little. “That’s too bad. I’m vegan.”

“You’re vegan?” Talula blurted out.

Vampire and human turned their heads to see Talula standing with fists clenched and shoulders tensed. Dahlia raised a curious eyebrow. Immediately, Talula relaxed her grip, her warm hands cooling (but still clammy).

“It’s true. Supplements and plant-based substitutes are my lifeblood…so to speak.” The vampire smirked at Talula.

Talula wilted, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. We just don’t get too many, uh, vegans.”

“I understand.” The vampire scooted to the edge of her seat to lean closer to Talula. “But you must tell me what’s in this recipe.”

“I can do better than that.” Talula brightened, tightening her blue pin-striped apron. “One vegan cocoa, coming up.”

As she grabbed the oat milk from the fridge, Talula asked, “By the way, what’s your name?”

“You can call me Mina.” The vampire giggled. Talula—who’d paid attention in her college Gothic Lit class—rolled her eyes.

“What brings you to Pine Hollow?” Dahlia asked.

“I’m passing through, looking to move out of the city.”

“Oh, hey! I actually just moved here from the city.”

The two eased into comfortable conversation.

(“The commute was murder, but the night scene was fun!”

“I know exactly what you mean.”)

Talula began prepping vegan cocoa ingredients when she had an idea.

She nipped through the Employees Only door and walked past the shelves of standard café supplies to her secret pantry.

Talula darted a look over her shoulder, satisfied that her guests couldn’t see her.

Taking a breath, she grabbed the handle and pulled.

A few minutes later, Talula set down a tray holding three red mugs, three teal mugs, and three glasses of water.

“Did you make us a cocoa flight?” Dahlia guessed gleefully.

“You didn’t have to do all of this.” Mina shook her head, but her dark eyes were wide with delight.

“It was no big deal.” Talula sat down on the edge of the large coffee table.

“The red mugs are the oat milk versions of my normal cocoa recipe.” She pointed at the teal mugs on the right.

“These are autumn cocoas with coconut milk and homemade cardamom-and-ginger-infused maple syrup. The topping is coconut cream and cinnamon.”

“You happened to have homemade cardamom-and-ginger-infused maple syrup in the fridge?” Dahlia asked, incredulous.

“Yup, just hanging out in the fridge.” Talula shrugged, crossing her fingers under her apron.

It wasn’t really a lie. She’d made the syrup herself. But instead of a fridge, Talula stored her ingredients in a pocket dimension where time stood still and gravity was a little unreliable. However, it was very fridge-like in that it was temperature-controlled and stuffed with food.

Mina took an experimental sniff. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop talking about the cocoa and start drinking it.”

“We’ll start with the vegan originals,” Dahlia declared, reaching for a red mug. Talula grabbed a mug for herself and took a sip. Velvety dark chocolate, a hint of salt, and subtle notes of vanilla—yes, this was her cocoa, but vegan-ified.

“It tastes almost the same,” Dahlia said, impressed.