Chapter 12
Talula woke after a fitful sleep, her thoughts and dreams strained by Mhairi’s fate and Simon’s ultimatum.
Monday’s lackluster training session weighed on them both, adding further heft to the prior night’s conversation.
When Talula opened the café, dread grew in the pit of her gut.
She watched the door, waiting for Dahlia’s imminent entrance.
Simon stared at her contemptuously. “I hope you’re not getting distracted, pupil.”
Talula glared at him. But before she could reply, Dahlia charged into the café with an armful of brand-new binders and papers. “Hi! I’m back and I have an announcement!”
“What?” Talula asked warily.
“I’m going to help you defeat those anti-Samhain assholes.” Dahlia’s grin had the bloodthirsty ferocity of a war-hungry dictator. “I know it’s been hard with the community acting like a bunch of assholes, but I have some ideas, plus research that shows how important Samhain is to Pine Hollow.”
Dahlia splayed out her binders and printouts on the café counter. “If we do this right, we have a real shot at changing everyone’s minds, especially with my marketing experience and our secret weapon.”
Baffled, Talula asked, “What secret weapon?”
“You!” Dahlia said, hands on her hips. “Right now, when people see Samhain, they see a devil with a pitchfork. They need to see you, a fellow Pine Hollower who also happens to be a…Wiccan? I think? I actually don’t know how you identify yourself.
But you embody both communities, and that means something. ”
But I’m not both, not really. I’m just…not enough. Talula ran her hands down her apron front. “I don’t think anybody wants to see me.”
“Of course they do! You’re the heart of what the festival is all about. Giving people joy, a sense of belonging, and cherishing this amazing time of year.” Dahlia shrugged, as if it were obvious. “It’s what you do, what I’ve seen you do for Kiki, Mina, and definitely me.”
Warmth flooded Talula. She moved toward Dahlia—to hug her, kiss her, cry on her with gratitude? She wasn’t sure. Then, Simon’s words came back to her.
If I get a whiff of human distraction, I will have to let the Council know you’re unfit to serve the Volta.
She distracts you from your purpose. From your magical responsibilities.
Guilt and duty and shame stopped her in her tracks. Talula took a step back, her smile slipping.
Do you want to be a sorceress?
Talula knew what she owed the magical community, the Magical Destiny she was falling so horribly short of. Which meant putting distance between herself and Dahlia. A sick, heavy weight settled into her chest. She made her choice.
“I really appreciate this,” Talula forced herself to say. “But I have it under control.”
Dahlia frowned. “But I have so many ideas. Can we just—”
“Stop.” Talula knew there was no going back from this. She could keep failing at being both human and magical, or she could do what Simon, Sara, and her Magical Destiny demanded of her. Her mother was out there, risking everything for their community, while Talula was here, unable to help anyone.
She spoke the words she knew she could never take back, hating herself in every syllable. “This is too much. There’s not a ‘we’ in this. Just me. I don’t…I don’t want to be another story you start, then leave behind.”
Dahlia’s mouth fell open.
Talula felt the words she should say surging up from her heart. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. But she swallowed them down and watched the hurt bloom over Dahlia’s face like a wound opening and opening and opening.
Finally, unable to bear it anymore, Talula looked away. “You should go.”
Dahlia’s voice broke. “Yeah. I think I should.”
The bell above the door cried out as Dahlia left. Talula didn’t move, could only feel her heart cracking and shattering like glass. Simon walked cautiously over to her.
“That was…effective, I suppose,” he observed.
“You told me to make her feel less welcome. You know she wouldn’t have given up.” Talula clenched her jaw, trapping a sob behind her teeth. When she’d gotten herself under control, she said, “I have a duty. That comes with sacrifices.”
The next week, dark clouds weighed down the sky from morning through night without a hint of rain.
Training continued, Talula swallowing down the bile of shame as Simon recited lessons from the decrepit grimoire.
