Chapter 29 #2
“With binders.” Mrs. Bochart groaned, sounding a lot more like the put-upon baker Talula knew so well.
“She went through the petitions and figured out that I’d never signed them.
I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, even to maintain my cover.
So there I was, on a Tuesday night, minding my business, when this young lady starts abusing my doorbell.
I let her think she swayed my curmudgeonly self into seeing the light.
I used her argument at the town hall meeting. ”
Dahlia. Dahlia saved Samhain.
Mrs. Bochart didn’t miss the heartbroken look on Talula’s face. “Ah. So it’s like that.” She propped an elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her palm. “How’d you mess it up?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“A sorceress with a ‘Magical Destiny’ and a beautiful human girl at a romantic crossroads? I may have some unique perspective to provide here.” She looked meaningfully at Talula.
“No way.” Talula didn’t know how many more plot twists she could take. “You and my mom?”
“Start talking. And I believe I ordered some cocoa?” Mrs. Bochart tsked, eyes crinkled up with her smile. “The service here is terrible.”
As Talula made cocoa, she let the whole story tumble out. As she slid the mug to Mrs. Bochart, Talula couldn’t believe how much lighter she felt talking about everything.
She watched, a little nervously, as Mrs. Bochart brought the mug to her lips.
Despite all the revelations, Talula still wanted her culinary approval.
The baker took a discerning sip, then smacked her lips.
Talula waited, hands fisted in her apron.
Mrs. Bochart stayed silent. Then she cackled.
“I’m just pulling your leg. This is the best cocoa I’ve ever had. ”
“Mrs. Bochart!” Talula scolded, but she couldn’t stifle a laugh.
“Now, here’s my human wisdom.” Mrs. Bochart took another sip. “When we were together, your mother kept secrets. But, unlike your oblivious moron of a sperm donor, I’m observant.”
(Talula detected a very significant can of worms there.)
“The truth wasn’t hard to piece together. I think your mom wanted me to find out. When I told her what I knew, she looked so relieved. She filled in the rest, and for a while, everything was okay. Until it wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like loving a superhero,” Mrs. Bochart mused.
“I knew this person I cared for so deeply couldn’t be themselves without this path, this mission.
Your mother wasn’t choosing her Magical Destiny over me when she left to battle evil squids or whatever.
It took me a while to figure that out. Too long.
By then, I was tired of the magical mystery tour and wanted to choose more of what I wanted in my life.
But we stayed friendly and got on with our lives.
I met Dan—an EMT, by the way, so apparently, I have a type. And your mother made you.”
Talula chewed on her lip. “You don’t regret it?”
“Not for a second,” Mrs. Bochart answered without hesitation. “It wasn’t a fairy-tale ending, but the best love stories give you a little more of yourself, a little more of the world. That’s the wonder of being human.” She tipped her mug in salute to Talula. “Even half human.”
“I love who I am when I’m with Dahlia,” Talula said. “She lights my insides on fire.”
“I bet she does.” Mrs. Bochart smirked.
“But I don’t know if I’m ready to tell her everything.”
“Lies and secrets will hurt any relationship. Be honest,” Mrs. Bochart said firmly. “If you’re not ready to be honest, be honest about what you can’t be honest about.”
“Will that be enough?”
“It might be.” Mrs. Bochart shrugged. “I don’t know if anyone ever told you this, kid, but you don’t have to make the same choices your mother did about romance.
Just know that when it comes to love, there are never sure things.
You just have to decide what risks are worth taking.
You are the only person who gets to make that choice.
And you don’t have to wait for anyone to give you permission to make it. ”
Talula mulled that over.
“Now let me ask you something.” Mrs. Bochart took a few meaningful sniffs. “What’s in the oven?”
Talula explained the mystery of the cookbook and the puzzle at the core of her cakes. Mrs. Bochart poked, prodded, and sampled each one. The best baker in three counties gave Talula the same disappointed look Talula herself had given the cakes not long ago.
“I’m trying! But this recipe doesn’t have any instructions, just ingredients,” Talula explained.
“Ooh! Like a technical challenge in that baking show. Let me take a look.” Mrs. Bochart pulled out a pair of reading glasses from her purse and squinted at Talula’s translated recipe. “Ah, egg whites.”
“Is that important?” Talula asked desperately.
“You bet your pointy hat, missy. Egg whites in a cake recipe mean they need to be beaten into a meringue to create an airy texture for the cake. You typically see them in angel food recipes.” Mrs. Bochart skimmed over the ingredients list. “Yup, there’s no oil or butter listed, either.
