Chapter 24
After the first Magic Box performance, Sunday night’s attendees came prepared.
They arrived early to stake out spots close to the stage, brought coolers of snacks and lounge chairs.
By the time the sun had nestled into the horizon, Talula’s head count was more than double the previous night’s. Not including the protesters.
Grimacing, Talula watched the dozen individuals carrying anti-Samhain signs outside the velvet ropes that ran along the perimeter of the town green.
Thankfully, she and Dahlia had planned for this possibility.
Talula had printed some polite signage informing protesters of their rights, that the town square had been lawfully reserved for an event, and that they were welcome to protest anywhere outside the roped area.
The signs even directed them to a spot across the street where she’d set up donuts and cocoa.
If any ambitious protesters tried to jump the rope or “misread” the sign, Talula had reinforcements.
The velvet ropes were patrolled by costumed heroes and fantasy characters led by the Dark Knight himself.
“You look amazing. Did you steal the costume off a movie set?” Talula had asked as she and Emilio set up the velvet ropes earlier that day. “Or from Bruce Wayne’s actual closet?”
“Anna made it for me as a wedding present,” Emilio had responded in a gravelly voice.
“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
Emilio had given a smitten sigh. “I know.”
“By the way, where did you get this super squad?” She’d gestured at the ferocious war-painted Boudica across the green carefully untangling a bowstring from a Legolas look-alike’s hair.
“The QAFD&DG.” Emilio had flashed her a very un-Batman-like grin. “The Queer as Fuck Dungeons and Dragons Group.”
Now Talula watched as the protesters—the ones who weren’t placated by donuts—shouted from the sidewalk across the street.
“Say no to Samhain!”
“Kick Satan out of town!”
“Jesus loves you!”
“Wow, those chants are not catchy at all.” Dahlia sipped autumn-spiced cocoa from a thermos Talula had brought for her. She wore her jack-o’-lantern sweatshirt and enough glitter to scandalize a fairy.
“At least they’re not trying to bust into the square.” Talula chewed her lip. “Smart idea, giving them a designated space.”
“Smart idea to give them donuts.” Dahlia glittered and grinned. “Hard to chant with your mouth full.”
“I hope the whole ‘kill them with kindness’ thing works.”
“It will.” Dahlia laid her cheek on top of Talula’s shoulder.
Dahlia’s recent bouts of physical affection made Talula feel thrilled and off-kilter, like she’d taken a big swig right from a bottle of champagne.
She didn’t know if Dahlia was just letting loose her touchy side or if it meant something more, but either way, Talula was going to enjoy any moment she got to be close to her.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her temple against the top of Dahlia’s head.
“Who is this fellow defender of the night?”
Talula opened her eyes—Batman loomed in front of her, flanked by a scowling Simon. Even swathed in a black cowl and shadows, Talula could see the delight in Emilio’s gaze.
“This is Dahlia,” Talula said, straightening. “She’s a genius. She was a fancy marketing campaign person, so she knows all these cool performers and called in a bunch of favors so we could do this.”
“I barely did anything.” Dahlia admired Emilio’s outfit. “Your costume is incredible.”
“Thank you. I like your glitter.” Emilio regally inclined his head. He added, “The Magic Box security team has secured the perimeter.”
Dahlia saluted. “I’ll initiate the activation sequence. Thank you for your service, Batman.”
Completely in character, Emilio raised a dramatic fist to the air. “We must protect Samhain.”
After Dahlia walked away, Emilio rubbed his chin. “As the world’s greatest detective, allow me to say this.”
“What?” Talula asked.
“Girl, you got it bad.”
(Simon made a pained noise.)
“I know, okay?” Talula rubbed a hand over her face. “I wish people would stop telling me that.”
“Take my advice. Don’t waste any time.” Emilio swooshed his cape out dramatically. He let loose a completely out of character giggle. “I can’t wait to tell Anna.”
Suddenly, the old-fashioned lights above the Magic Box flashed to life. Quiet rippled over the crowd. Even the protesters paused mid-chant, craning their necks to see what the curtain would reveal.
“Can you pick me up?” Simon hissed. “I couldn’t see anything last time.”
Grinning, Talula hoisted Simon into her arms.
The curtains drew back.
Thirteen black-cloaked figures appeared, heads bowed.
Each held a long, mysterious staff in their hand.
From beyond the stage, a drumbeat began.
The first drum strike shook the protesters out of their silence.
They began chanting, loudly. A few attendees shot annoyed looks at them, but most were transfixed by the show.
The closest figure onstage reached out, beating the staff in a counter-rhythm to the drum.
Row by row, the other figures followed, weaving a pattern of sound that drowned out the protesters.
There was a flick, and bristles sprung from the staffs, turning them into broomsticks.
The crowd roared in surprise. The dancers beat the brooms together, whisked the bristles against the stage floor, clashed them against each other, spun them over their heads and behind their bodies in swift, complex arcs.
Even the most ardent protesters stopped chanting, their jaws agape, eyes wide.
Finally, the dancers leapt as one, seeming to fly as the beat fell into a crescendoing finale that thundered through Talula, bone-deep.
The thirteen figures bowed their heads, brooms in hand.
A banner unfurled behind them that read,
Let Samhain Sweep You Off Your Feet.
The curtain fell.
The audience was silent. Talula counted her heartbeats. One quick beat. Two. Three. A cheer erupted. Awestruck attendees leapt to their feet, shouting and whistling. Some even glanced over smugly at the protesters as if to say, Wasn’t that incredible? Why are you being such morons about this?