Day by day, her mastery of the elements, conjuring, and illusions didn’t see improvement.
Talula hated reporting her lack of magical growth to her mother, and she hated how worn down and tense Sara seemed every time they spoke.
There’d been no new leads in the hunt for the hunters, no news on the missing magical beings, including Mhairi.
Fear for her mother and her community whispered constantly in the back of Talula’s mind, growing louder and louder every day, and there was nothing she could do but wait and worry.
Thankfully, there’d been no additional close calls with the Volta.
Talula helped an elderly engkanto, a ciguapa couple, and a bannick family go through the Volta without incident, but her connection to the Volta felt strained.
She had to work harder to sync up with the portal’s power.
The pleasant hum that usually reverberated in her bones dimmed to a faint buzz.
Talula wondered if the Volta was mirroring back her own mood.
Simon took it all in with his forehead wrinkled, thin black lips tight with concern. He couldn’t blame a lack of structure for Talula’s continued magical shortcomings. And he certainly couldn’t blame Dahlia, either. Talula hadn’t seen or heard from her since their fight.
Instead of biking to the market the Saturday morning after she’d pushed Dahlia away, Talula lay in bed, staring at the bleak, bruised blue of her walls.
She told herself she was following Simon’s orders and minimizing her human distractions.
But she knew she was punishing herself for what she’d done to Dahlia (and she couldn’t stomach facing more anti-Samhain petitioners at the market).
As a result of all this turmoil, Talula’s culinary pursuits were uninspiring.
“This mush, again?” Simon stared dolefully into his bowl of limp steamed vegetables, microwaved brown rice, and dry, barely seasoned chicken breast. “What about…you know. That other stuff you put on these things? The green leafy bits? The drizzly stuff? The cheese?”
“This is fine.” Talula stabbed a soggy broccoli stalk with her fork.
When Talula couldn’t sleep (which was often), she’d watch mindless TV with Simon (who was spellbound by every show) until her eyes went fuzzy. Then she’d lie awake and scroll through her and Dahlia’s past messages. She drafted a hundred texts she’d never send.
I liked the jack-o’-lantern beret you wore last week.
If you had a magic portal that could take you anywhere in the world, where would you go?
Do you ever feel like even though you’re doing everything you *should* be doing, you’ve got everything all wrong and you’re making yourself miserable?
I miss you.
I’m sorry.
Almost two weeks before Samhain and almost two weeks since she’d last seen Dahlia, Talula locked up the Blue Moon, ruminating on the day’s magical training session and its manifold mistakes.
She was exhausted, her self-esteem ground away to dust after weeks of magical failure.
All she wanted was to skip dinner, collapse into bed, and try not to cry.
Simon meandered away from their usual route home. “We should commune with the elemental spirits of the world.”
“What?”
“Immerse yourself in nature. It’ll help enhance your elemental connection.” Simon angled his head to the forest trails that ran near the café.
Talula stared incredulously at her mentor. “You want to go on a walk?”
“Yes.”
“Is this in your book?”
“That depends on your interpretation.” Simon flicked his ears back self-consciously. “But it may do you some good.”
Talula, unsure it would do anything at all, sighed. “Fine.”
They meandered along a tree-laden path, the dregs of sunset gilding the crowns of nearby sycamores. The air was tinged with wild sage and a hint of smoke from a nearby fireplace. They walked silently.
For the most part.
“Ah, can’t you feel the moss goblins rejoicing in their sylvan labors?”
“I detect a soothing, hydromagical presence. Perhaps a babbling brook? We should investigate.”
“Don’t you think that tree has a particularly tranquil aura?”
After each comment, Simon looked up expectantly, almost hopefully, at Talula.
Finally, she asked, “Is this a test?”
“No!” Simon replied earnestly. “It’s a respite. Or, rather, it’s supposed to be. I think you need one.”
Anger boiled quick and hot under Talula’s breastbone.
