Chapter 28 #3
The night was cold, but the rush of victory kept the attendees warm (that, and Muriel’s emergency flask, which made the rounds).
Someone had brought pumpkin-shaped pastries and was sharing them as far as they would go.
Kanishka’s aunties had inexplicably set up folding tables and were handing out unfathomable amounts of samosas.
The square felt less like an outdoor audience space and more like a spontaneous block party.
Dahlia dragged Talula to the front of the Magic Box stage. The curtains drew back to reveal a dozen or so figures, shadowed in darkness. A beat began to thrum, buzzing in Talula’s breastbone. The figures held up their hands, where fat licks of flame came to life.
The bass beat picked up, the sound filling out into a heady mix of melody, lyrics, and hip-twisting rhythms. The dancers used hula hoops of flame to spin and twist to the music.
Others had double-ended staffs that swished and jabbed at the darkness around the stage.
A few more had what looked like flaming ribbons attached to wands, swirling in dangerous arcs and helixes of light; others had hooped skirts limned in embers.
Dahlia leaned into the shell of Talula’s ear. “Hot, right?”
Heat flooded Talula’s veins that had nothing to do with Muriel’s emergency whiskey.
The dance was intoxicating—and catching.
The square turned into a full-blown, fire-fueled dance party.
Talula joined in, her arms in the air, moving her body to the beat.
Dahlia reached for her, fingers resting on that beautiful borderland between Talula’s hips and waist. The music played, the fire glowed, the crowd danced, and Dahlia and Talula moved together until they were barely an eyelash apart.
Talula could barely think; she was drunk on Dahlia’s closeness, the music, the radiant night.
She had to observe—absurdly—that candlelight was for chumps.
Tidbits of wick-fed sparks had nothing on the urgent, sultry light of fifteen fire dancers tumbling about under the blue silk of an October night.
“Thank you.” Talula breathed. “For everything.”
Dahlia was practically grinning against Talula’s lips. “You’re everything, Talula.”
Talula couldn’t speak. She was too fixated on Dahlia’s mouth, a scarlet sun burning at the center of Talula’s galaxy.
“Do you want this?” Dahlia asked, eyes depthless. “Do you want me?”
And Talula wanted to say yes, to kiss this girl in front of the whole town and scream, “I’m yours, I’ve been yours since I first laid eyes on you, and I’m sorry I wasted so much time.”
She wanted to choose Dahlia.
Talula tipped her face forward.
But then, almost as if summoned by that choice, memory ripped through her heart.
No romance is worth the distraction. Her mother’s words drilled into Talula’s skull. Her mother, the magical creatures, Talula’s whole community—none of them were safe yet. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when she still wasn’t good enough for her Magical Destiny.
“I—” Talula swallowed, her heart caught between the teeth of this decision. “I can’t.”
Dahlia’s face fell, and Talula stepped back.
“Dahlia, I’m sorry,” she offered before turning and walking away.
A few hours later, long past midnight, something small and angry scratched at her bedroom door. Talula slumped to her feet, eyes and throat sore from crying. She grabbed the knob and pulled.
Simon stood there, his fur at its poofiest, looking offended at her very existence.
“You left me,” Simon sputtered, irate. “Like some dog.”
(Talula couldn’t even laugh at that.)
“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely.
Simon looked Talula up and down. His fury cooled. “You look…less than ideal.”
Talula swallowed down a sob. “I feel less than ideal.”
“But we won! Samhain lives on to provide resources for the magical community once again.”
“I almost kissed Dahlia tonight.” Talula sat down hard on the bed.
Simon gawped. He jumped onto the bed, darting up the duvet until he lay splayed out next to Talula. “What happened? Don’t leave anything out.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Talula let her head fall into her hands. “The Volta always has to come first, and Dahlia deserves so much better than that. Better than a relationship full of lies. With stupid, useless, unmagical me.”
Simon let that sink in. Talula wiped her eyes, but they kept leaking.
Finally, Simon spoke, “I don’t know if there’s a perfect solution here, Talula.
I don’t know if cutting Dahlia out is the right call or the wrong one.
But what I do know, what I believe with every ounce of my magical being, is that no one can do better than you.
Not counting Emilio, of course; he’s the most perfect thing on this earth since good-looking shirtless shepherds. ”
Talula let out a weak laugh. She lay her hand on Simon’s head and ruffled his ears gratefully.
“It’s late. You have a big day of cake-baking ahead of you.” Simon batted at her elbow with a paw. “You should get some sleep.”
Talula nodded, tucking herself under her sheets while Simon curled up into a golden-brown ball at the edge of her bed. Talula pulled the covers over her eyes. And if Simon heard a few tear-soaked hiccups, he didn’t say a word.