Chapter 13 #2
Talula’s mouth watered. “I didn’t know you guys did biscuits!”
“Anna’s been practicing.” Emilio rubbed his belly. “I’ve been quality-controlling.”
Talula looked over Anna’s shoulder and saw a colorful new sign.
Navarro’s Organics Presents Our Homemade Jam and Biscuits!
Available ONLY at the Samhain Festival
Touched, Talula blinked sudden tears from her eyes. In a sea of anti-Samhain petitioners and boycotters, Anna and Emilio were broadcasting their support. “I can’t thank you guys enough.”
“Don’t thank us.” Emilio shook his head. “Just keep fighting the good fight.”
“But you can introduce us to your handsome friend.” Anna gestured at Simon.
Simon puffed out his chest with a smug hrmph.
After several minutes of Simon melting under Anna and Emilio’s compliments and rubs, Talula packed up her haul and said goodbye.
“One more thing before you go, hon.” Anna leaned in so she could speak quietly. “I heard some customers say they’re boycotting any business that isn’t anti-Samhain.”
Anger flared in Talula. “That hasn’t happened to you guys, has it?”
Anna set her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t matter.”
“We don’t feed bigots. It’s company policy,” Emilio stated, scratching a spot under Simon’s chin so well, the dog’s eyes closed in total contentment.
Talula stopped by her usual vendors and saw just how much the anti-Samhain movement had impacted her usual market dealings.
Jeremy rang up her cheese brusquely, carefully not mentioning the Keep Halloween Family-Friendly sign on his display.
Elena apologetically piled extra herbs, leeks, and greens in Talula’s tote bag without charging her a cent (her anti-Samhain sign was mostly hidden behind an explosion of parsley).
Talula picked up eggs from Wei, who received her with his usual grin.
“You’re not anti-Samhain?” Talula asked.
Wei took a sip of tea from his thermos. “Nope.”
“Aren’t you worried about losing customers?”
Wei smirked. “There’s no eggs like Wei’s eggs.”
After her regulars, Talula hit every stand in the market. She bought ruddy-skinned sweet potatoes, artisanal chorizo, a bottle of olive oil, a jar of pickles, and a year’s supply of dried hot chilies. Simon (begrudgingly) had to be evicted from the bike crate to make room for it all.
Talula was turned away at some places, cautiously welcomed at others, and sometimes completely ignored except for the exchange of cash and goods.
No matter how she was treated, Talula tried to make pleasant conversation, hoping it would humanize her.
But it was a lot to take. After the homemade pasta guy told her to go away, she found a quiet spot to sit and breathe for a minute.
Simon took the opportunity to grumble right by her ear. “I think we should just hex them. Hex them all into earwigs.”
“What is it with you and earwigs today?”
“I just think this overly saccharine behavior is grating.”
“I’m frustrated, too. But they think I’m in a satanic sex cult. Being mean would just add fuel to the fire and prove the jerks right,” Talula argued.
“Whether or not you fornicate with the devil under the full moon in plain view of his infernal court shouldn’t concern these people,” Simon huffed. “You deserve the same respect as that woman with the yapping little dog who kept talking about ‘gluten,’ whatever that is.”
Talula regarded her own yapping little dog. “How much do you remember about being human?”
Simon pondered. “The more time I spend here, the more things come back to me. Like, the universal need for human decency and the allure of handsome shepherds.”
“Do you remember how people were treated when they were different from everyone else?”
Simon was quiet, looking off into the distance. He murmured, “I have the faintest recollection of being…very young. Very young and very different. A lot of pain came from that, I think.”
Talula’s heart ached for the young sorcerer Simon had been. “Some things don’t change.”
“Some things are very difficult to change, young sorceress,” Simon corrected. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t be.”
“You’re pretty smart for a fuzzy über-powerful magical relic,” Talula teased.
“We should keep the earwig hex on the table.”
“Noted.”
Talula had saved Mrs. Bochart for last. As usual, the baker’s stand overflowed with the best baked goods in the state.
But today, there was a devil worship? not in my town!
sign perched on her table. Mrs. Bochart finished up an order with a customer, her expression warm.
When she saw Talula, her eyes turned to ice.
After a morning of dirty looks and meanness, that last jab of hostility made Talula’s blood boil.
She’d been trying to kill Mrs. Bochart with kindness for years. Maybe it was time to try a different approach. Talula wheeled her bike over to the display table. “Good morning, Mrs. Bochart.”
“What do you want?”
Wow, not ignoring me. That’s something.
