Chapter 15
Monday morning, after her magical breakthrough, Talula opened the Blue Moon with a newfound lightness in her step.
She’d lit every candle in the café with barely a thought.
She’d sent crystals hurtling across the shop with her earth affinity.
She’d summoned individual water droplets from a bowl and arranged them in different patterns midair.
She’d conjured a miniature twister, which sent dust flying everywhere, mussing fur and hair alike.
An unkempt but extremely pleased Simon deemed her work “satisfactory.”
“I’m sure your mother will be proud to know of your improvement,” he added as Talula warmed up the espresso machine.
Talula peered over at Simon. “Any news? From her or the Council about the hunters? Or whatever name they’re going by…Orion Hunts.”
“No.” Simon shook his head. “But we haven’t had any new missing creature reports, either. Perhaps it’s a good sign.”
Talula thought about Mhairi and how worried the rest of her selkie family must be. Sorrow carved a hollow in her heart. “I wish I could do something to help.”
“You are,” Simon said. “Mastering your magic and continuing to keep the Blue Moon open for refuge-seekers. Your dedication is paying off, at least for your elemental abilities.”
As she tied on her apron, Talula thought about why her magic suddenly clicked.
The cookbook had helped Talula translate herself to herself, unlocking magic for her in new, instinctual ways.
Plus, the quiche turned out beautifully.
After Talula finished her opening chores, she popped a few leftover slices in the toaster oven.
One for her. One for Simon. One for Dahlia.
“Can’t we eat it now?” Simon whined.
“You know it’s better warmed up,” Talula chided. “Want some tea while you wait?”
Simon let out a long, put-upon sigh. “Fine.”
Talula reached for the electric kettle as the bell above the café door rang out. Heart leaping, Talula turned, expecting Dahlia.
But it wasn’t Dahlia smiling at her from the doorway. It was Nathan Green, the health inspector. He wasn’t smiling.
Nathan Green looked like a no-nonsense principal from a children’s book.
Everything from his primly pressed button-up to his white goatee was pristinely kept.
Usually, his tough exterior would crack a little around Talula’s mom because no one was invincible to Sara’s charms, magical or otherwise. But Sara wasn’t here.
“Mr. Green,” Talula stuttered. “H-hello! How can I help you today?”
“I’m here on official business.” Mr. Green pulled a clipboard out of his messenger bag. “We received a complaint about unsanitary conditions at the café.”
Talula’s heart thumped nervously. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Mr. Green raised a white eyebrow. “Need I point out the dog, Ms. Smith?”
He and Talula both looked at Simon. Simon, slow on the uptake, glanced around for the dog. When realization finally hit, he whipped his head around to stare at Talula, eyes bugged out, as if to say, Oh no, the dog is ME.
Talula thought about lying. Maybe saying that Simon was in service-animal training.
But even she had to draw the line somewhere, and lying about Simon’s capacity as a service animal seemed almost laughable.
She slumped. “You’re right. He’s a, um, recent addition to the family, and he doesn’t like being left behind. I’m sorry. We’ll pay the fine.”
“Not a strong start.” Mr. Green scribbled something on his clipboard. “I need to see the rest of the premises, starting with the food prep area in the back along with any and all storage areas.”
Like the basement, where there’s a giant magical portal. Talula’s panicked brain tried to assemble some kind of excuse—
Ding! went the toaster oven timer.
“My quiche!” she cried.
This time, Mr. Green raised both white brows. “Your what?”
“Why don’t you come see?” Talula said, seizing the opportunity.
The inspector clicked and unclicked his pen with an air of suspicion. “Alright.”
Talula turned to Simon. “Simon, stay here.” Emphatically, she pointed downward, toward the basement.
Back turned to Mr. Green, she mouthed Hide the Volta.
Simon gave a curt nod. Talula led Mr. Green into the back of the café, where the aroma of savory breakfast pastry filled the air.
She propped the Employees Only door open for the health inspector to pass through (and for an invisible Simon to slink by).
Mr. Green examined the kitchen area, arms crossed. “I didn’t think the Blue Moon served hot food.”
“We don’t, but I’ve always wanted to expand the menu,” Talula explained. Not a lie.
“Is this why you’re acting like a chipmunk in a trap?” Mr. Green loomed again, but not as menacingly.
“It’s a new recipe.” Also not a lie. “I have a friend coming by. I wanted to see what she thought.”
Mr. Green shrugged. “Quiche tasting with a friend is aboveboard.”
“Since you’re here, I’d love your opinion.” Talula held up two plates and gestured to the little table where she usually ate her lunch.