Then the protesters found their wind again and started jeering with gusto. They stampeded up to the velvet rope, yelling and taunting. Talula’s blood turned cold. As the cosplaying bouncers rushed to block the protesters, Talula and Simon ran to join them.
“You should all be ashamed!” one protester yelled.
“How could you let your children be a part of this madness?”
“Look at these freaks!”
A nearby eight-year-old wearing superhero pajamas crossed her arms. “That’s not a freak, that’s Batman.” Her parents quickly scooped her up and ushered her away.
Emilio and the cosplayers created a human wall at the velvet rope. Anna was there, too, trying to sweet-talk protesters into turning around.
“Boss, how do you want us to play this?” Emilio asked Talula gruffly.
Talula watched attendees hurriedly packing up as the protesters shouted. There were only twelve of them, but their hatred poisoned the air. Talula knew that if the protesters were back tomorrow, no attendee would stay for long.
She had to handle this. She would suffer no fools.
“That’s enough,” Talula yelled. Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “We’re your neighbors. We’re your community. Act like it, or leave.”
Almost as one, the protesters turned their attention to Talula, their fury narrowing to a laser focus. The jeering got louder. And meaner.
“I have every right to be here!”
“You’re the one who needs to leave!”
“Get out of our town, bitch!”
Something warm and wet struck her cheek. Talula wiped a sleeve over her face, shocked and disgusted. Did I just get spit on?
Emilio and Anna stepped in front of Talula as more vitriol came her way. She couldn’t trick them with donuts. She couldn’t enchant them into changing their opinions. She had no power in the face of this crowd. And they could ruin everything.
“Thank you for coming to our second pre-Samhain performance!” a familiar voice boomed. Talula turned to see Dahlia with a microphone on the Magic Box stage. “Let’s give our magical performers another hand!”
A few clusters of attendees clapped, some reluctantly, some quite fervently.
Dahlia continued, “As you know, every year the Blue Moon hosts a festival to celebrate fall and the spirit of magic in its many beautiful forms. This year’s festival will be legendary. You want to know why?”
“Why?” Anna shouted cheerily as she elbowed a protester “accidentally” in the solar plexus.
Dahlia beamed. “I’m so glad you asked! An anonymous donor has offered a little extra support for this year’s Samhain. Our mysterious benefactor has pledged a hundred dollars for every single person who comes to a Magic Box show this week. So let’s see here, that’s…one, two, three…”
Dahlia made a comically big deal of counting the protesters.
“That’s more than a thousand dollars just from these people over here with the signs.
” Dahlia addressed the protesters. “Thank you all so much, your presence here contributes to our mission. Literally. Directly. Monetarily. Isn’t that just magical? ”
Without any discussion, the protesters scrambled to pack up and leave.
Several audience members chuckled and clapped.
Onstage, Dahlia kept going, “For everyone else here tonight, I hope you’ll come back tomorrow, and every night this week.
Bring your friends! After all, magic is so much better when it’s shared with the people you love. ”
Appreciative, thoughtful murmurs hummed in the crowd, a few claps turning into applause. But Talula didn’t feel victorious. She felt exhausted and empty. Again she wiped at the spot on her cheek where she’d been spat on. She felt hot pinpricks of tears in her eyes.
Suddenly, she was surrounded by fantasy characters.
“Hey there, witchy girl, you did good,” an elven princess murmured kindly.
“That was really intense, but you handled it.” A pirate offered a fist bump.
Emilio gave Talula a solemn nod. “You never forget your first bigot spit.”
“I’m sorry about all of this, but I’m proud of you,” Anna said.
Simon grumbled comfortingly, leaning his furry body against her calf. Talula swallowed, afraid of her voice.
“Hey, let me in!” Dahlia shoved herself into the huddle and pulled Talula into a hug.
“You saved us.” Talula squeezed back tightly. She loosened her grip to give Dahlia a stern look. “Is there really an anonymous donor?”
Dahlia blinked, wide-eyed and innocent. “Of course there is.”
“Is it you?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Dahlia waggled her brows mischievously.
Talula shook her head. The Council had plenty of funds. She wouldn’t let Dahlia spend a dime. “No—”
“Just listen! For every guest who attends, I’ll pay myself my usual marketing consultant fee, because I’m a wonderful, generous philanthropist.” Dahlia’s grin turned conniving.
“But because I’m a wonderful, generous consultant, I won’t accept my own money.
So Philanthroper Me will try to pay Consultant Me, but Consultant Me will refuse the funds and instead, offer to do this whole project pro bono in an endless vortex of generosity. If anyone asks.”
“So…” Talula cocked her head, trying to follow Dahlia’s mental gymnastics. “You’re lying your pants off.”
“Kind of. Mostly.” Dahlia nodded with glee.
“Strategic. I like that.” Emilio loomed approvingly. “Legally ambiguous, but definitely strategic.”
“Thank you, Batman!” Dahlia turned back to Talula. “I’ve got to check on the dancers. Do you want to get some dinner after? Take your mind off of things? My treat.”
In her periphery, Talula spotted Anna and Emilio sharing a quick glance loaded with married-people telepathy.
“Dahlia—hi, I’m Anna, Batman’s wife, nice to meet you—I think that’s a lovely idea,” Anna answered for Talula. “We’ll drive Talula and Simon home. You can pick her up when you’re ready.”
“Sounds great!” Dahlia jogged over to the Magic Box.
“Babe, that was so smooth,” Emilio said with admiration.
Anna shot him a wolfish grin, then regarded a somewhat dazed Talula. “We’re going to take the long way home, so you can tell us everything.”
Simon gave a very un-doglike groan.