“A baguette, four croissants, three apple turnovers, and to talk to you about Samhain.” Talula drew herself up as tall as she could.
She spoke loud enough to ensure neighboring vendors could hear her.
“Canceling Samhain would do serious damage to Pine Hollow. But making a Halloween party a moral battleground is going to hurt every small business in town.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Bochart growled, shoving Talula’s order in a bag.
Anger spiked in Talula’s chest. She took the bag and thrust her payment at the baker. “If you could put aside your bias for a second, you’d see that the Samhain festival has only brought good things to this place.”
“It’s only brought freaks and weirdos like you!” Mrs. Bochart pointed her finger at Talula.
“I’m not a weirdo or a freak. My beliefs are just different from yours!” Talula snapped. “Samhain isn’t about having sex with demons or whatever. It’s a fall celebration with a few nods to pagan traditions and a lot of Halloween.”
“I don’t care. I don’t like it!”
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to get over your small-minded bigotry!”
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Bochart shouted.
At the edge of her mind, Talula noticed that the market had gone very quiet.
“You can’t come to my place of business and disrespect me like this,” Mrs. Bochart hissed. “Get out.”
Around her, Talula felt the communal gasp of the market. All eyes were on the bake stand.
“Fine!” Talula’s vision was still tinged with rage.
She grabbed her bike handlebars and walked away.
As she turned, Talula cringed. People were pointing, sneering, and straightening their anti-Samhain signs.
Mrs. Bochart stood stiff as a rolling pin, watching Talula leave with her arms crossed over her chest. But the look on Mrs. Bochart’s face surprised Talula.
She could have sworn she saw confusion in the baker’s expression.
But Talula, too embarrassed to wonder more, turned and kept walking out of the market.
When they were far out of sight, Simon spoke.
“Earwigs…earwigs would have gone better.”
Talula couldn’t agree more.
The walk back to the Blue Moon was a slow, quiet one. Finally, when Talula’s heated cheeks had cooled, she said, “I feel like an idiot. I got mad, and that did not help our cause.”
“You were being truthful,” Simon pointed out. “But the truth is not always palatable.”
“That’s just a nice way of saying I was a moron.” Talula’s shoulders hunched over, her walk becoming a slouch of shame. “I can’t imagine how much damage I did with everyone.”
“You have more allies than you think. The Navarros are certainly your champions. That Emilio…” Simon started to look a little dreamy. “He has such gentle hands.”
“He’s married, Simon.”
Simon ignored her. “Despite the many insufferable humans you encountered, you never resorted to harmful magic.”
“You were the one who told me to turn them all into earwigs.”
“In my defense, I haven’t been around that many idiotic humans in a millennium, and a good earwig hex never goes out of style.” Simon cleared his throat. “As I was saying, you focused on the goal and put your best foot forward. I’m impressed.”
“Simon.” Talula came to an abrupt halt. “You said something nice! About me!”
“I did?” Simon wrinkled his nose. “How distasteful.”
Talula laughed and resumed wheeling her bike toward the café. Her stomach was still a tangle of emotions, but she felt a little spark of hope. Now I make things right with Dahlia.
Once they arrived at the Blue Moon, Talula had to make three trips to get all of her farmers’ market groceries into the Voltlette. Simon watched her, licking his lips. “Are you going to eat those turnovers now or…?”
“We had breakfast an hour ago.”
“But this morning has been terrible! People made cooing noises at me and touched my ears. My ears!” Simon whined. He gave Talula the biggest, shiniest puppy-dog eyes she’d ever seen. “Turnovers from that bilious woman would help soothe my cantankerous soul.”
Talula snorted. She pulled on her apron. “We can’t have your cantankerous soul going unsoothed.”
“Indeed we can’t.”
When the pastry was nothing more than crumbs on Simon’s snout, he spoke. “That’s better. Now, let’s resume training.”
Talula’s heart fell. But in this new era of Simon-Talula collaboration, she decided to take a chance. “Simon, be honest with me. Have you noticed any significant progress in my magic?”
Simon froze, his tongue mid-lick at a crumb he found on the ground. He swallowed. “Your progress is…progressing!”
“Is it?” Talula asked without self-pity. “I know I haven’t gotten any better. This by-the-book stuff doesn’t seem to be working.”
“But we need the book.” Simon’s face pinched with worry.
Finally, it clicked for Talula. Simon might have been a master sorcerer in his day, but he didn’t know much about teaching. And after almost no improvement on Talula’s end, Simon was starting to doubt his methods.