Chapter 13
Talula woke to bedroom walls the same dull, dingy gray as the world outside. It was almost time for another morning training session. When she opened her bedroom door, she found Simon sitting on the hallway rug. “What are you doing here?”
“I, erm, never left.” Simon’s ears flicked back self-consciously. “I’ve decided you should go to the farmers’ market today. We should go to the farmers’ market.”
Talula’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why?”
“Because last night, after our run-in with that reptilian flatulence incarnate, I realized something…” Simon trailed off. “I…mrmrmmmm…”
Talula lowered herself down to sit on the hallway rug. “What was that?”
“I. Was. Wrong.” Simon hung his head.
A delicate hope rose in Talula’s chest. “Explain, please.”
“When Michail nearly fell into a volcano, I let my fear and anger take over. I misjudged you. I thought you weren’t willing to do the hard work to master your magic and protect our community.
I thought the mistakes you made stemmed from an attachment to the human world.
I thought you weren’t willing to sacrifice for your magical heritage.
” Simon looked up at Talula. “I see now how much you’re willing to sacrifice.
Despite my extremely vast knowledge, I’d forgotten one of the most important lessons of becoming a sorceress. A great sorceress.”
“Is it not being a jerk?” Talula asked wryly.
“Close.” Simon huffed out a laugh. “A great sorceress needs to live. She can’t be sequestered in a tower casting spells to benefit people she doesn’t know. She needs to be a part of the world around her so she can better protect it. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember that.”
“Does that mean you’re okay with me doing normal life things?” Talula asked, suddenly feeling better than she had in weeks.
“We should find a balance. Together. Your training still needs to come first, but I can be more understanding.” Simon chuckled to himself.
“When I was still a young magician, I got distracted by a particularly handsome shepherd while working on my earth affinity and…erm…fell prey to youthful folly.”
Talula grinned. “Be specific.”
“I raised a few boulders into the air, did a bit of fancy juggling, threw them as far as I could…” Simon made a pained, embarrassed noise. “They landed almost two hundred miles away.”
“You showed off for a cute boy?” Talula asked, delighted. A bit of Celtic mythology interrupted her thoughts. “Wait, are you talking about Stonehenge? You showed off for a cute boy and made Stonehenge?”
“I’m not that old, Talula! Though if anyone asks, those middle bits are supposed to look knocked over.” Simon pawed at his ear abashedly. “No magic-wielder’s training is without its hiccups. Learning your craft shouldn’t cost you your connection with the world. Or the people dear to you.”
Talula leaned back against the wall, considering Simon’s offer and what it meant for her. For her and Dahlia. When she spoke, her words didn’t leave any room for argument. “I’m going to make up with Dahlia.”
“Fine,” Simon said sternly. “Just prioritize your training and keep your social endeavors to a minimum until we’ve made more progress.”
His face was serious, but Talula spotted Simon’s tail doing a subtle happy wag.
“You want me to make up with Dahlia.” Talula pointed at Simon with glee. “You like her!”
“That’s neither here nor there!” Simon’s ears went flat against his head. “If I’ve developed a fondness for the creature, it was against my will.”
“Yup, that’s the Dahlia effect.” Talula beamed.
Simon slumped over to her, looking up at her with big sorrowful eyes. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”
In answer, Talula wrapped her arms around Simon’s small, fluffy body. “Of course.”
“Hrmph,” Simon said, but he cuddled a little closer for the briefest moment before wriggling out of the hug. “Now, then. To the market!”
Talula’s face fell. “The last time I went to the market, people had anti-Samhain signs up. I literally ran away.”
“Are you not Talula Esmerelda Xanadu Sahar Beatrice Morgan Smith?” Simon asked vehemently. “Wrangler of jackalopes? Befriender of jinn? Heir of the Volta?”
“Yes?” Talula answered, bewildered and a little touched. Around them, the house walls shed their morning gray and shimmered into a jubilant array of primary colors.
“Then what on earth do you have to be afraid of?”
As the two got ready for the market, Talula picked up the phone to call Dahlia, then set it down again, then picked it back up about ten times.
She’d said horrible things to her. Dahlia deserved a thoughtful apology and appropriate penance…
maybe even a grand gesture? Talula mulled it over, mentally drafting an apology speech as she whipped up pumpkin, pecan, and cinnamon pancakes with a side of bacon.
“Now this is more like it!” Simon cheered before tearing into his stack of pancakes. “No more sad mush!”
Determined, hopeful, and fortified with breakfast, Talula pedaled toward the market with Simon tucked into the crate at the back of her bike. The street was strewn with red, orange, and gold leaves that crunched under her tires, leaving a wake of woodsy-scented autumnal confetti behind her.
