Chapter 4
After sending the last of the jackalopes through the Volta and cleaning up the jackalope pee, Talula tiredly stepped through the front door of her magical house. In an instant, she knew something was up. She could smell something baking. Warily, she headed for the kitchen.
Sure enough, the oven was on, the emergency tub of cookie dough open on the counter. A cauldron gurgled on the stove, emitting pink smoke as Sara dropped ingredients into its depths. Talula coughed.
Sara turned, startled. “Zahhak’s left testicle! You’re home already?”
“What’s going on?” Talula asked as Sara gave her a hello kiss on the cheek.
“I’ve had news from the Council—” A timer’s cheerful ding interrupted her.
“Is that for the cookies or the pink stuff?”
Distracted, Sara rushed over to the cauldron. “Pink stuff!”
She pulled a dagger from the folds of her clothes, cried out a word, and drove the point of the dagger into her palm. Blood dripped into the cauldron. The pink smoke darkened, swirling with shapes and omens. Sara watched, her eyes filled with the silver of prophetic sight.
Talula took an experimental whiff. “The cookies smell done, though, so…”
She scooched by her ensorcelling mother to pull the cookies out of the oven. Talula examined the treats—store-bought cookie dough was fine, but a little zhuzhing couldn’t hurt. By the time Talula had pulled out pistachios and dark chocolate chips from the pantry, Sara’s eyes had cleared.
“Why did the Council summon you?” Talula popped a pistachio in her mouth, then chopped up the rest. “Did they say we couldn’t have the bounce house again this year for Samhain? That one wizard gets so uppity about liability.”
“They actually approved three bounce houses this year. But no, this meeting was about something else.” Sara sat down at the kitchen table wearily. “A group of hunters is targeting magical creatures.”
“What?” Talula had grown up hearing terrible tales of people rounding up and slaying magical beings en masse, but it hadn’t happened in her lifetime.
Sure, small angry mobs showed up every few years to target one specific magical individual, but the Council squashed that sort of thing before torches and pitchforks got involved.
Of course, the Council proudly attributed the infrequency of these events to the Blue Moon’s operations and its commitment to secrecy.
Talula pressed on. “Do these people want to kill all magical beings because they think magic is evil?”
“These hunters are less ideologically motivated.” Sara scowled. “They’re rich, overgrown children looking for something rare to kill and hang on their mantel.”
“That’s awful.”
“It is.” Sara sighed. “But people like that have existed as long as there was ‘mine’ and ‘yours.’ ”
Talula searched her mother’s face. “Then why do you still look worried?”
“Because…” Sara took off her silvery veil and ran an anxious hand through her hair. “Instead of hunting the creatures down by themselves, these entitled fools are paying a company to seek out their prey.”
Anger flared in Talula’s chest. “Like, how rich jerks pay to shoot and kill drugged lions and then take pictures with them?”
“Exactly like that. A professional trophy-hunting company.”
“Has anyone been hurt?” Talula asked, arms hugging across her chest.
“A goldhorn buck was separated from its herd and never seen again.” Sara gripped the countertop, knuckles white. “And one of the Council’s wildlife sanctuaries is missing a griffin. Our investigators found animal tranquilizer darts at both locations.”
Talula’s breath caught, horror and shock snatching her air.
Goldhorns, the elusive magical antelopes, were famous for being impossible to spot, let alone catch.
And a missing griffin? That particular being was the bite-first-ask-questions-never type.
On a good day. “How is the hunting company doing this?”
“I don’t know. But these hunters will be stopped.”
“What about Samhain?” Talula asked. “Will the festival be safe for everyone?”
“Absolutely. Our protective wards around Pine Hollow are strong, and the festival’s cover is just too good,” Sara said confidently. “After all, would you believe that hundreds of magical beings would gather together for a small-town carnival?”
“Yes, but only because it’s a really good carnival,” Talula pointed out.
“It is, isn’t it?” Sara’s serene smile scrunched up her obsidian eyes. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep Samhain safe for everyone.”
“I know you will.” Talula delicately pressed slivers of pistachio and dark chocolate chips into the cooling cookies.
“Which is why I’m leaving.”
Talula jerked to attention, pistachios in hand. “What?”
“My dear, until we learn more about these hunters, all our people are at risk.” Sara walked over to place her hands on Talula’s shoulders. “I can travel more easily than other Council members. I can follow leads faster and find out more information so we can put this whole nightmare to rest.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“According to my most recent vision quest”—Sara gestured at the cauldron—“a few weeks. But I’ll be back in time to help out at the festival.”
