Chapter 16 #2
There was silence. Suddenly, the little not-revenge fantasy Talula had spun for herself made her cringe. She had exposed too much, showed a glimpse of her sad interior world that just wanted love and acceptance.
“I’m sorry. I made it weird.” Talula laughed awkwardly but wished she could disappear into the night air. “Forget I said anything.”
“No,” Dahlia said, quieter than Talula had ever heard her. “No, that was…that’s exactly the kind of vengeance you should have. All of that and more.”
It was Talula’s turn to be quiet.
“But maybe we can also put anchovies in her car. Just a thought!” Dahlia offered, her dimple at maximum mischief. Talula laughed, trying to quiet herself with a hand over her mouth. Dahlia joined right in, their hushed giggles filling the night until it hurt to breathe.
They kept talking and walking, sipping cinnamon whiskey as midnight ticked past. The trail turned into paved paths, turned into sidewalk. Finally, Dahlia caught on.
“Wait a fucking minute!” she cried, looking around. “This is your neighborhood! You took us in a circle!”
Talula, warm and tired from laughter and liquor, nodded.
“But what about these eggs!”
“Scramble them?” Talula’s smile widened into a yawn. A sudden whirl of wind tugged Talula’s hair into her eyes. “You know this was more fun anyway.”
“You’re right.” Dahlia stepped closer, letting her finger catch a loose tendril. “This is better.” She drew it slowly across Talula’s face and behind the curve of her ear. Dahlia’s breath was an addictive warmth on Talula’s face, her fingers still caught in Talula’s hair.
“We should get to bed,” Talula whispered.
“Yours or mine?” Dahlia gave her a look that sent heat searing through Talula’s whole body.
Again, Talula was uncertain, undone, adolescent. She felt flustered, lost in a tidal wave of feelings she couldn’t control. “I, I um…that would. I mean—”
“Ah, sorry, that was…over-the-top.” Dahlia held her hands up, stepping back rapidly. “Bad joke. Too much. Sorry.”
Talula didn’t want Dahlia to be sorry. She wanted her strange magical life to be less complicated so she could ask Dahlia if she really was just joking.
But before she could think to say anything, Dahlia spoke.
“You’re right. We should get some sleep.
” She stuck out her hand, a funny formal pose after this strange, close night.
“It was a pleasure almost doing revenge with you.”
Talula, dazed, took Dahlia’s hand and gave it an absurd shake. “Likewise.” Why did Dahlia’s hand feel so good, so warm and smooth? But also like Talula had stuck her hand in an outlet during a thunderstorm?
Dahlia stared intently into Talula’s face, her eyes deep and serious. Like there was something there she wanted Talula to see while she was holding her hand. She swept a thumb over Talula’s skin, as gentle as the brush of a moth wing.
Then, with a quiet sigh Talula almost didn’t hear, Dahlia let go.
“I hope you get your vengeance soon,” Dahlia said. She turned and walked away, into the strange, dark morning. And Talula stood there, colder and more confused than ever.
Talula woke early but stayed in bed for a while, just staring at the ceiling. She thought about the vengeance plan she had shared with Dahlia. There was something about that image that perplexed her. She peered at the fantasy in her head, turning it over and over again.
Then, she found it.
In this picture of vengeance, everyone was smiling, from marketgoers to vendors (except for Kristen, of course). There were no anti-Samhain signs. No grimaces or averted eyes. There was warmth and community. Something that, thanks to the petition, Talula and the Blue Moon were sorely lacking.
Talula thought about the petition, and how it drew attention to the café in all the wrong ways.
Even if Sara waved her magic wand, animosity for the Blue Moon had been kindled like it never had before.
Kristen’s vitriolic visit was proof of that.
Being the town’s most-avoided café had served the Blue Moon’s magical purpose.
But being the town’s most hated small business was far more dangerous.
They needed to do something. They needed to do something now.
They needed Dahlia.
Resolutely, Talula stormed down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“There you are.” Simon, at his usual kitchen stool, perked up. “I want French toast.”
“I want Dahlia to help us.”
“This again?” Simon rolled his eyes. “I told you, Sara—”
“Mom is tracking down potential murderers. Don’t you think we should let her focus on that?”
“That…is an excellent point.” Simon peered up at Talula. “But what about your training?”
“We can do both.” Talula pulled up a chair next to her teacher.
“You have to understand that the town hall meeting means our community, our human community, is turning against us. Before, everyone just kind of laughed and ignored us, which was what we wanted. Now people are actively hating us and wanting us gone. That brings more attention to the Blue Moon, which is bad for everyone who needs to find safe haven through the Volta. A few city council members is one thing, but Mom can’t just magically change the whole town’s minds.
And even if she could, she shouldn’t. We have to change public opinion in a real way before the town hall meeting. ”
“You make a strong argument. But I have one question.” Simon furrowed his fuzzy brow. “What on Gaia’s green earth is a ‘town hall meeting’?”
“You never knew what a town hall was?” Exasperated, Talula took a deep breath. “Okay. I can explain.”
“And make French toast?” Simon pleaded.
As she whisked eggs and fried bread, Talula explained the nuances of small-town politics.
“So peasants—” Simon began.
“People,” Talula corrected.
“Peasants,” Simon continued. “No matter how depraved their motives, how limited their literacy, or how foul their odor, can attend this ‘town hall meeting’ and yell about their problems with someone else’s business?”
“Yes.”
“And if enough peasants—”
“People.”
“—have problems, the town may act according to their will?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the peasants are blithering idiots?”
Talula flipped the French toast with a sigh. “Welcome to democracy.”
“Madness!” Simon barked. “Samhain is a necessary function of the Blue Moon. It’s the only time many magical beings are able to see family, loved ones, their homelands.”
“I know, but we can’t exactly share that.”
Simon growled. “Secrecy is both essential and infuriating in our line of work sometimes, young sorceress.”
“Now you see why we need Dahlia,” Talula said, removing the French toast from the pan. “She has experience with marketing, which is like…a mass messaging strategy.”
“I don’t know,” Simon said, shifting his weight from paw to paw. “That would require her to spend more time in the café. I’m still concerned about your training.”
“We both know protecting Samhain and the Blue Moon is more important than me learning to conjure a persimmon. But on that note…” Talula set down the breakfast plates just out of Simon’s reach.
She lifted her pointer finger, concentrating.
Instantly, witchfire blazed to life on Talula’s fingertip.
She aimed the flame at the sugar-and-pumpkin custard layered on top of the French toast. Under the magical fire, the sugar crystallized into a brown, glassy crust. Talula pulled back and gazed at it with pride.
Simon licked his chops. “Point taken.”
“I promise we can keep training. But let’s help Samhain first.”
Meanwhile, Talula thought to herself, I’ll keep working on translating the magic cookbook. Maybe there’s more it can show me about my magic.
But Simon didn’t have to know that. Not yet, anyway.
“Hrmph,” Simon said, but his eyes had been stuck on the steaming pumpkin crème-br?lée French toast since Talula had torched it with witchfire. “I suppose you can’t get worse at sorcery.”
In the spirit of collaboration, Talula decided to not take offense at that. “So you’re on board with Dahlia helping us?”
“Yes.” Simon flicked his ears. “Now bring me that breakfast!”
Talula slid the plate within reach and watched as Simon tore into his food with ecstatic barks. Talula, grinning, pulled out her phone and began to text Dahlia.