Talula would face the market. She would work on her magic. She would make up with Dahlia. She didn’t know how, but she was going to. Today. She had her lip balm on and her game face with it. Nothing was going to stop her.
“Go slower go slower go slower!” Simon barked into her ear.
Talula laughed and continued speeding along to the farmers’ market entrance.
The plan was this: They were just going to get groceries like Talula normally did.
She would remind vendors that Samhain was run by Talula, who said “please” and “thank you” and asked about their children’s ballet recitals and the progress of the rutabaga crop.
If Talula could smile through her fear of townwide rejection, she could take the first step in changing their minds about Samhain in a meaningful way.
Maybe they could avoid Sara having to magically alter anyone’s brain.
“Right.” Simon spoke in hushed tones as Talula swung off her bike. “Back straight, chin up. Let your aura emanate confidence. Smile, but not like an insipid mongoose—”
“Simon,” Talula whispered patiently, “I got this.”
“Very well,” Simon said, still in the crate at the back of the bike. “I’ll follow your lead.”
“Thank you. Do you want help getting out?”
“No.” Simon sat his rump down emphatically in the crate.
Alright then.
Talula strode forward, wheeling the bike (and Simon) into the market.
Their first hurdle was at the entrance. Two young women about Talula’s age held clipboards, giving “Come talk to me” eyes to every passerby.
“Do you have a moment to talk about Samhain?”
“Say no to Samhain! Keep our community free from devil worship!”
Simon muttered darkly, “When you’ve magically advanced enough, I’ll teach you how to turn them into earwigs.”
Talula walked over, keeping a friendly, nonthreatening expression on her face as she came within the petitioners’ orbits. The women glanced at her for a moment.
Then they spotted Simon.
“What a cutie!” cried the one on the left, her perky ponytail bouncing.
“Can we pet him?” asked the one on the right, her blue-eyed gaze locked on Simon’s dour expression.
“Um.” Talula glanced at Simon. He gave a great, self-sacrificing hrmph and a tiny nod. She smiled apologetically. “Sure!”
“What a sweet little guy,” said Ponytail, reaching for his ears.
“I love corgis.” Blue Eyes gave Simon a good scritch under the scruff of his neck. To Talula’s surprise, Simon’s stern gaze began to soften.
“Hrmmmph…”
He likes it! I knew he would!
Talula took a closer look at Ponytail. “Josie, right? I think we worked the canned-food drive junior year.”
Ponytail, now Josie, brightened mid-scratch. “Oh yeah! You handled the inventory.”
Tension eased out of Talula’s body. “You were so good at sorting. Remember when you figured out the Bryant brothers had donated expired cans as a prank?”
“And you called their mom!” Josie shook her head, laughing. “What was it you said? ‘Did the numbers confuse them?’ It was perfect. I’m so sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Talula.”
Josie’s face fell. She asked, almost pleadingly, “Not…that Talula?”
“I’m afraid so.” Talula’s heart twinged, but she kept smiling.
“I, we…uh…” Josie looked at the clipboard in her hand, then back at Talula, like she was desperately trying to remember her lines.
“She’s the Satan-worshipper?” Blue Eyes gasped. “What are you doing here? Grooming children? Selling drugs?”
“Emma!” Josie frowned. “Come on. She let you pet her dog.”
“I’m just here to buy groceries,” Talula replied calmly.
“We won’t stand for your disgusting lifestyle!” Emma jabbed a finger at Talula.
Talula made herself stand up straight. “Does that mean I can’t support local farmers?”
“Of course you can,” Josie said with a cutting shut-up look at Emma. “Go ahead.”
With a nod, Talula walked her bike past the two women. After they were out of earshot, she whispered to Simon, “Sorry about the petting.”
“We shall not speak of it.”
Talula glanced around, noticing nearby vendors and patrons had watched the exchange, their reactions mixed. Some seemed thoughtful, others disapproving. But two looked downright delighted to see her.
Anna darted out from behind the Navarro’s Organics table to throw her arms around Talula. “You’re back!”
“Sorry I ran away before,” Talula mumbled, moved by Anna’s enthusiastic greeting. “It was just…a lot.”
“I know.” Anna gave Talula a big squeeze before releasing her. “It’s good you came back.”
“Very heroic,” Emilio added.
“We have something for you.” Anna’s eyes twinkled, and she presented Talula with a cardboard box.
Talula peeked and gasped. A half dozen jam jars gleamed at her. “This is too much!”
“You have one week to pick your three favorites,” Emilio said.
“Why can’t they all be my favorites?” Talula playfully pouted.
“Because we’ll be serving your favorites at Samhain.” Anna smiled. “With homemade biscuits.”