Ever since he’d arrived, Simon had only cared about her Magical Destiny and her usefulness to the Blue Moon’s mission, no matter the cost. Talula’s human needs and mental well-being had been secondary, at best. Until now? Why did he care all of a sudden?
Talula hissed. “What about no distractions—”
Then she literally ran into the last person she wanted to see.
Kristen.
Talula stumbled back, trying not to trip on Simon.
Glancing at Kristen, she grimaced—she was living her worst-case scenario ex-girlfriend run-in.
Talula couldn’t remember her last shower, and her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep.
After weeks of feeling beaten down, her insecurities were rubbed raw, her confidence ground down to a sliver.
Kristen, however, looked like a chic autumn mood board in boots and an expensive-looking puffy coat.
A pair of earbuds peeked out from her blond hair, likely playing a true crime podcast (if Talula remembered Kristen’s listening preferences correctly).
“Watch where you’re going!” Kristen snapped. “What, too busy looking for eye of newt?”
Simon growled a challenge, but Talula just wanted to get out of there. She turned toward home. “Come on, Simon.”
“The petition has almost a hundred signatures last time I checked,” Kristen called. “In case you were wondering.”
Realization hit Talula like a brick. She whirled. “You started the petition?”
Kristen smirked in answer, as if to ask who else?
“You hate me that much?” Something splintered in Talula. She stormed up to Kristen, her voice scalded with anger. “Why? And why now? Samhain’s been going on for years! What changed?”
“God, calm down.” Kristen’s eyes lit up at Talula’s reaction, her laugh sharp.
“It was fine when you were just the sad little café with an off-brand Halloween fair. But then I saw that you actually had people coming in the café. Regulars, even! If this keeps up, who knows what other freaks you’ll bring to town? ”
“You want to cancel Samhain because you saw people coming to the Blue Moon?” Talula echoed, trying to follow Kristen’s villainous math.
With a jolt, she realized Kristen had said regulars with extra venom.
As if she’d seen the same person through the café window on one of her many podcast walks.
“Because Dahlia started coming to the Blue Moon?”
Kristen’s face gave nothing away—almost. But once upon a time, Talula could read Kristen’s most subtle, secret expressions.
Talula gaped. Was this petition a twisted kind of jealousy? Or Kristen’s deeply internalized homophobia manifesting in townwide ridicule? Whatever the case, Talula felt a rush of pity. “Kris—”
“Don’t,” Kristen snarled. “I want you and everyone like you out of this town for good.”
With that, she stormed off.
Talula stood there, shell-shocked. Slowly, the facts crept in.
The only reason Samhain was in danger was because of Talula.
Because her vindictive ex had seen Talula happy with Dahlia, and now her magical community might not have Samhain.
Again, her human life was at odds with her magical one.
Again, she’d so completely failed her Magical Destiny because she wanted to belong to both human and magical worlds.
“It’s like,” she mumbled, blinking back sudden tears, “I can’t even be a person without making a mistake.”
“Talula?” Simon’s voice was quiet. “Are you—”
She shook her head. “Let’s go.”
That night, Talula lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and cycling through worries—for her mother, for her magical community, for herself—and self-loathing. She heard paws tapping outside her closed door. “Let me in.”
Talula didn’t move.
“I could magick this door into the fourteenth dimension if I wanted to,” Simon threatened.
Talula waited.
The sorcerer sighed. “I really don’t want to. The fourteenth dimension is just pickle spirits. Can’t stand the smell. Can we talk?”
Talula closed her eyes.
“Or, maybe we could go downstairs and you could whip up one of those things you like. The melty sandwiches, maybe? Or a pork chop? That might be nice.”
Talula turned over and curled up on her side.
“I know this hasn’t been easy. But I promise, it’ll get better.”
Talula pushed her face into her pillow, cheeks streaked with tears. She almost didn’t hear Simon’s last whisper.
“It has to get better.”