Talula knew her mother was an all-powerful and (so far) immortal being who’d mastered the secrets of magic and could bend the elements to her will. But it was hard to keep that in mind when magical trophy hunters were out on the loose. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Sweetheart,” Sara replied patiently. “Who milked the mad hydra for its venom long before Heracles picked up his sword?”
Talula rolled her eyes. “You.”
“Who outsmarted the queen kitsune in a game of chess, winning one of her prized tails?”
“You.”
“Who taught you to use a toilet?”
“Mom!” Talula laughed, throwing a pistachio at her mother.
Sara ducked, chuckling. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
With an exasperated sigh, Talula bit into a still-soft cookie. She savored the creamy and salty flavors of pistachio amplifying the sweetness of the chocolate. She offered her mother a cookie with a phrase from one of Sara’s first languages. “Noosh-eh joon.” May this nourish your body and soul.
“Khasteh nahbahshee,” Sara gave the traditional response—Thank you and may you not be tired from your hard work. “Thanks, my heart.”
“By the way, what’s with the cookies?” Talula pulled a carton of milk from the fridge and poured some into a glass. “I can’t remember the last time you baked—”
Suddenly, Talula did remember. Sara had baked muffins (from a box mix) when she’d brought a refuge-seeking teenage werewolf to the house.
He’d been moondrunk and guzzled a fishbowl’s worth of water (and Talula’s pet goldfish along with it).
Sara had baked again when a litter of rescued sphinx kittens had gotten into Talula’s closet, yowling riddles and clawing through her clothes.
Sara had made Funfetti cupcakes. They’d been dry.
Talula set down the milk, dread growing in her gut. “Is someone coming to stay?”
“Yes,” Sara said, swiping another cookie.
Talula groaned.
“This won’t be like the basilisk eggs,” Sara chided. Talula shuddered—she’d forgotten about the basilisk eggs. Sara had made a whole Betty Crocker box cake, with frosting, sprinkles, and everything. She continued. “Our guest will be here for you.”
Talula choked. “What?”
“The Council is sending someone to help you manage the Volta while I’m gone,” Sara explained. “Once word gets out about these trophy hunters, we’re expecting an influx of magical beings who’ll need the Volta.”
Talula stared down at her chocolate-smudged hands. If she’d figured out how to work the Volta by now, if she was actually a worthwhile sorceress, she wouldn’t need a babysitter. She wouldn’t be a burden to the Council or her mother.
“They’ll teach you, too! That way you can practice your magic while I’m away.” Sara added excitedly, “Won’t that be fun?”
So some new sorcerer will see how terrible I am at magic? Great. Talula chewed her lip. “When do they get here? Do you know who it is?”
“The Council is still figuring that out, but they’ll be here in the next few days. They should be pretty low-maintenance, and the house can help out in a pinch.” Sara fondly petted a nearby wall. “Won’t you, dear?”
The house hummed in response. Talula couldn’t help but smile. The house loved guests (except for the basilisks—nobody had liked the basilisks).
“Then it’s settled.” Sara conjured a twist of air to sweep away cookie crumbs from her clothes. “I’ll take down those horrible hunters, and by the time I come back, you’ll have mastered the Volta and made a new friend!”
“Sounds good.” Talula tried to sound enthusiastic.
“Good night, my heart!” Sara kissed both of Talula’s cheeks, then swept out of the kitchen. Talula cleaned up, trying not to think about the trophy hunters. Or her new magical teacher. Instead, her thoughts landed on the freckles she’d noticed on Dahlia’s cheeks, the heat of her body against hers—
Dahlia.
Talula stopped mid-scrub. How was she going to hide Dahlia’s consistent presence from the Council member?
“Hi, I want more cookies,” Talula’s mom said, suddenly right behind her.
“Ah! Shit!” Talula jumped, heart leaping in her chest. “Sorry! Go ahead, there’s plenty left.”
“Excellent.” Sara piled half of the remaining cookies on a plate as Talula refilled her mother’s milk glass.
“Thank you, my love!” Sara mumbled, a cookie already in her mouth, before gliding away.
A few minutes later, after the dishes were washed and the Talula Zone counter space had been wiped down, Talula heard a happy shout, amplified by the magical house.
“These cookies are so good!”
Talula went to bed, deciding to take the little victories she could and worry about the rest later.