Chapter 20 #3
Talula’s mouth worked, but no sly little not-quite-truth appeared on her lips. Her brain was a cacophony of emergency bells and Mayday alarms.
“I know you’ve been up to new tricks, but this? You’ve crossed a line, girlie. Your mother should have taught you better than—” but Mrs. Bochart’s threat was cut off by a voice as cool and sweet as cream.
“Hi, Mrs. B.” Anna laid her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I think it’s time you come away now.”
Mrs. Bochart rolled her shoulder back, loosening Anna’s hold on her. “I’m going.”
Anna smiled, her eyes gleaming sharply. “That sounds like a good idea.”
Mrs. Bochart stomped off. When the baker was out of earshot, Anna set both hands on her hips and blew some strawberry-blond hair out of her face. “Yeesh. That lady is a piece of work.”
“Thanks for coming to my rescue.” Then Talula thought guiltily of her stolen butter brick. She let her forehead thunk onto the black velvet tablecloth. “Though I don’t think I deserve it.”
“Of course you do, hon.” Anna patted Talula on the head. “But if you’re feeling really guilty, you can bring these breakfast sandwiches to our booth every Saturday until we retire.”
Talula beamed up at Anna. “That can be arranged.”
Once the market closed, Talula packed up and headed to meet Simon at the café for magic training.
The wizard cleared his throat authoritatively. “I have an idea about improving your conjuring ability. Maybe we need to up the stakes. Tap into some fight-or-flight instincts. I could get a nice sharp saber and—”
Horrified by where this conversation was headed, Talula conjured her apron from its hook, letting it fall perfectly over her head.
Simon’s jaw opened and closed, his eyes huge with shock.
“I know,” Talula said proudly.
With an effort, Simon wrangled a few words together. “When did you learn to conjure?”
“Yesterday, around lunch.”
“HRMPH?”
Talula wasn’t ready to tell Simon about her magic cookbook. Not yet. Especially since it was Kiki’s cookbook. Simon still occasionally referred to the jinn as “that wish-mongering miscreant.”
“I’ve been thinking about my magic differently.” Talula tied up her apron strings. “Outside of that big official textbook of yours.”
“Outside of—?” Simon sputtered. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t think sorcery is the same for everyone.” Talula shrugged. “Maybe I have to find my own way of doing it.”
Simon shook his furry head. “I knew any daughter of Sara’s would be trouble. I didn’t know she’d invite chaos into the very pillars of magical pedagogy!”
Talula rolled her eyes. “Anyway, can we hold off on conjuring practice? I want to tell you about something weird that happened at the market today.”
Talula filled Simon in about her encounter with Mrs. Bochart.
“Why did the horrible baker accuse you of thievery?” Simon scratched at his neck with a back foot.
“Because…” Talula grimaced. “I conjured her butter for the sandwiches.”
“You what?” Simon’s hackles went up, his eyes so wide Talula could see their white rims.
“I won’t do it again,” she promised. “Trust me, I learned my lesson about conjuring things that don’t belong to me.”
“But why did you need Mrs. Bochart’s butter? Of all people!”
“Let me show you—” Talula stood up and darted into the back room.
Simon followed, his nails tapping imperiously on the café’s hardwood floors.
Before Simon could harangue her into the next millennium, Talula started making a fried chicken slider—with a healthy dose of magic.
She toasted the brioche with witchfire, drew the moisture out of the fried chicken breading with her water affinity to keep it crispy, used her earth affinity to sprinkle salt on the fried egg, and pinched together a tiny twister of wind to mix up the mango slaw.
Finally, when Talula had finished assembling the ensorcelled slider, she presented a plate to Simon. Simon ignored the sandwich, openly gawping at Talula. “The way you used your powers…”
Talula braced herself for a lecture.
“It was lovely,” Simon said. “For so long, I’ve seen you try to wrangle your magic like it was an enemy, or a stranger.
But just now, it was part of you. You looked as at ease working your magic today as you are when you’re in the throes of a new recipe.
That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?
Accessing your magic through food and cooking? ”
Talula set the sandwich plate down on the floor, then crisscrossed her legs so she could sit in front of Simon. “Yes.”
“The official textbook doesn’t say anything about sandwiches,” Simon pointed out.
“I know.”
“Or mangoes.”
“I know.”
“Hmm.” Simon took a few small steps over to the sandwich. He cocked his head, taking it in from all angles. He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Licked his chops. “I understand now.”
“Understand what?”
“Why you didn’t return that horrid baker’s butter,” he said simply, a slight twinkle in his eye. Then he took another bite. “How long will it take you to make me another one of these things? With extra stolen butter?”
With a laugh, Talula got to work.