It’s definitely a recipe for angel food cake. ”
“Okay!” Talula perked up. “What should I do?”
“A standard cake recipe is not going to cut it.” Mrs. Bochart grabbed the spare apron hanging on a hook. “Let’s get to work.”
Under Mrs. Bochart’s eye, Talula sifted sugar and flour, beat egg whites, and mixed ingredients. As the cake baked, she and Mrs. Bochart chatted on the café’s sofa.
“This reminds me of when I used to bake for your mother,” Mrs. Bochart said nostalgically.
“She has such a sweet tooth.” Talula smiled. “I bet she loved it.”
“She really did.” Mrs. Bochart surveyed the café.
“You know, baking’s a lot like magic. The baker’s power isn’t seeing things as they are, but as they could be.
It’s the rearrangement of atoms through chemical reactions to turn these simple things into something completely different.
So you think of what it can be, then you can make it what you want, how you want it. ”
Talula sat straight up in her seat, heart pounding.
Make it what you want, how you want it.
Just like Kiki had written.
Confused, Mrs. Bochart frowned at her. “What did I say?”
“Nothing. Something. Maybe everything.” Mind racing, Talula ran into the kitchen and brought out one of the failed cakes.
“Why is that thing out here where good and decent folk can see it?” Mrs. Bochart scowled.
Talula didn’t answer, settling into her magical core. She thought of the cake, how the ingredients she used in this subpar cake were the same as the ingredients in the cake that was baking in the oven at that moment. It came down to atoms, the stuff that everyone and everything was made of.
With a shift of perspective, this cake could be anything. Talula called her magic and rearranged what she saw in her mind’s eye into what the cake could be.
The sad, flat disc of cake wobbled on its plate, shimmering oddly. In a blink, it became a perfectly golden angel food cake. Mrs. Bochart and Talula gasped at the same time. Talula ran to get plates and cutlery.
“This won’t turn me into anything, will it?” Mrs. Bochart asked as Talula cut her a slice.
“You’ll have to decide if it’s a risk worth taking.” Talula grinned.
They both dug their forks into the cake. Talula took a bite and moaned. Airy sweetness melted on her tongue, the exterior of the cake caramelized just so to add contrast to its cloudlike interior. She looked over at Mrs. Bochart.
The baker’s face was a study in ecstasy. “This is unbelievable.”
Their slices were gone in moments.
Talula set her empty plate down. She put herself back in that magical mindset.
She knew that the particles of air that “filled” her plate were made of atoms, too.
Really, it was just a quirk of perspective that air wasn’t cake.
She wrapped herself up in her magic again.
In her mind, she saw the atoms as what they could be, how she wanted them to be.
Her once-empty plate now held a midnight-black slice of devil’s food cake, four layers tall and glistening with dark chocolate ganache. Startled, Mrs. Bochart jolted, swearing like a sailor.
Talula laughed. “Give it a try.”
Mrs. Bochart stuck her fork in the new illusion and took a bite. She swore again. “It’s cake. Out of nothing. Damn good cake, too.”
Talula flopped back into the couch cushions, beaming at her work.
“Don’t you dare think that magicking cake is the same as baking it, missy.” Mrs. Bochart shook her fork at Talula. “Let’s go check on a real cake.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Talula grinned. “Then, I have somewhere to be.”
The baker raised a flour-colored brow. “You’re going to go get that girl, aren’t you?”
Talula just kept grinning.
Later that afternoon, Talula stood on the sidewalk in front of the Joneses’ house.
She held still, arms full of the day’s baking efforts, eyes locked on the front door.
Talula’s heart made a racket in her rib cage—in this moment, she was more terrified than she’d been at the town hall.
But, if she could wrangle jackalopes, befriend a jinn, master an ancient magical cookbook, turn the hearts of an entire town, and bake a cake to satisfy a secret agent baker, she could knock on that door.
Summoning her courage, Talula knocked.
The door swung open, and Talula’s ricocheting heart stilled. Dahlia looked as rumpled as Talula had ever seen her, with red-rimmed eyes, a threadbare hoodie, and mismatched socks. She looked exactly how Talula had felt since the moment she’d left Dahlia at the Magic Box the night before.
Dahlia’s eyes flicked to Talula; then her gaze sunk to her toes. “I’m so sorry.”
“What?” Talula shook her head. “No! There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Dahlia didn’t look up. “I pushed too hard last night, and I ruined it.”
“Listen—”
“I was just so proud of you after that speech, and then we were dancing, and you’re just so beautiful, it’s really hard to go around not kissing you. That’s not an excuse, sorry—”
“Can I just—”