He pursed his lips. “Professionally speaking, it’s probably not a good idea.”
Before Talula could insist, Mr. Green’s stomach growled. Loudly. Talula couldn’t hide her grin. The health inspector scratched abashedly at his bald brown head. “I skipped breakfast today.”
“Quick quiche, then you can resume inspection?” Talula set down the plates.
Mr. Green drew up a chair. “That smells…” He took a whiff of quiche. “Wow.”
Talula nearly dropped her fork. She’d never heard the inspector use adjectives outside of “adequate” and “acceptable.”
“Noosh-eh joon. Or, bon appétit,” she said.
They dug in. Mr. Green chewed, swallowed, then went for the second bite. Then the third. Then the fourth. Talula watched, almost too nervous to move. When only a bit of his crust remained, Mr. Green leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “You want my professional opinion?”
“Yes, sir.” Talula braced herself.
Mr. Green let the silence build. Miraculously, he cracked a smile. “That’s the best damn quiche I’ve ever had. And I consider myself an authority on the subject. Quiche is my favorite breakfast food.”
Talula laughed, relieved and delighted. “I’m so glad!”
“Crust could use a little work, though.” Nathan winked. “It’s a bit too crumbly.”
Talula groaned. “I know. I struggle with pastry. Baked goods in general, actually.”
“Still tasted damn good.” Mr. Green tapped his fork on his plate. “If you put this on the menu with some better coffee, you’ll have a line out the door in no time.”
“I agree with you about the coffee.” She decided to take a chance and added, “But I don’t know if it’s worth staying open if people keep making complaints.”
He studied her for a moment. “Let me level with you here. This Samhain debate has riled up a lot of people, and I’m sorry to say, they’ve made their opinion of this establishment very clear to my department.”
Talula’s shoulders drooped. “I figured as much.”
“That being said,” the inspector continued, “some people see what the Blue Moon has done for this community. Those people will help out in any way they can. Starting with completing this inspection as usual and blacklisting malicious complainers. And maybe one day, I can see this quiche officially on the menu.”
For a moment, Talula didn’t know how to put the incredible gratitude she felt into words. “Mr. Green, I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
“Are you kidding me?” He smiled. “My granddaughters live for the Samhain festival. And call me Nathan.”
After that, the inspection went as it had every other time, but there were a few differences.
Talula chatted about menu ideas. Nathan showed her pictures of his twin five-year-old granddaughters.
After hiding the Volta behind an illusion, Simon followed the inspection at a begrudgingly respectful distance.
At the end of the visit, Nathan hinted that Talula could expect another stellar rating from the health department (despite Simon’s presence).
“I’ll be sure to make my findings public,” Nathan said, zipping up his coat.
“Thank you,” Talula said. “It was nice getting to know you better.”
“Same to you. But I have to ask, why did you have three slices of quiche in the oven? You said your friend was visiting, so that’s one slice for you, one for her, but who’s the extra for?”
Talula glanced guiltily at Simon. “He’s been looking forward to it all morning.”
Nathan hooted with laughter. “I don’t blame him one bit!”
After the health inspector left, Talula flopped down on the café couch. Simon flopped down next to her on the café rug. They let the morning’s events wash over them.
“That was a close one,” Talula said, massaging the lingering stress headache out of her temples.
“Exhausting,” Simon groaned. “I need quiche.”
Talula laughed as the front door swung open.
“Hello, hello!” Dahlia swept in, pink-cheeked from the October morning chill. She tilted her head, looking over a limp Simon and Talula. “What happened? Also, what smells so good?”
Talula perked up as Dahlia walked in. “We had a health inspection.”
“Ah!” Dahlia plopped down on the couch next to Talula. “How’d it go? Did they hear about the rabbit speakeasy?”
Talula laughed, then jerked her head toward Simon. “It went well. This guy was our biggest problem.”
Simon gave Talula a dirty look.
“It’s true! I’m sorry, but you’re a dog and there are laws!” Talula cried.
Simon growled, eyes narrowed.
Dahlia swiveled to face Talula, her elbow propped on the back of the couch. “Could he maybe get service-dog training so you can have him here? I bet he’d be great for anxiety!”
Talula laughed and kept laughing as Dahlia watched her in fond confusion. She managed to stop after Simon got up and stomped off to the other side of the café, ears flat against his head.
“Sorry,” Talula said, and wiped her streaming eyes. “Sorry, he’s just, ah, Simon. Are you writing today?”
“You know it. I’m sweet-potatoing the fuck out of this story idea.”