Chapter 31 #2
“That’s enough!” Simon declared. “Obviously she’s not working with the hunters, or they’d have been here a long time ago. Now, I’m going to say something you may not like.”
“If it’s ‘I told you so—’ ”
“I don’t think you have the whole picture here.”
That made Talula pause.
“Think about it. All of these strange magical events have been happening just under Dahlia’s nose.” Simon continued, “Inquisitive, curious, diligent Dahlia. It makes sense that she would try to piece together the mystery.”
“But she wants to publish it!” Talula snapped.
“How do you know that?” Simon asked gently.
“There was a poster board—”
“You said there were many poster boards.”
“And she doesn’t want to talk about her new book idea with me,” Talula reminded him.
“Maybe because it’s personal, or maybe because she’s thrown so many plots at you, she wants this one to be meaningful,” Simon replied, still patient.
“Talula, based on everything you’ve told me, I have no reason to think she’s going to go public with our secrets or is working for those despicable hunters.
And after all, hasn’t Dahlia done enough to deserve the benefit of the doubt? ”
Talula sat down at the kitchen table. She took deep breaths, considering. Yes. The answer was yes, of course Dahlia deserved that much at least. Even more ashamed, Talula rubbed a hand over her face. “I…I was just so sure I’d screwed up by trusting her. Because I always screw up.”
“Maybe because there’s a part of you that doubted you could really have something good in your life?” Simon offered. “Someone good, who saw you as you’ve always dreamed of being seen?”
For the second time that day, Talula felt torn open. Around her, the house walls turned a deep, bruised blue.
“Ah, there it is.” Simon gave her a bitter smile. “That’s a story I know a little too well. Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day.”
“So.” Talula let out a breath. “Either Dahlia is an exploitative menace or I just ran out on my dream girl because of my deepest insecurities. Again.”
“I believe it’s the latter, fair pupil.”
“Fuck.” Talula let her head thwack down on the kitchen counter.
“Indeed.”
“Now what do I do?”
“Now you make me breakfast. Then, we do all the things we need to do to make this day a success.” Simon hopped back up onto his favorite stool. “Then, you’ll beg forgiveness from your paramour. But right now, it’s time for Samhain.”
The empty fairgrounds filled steadily, the smell of deep-fried carnival food perfuming the air as the noise rose from a buzz to a palpable, comfortable hum.
The first Samhain music performers, a New Agey band/coven, crooned out Gaia’s blessings into the morning.
A few clouds drifted across a gorgeous October sky as the sun beamed down.
A breeze rustled loose hay and autumn leaves along the grounds, chilling the morning enough for a hot cup of pumpkin-spiced something.
Despite Talula’s unresolved romantic crisis, it was the perfect day for Samhain.
Before she opened the café, Talula sent a weighty text message to Dahlia—I’m sorry I ran out, but I think we should talk.
For the next few hours, she guided guest after guest to the Volta while Simon handed out magical “return ticket” medallions he’d found in Sara’s stash.
But Talula noticed a new trend in the Volta reservation schedule.
There were large gaps of time when they had absolutely no reservations, as well as plenty of rescheduling requests.
“My kids don’t want to miss the pumpkin chainsaw carving contest,” Yuki, a kitsune and longtime Samhain-goer, explained as Talula rebooked her for later. “There’s too many amazing things at the festival this year, nobody wants to see Grandma.”
“I’m so sorry!” Talula said, hoping she hadn’t accidentally planted the seed for Grandma Kawamoto’s vengeance (nobody wanted that).
“Don’t apologize. We’re happy to be here.” Yuki patted Talula’s hand affectionately. “But maybe next year, extend the Volta’s hours? Or make Samhain a two-day event? We want to enjoy the festival as much as we can.”
Before Talula could respond, Simon galloped through the front door of the café, followed by the kitsune’s children, Ren and Himari. “Talula! Sara’s alright! A little birdie just told me your mother is on her way.”
Talula’s head spun. She braced herself on the café counter. “Mom’s coming home?”
A flood of soul-deep relief swept through Talula.
She’d been so worried about her mother. The last time she’d seen her, Sara was in a cage, about to be hunted for sport.
Now, after so much had happened—the magic cookbook, Dahlia, the town hall, Dahlia, the festival, Dahlia—her mom was coming home, safe and sound.
An errant thought broke her reverie. She turned to Simon.
“But wait, how did she send the message?”
Simon blinked up at her. “I just told you. A little birdie.”
“What?”
“Your mother speaks bird,” Simon reminded her. “She sent one to deliver the message. Sara’s fine, just a bit tired. She’ll be here in a few days.”
“What about the other magical beings Orion Hunts had caught?”
“They’re alright. Every one of them.” Simon smiled at her. “Your mother just dropped them off at a Council safehouse.”
Talula stared in disbelief. Mhairi. The goldhorn. The kelpies. The wildlings. They were all going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. Talula wiped away sudden tears with the back of her sleeve.
“Oh no, why are you leaking again?” Simon cried, distressed.
“I’m okay,” Talula assured him, still teary-eyed. “I just can’t wait to see her.”
“You must have been so worried.” Yuki’s eyes shone with understanding. “Do you want a mom hug? To hold you over until Sara gets here?”
With an unsubtle sniffle, Talula nodded. The kitsune folded the young sorceress in her arms and gave her a hearty squeeze. Talula let out a wobbly breath into Yuki’s short shoulders.
“We’ll see you later,” Yuki promised before letting her go. She called to her kids, “Let’s go make a jack-o’-lantern for obachan!”
“Then pumpkin donuts,” demanded seven-year-old Ren, crossing skinny arms against his chest.
“And chainsaws!” Himari trilled, five years old and already exhibiting the kitsune penchant for mayhem. Yuki sighed and ushered her kids out the café door.
“Have you heard from Dahlia yet?” Simon asked.
Talula bit her lip, uneasy. “No. Nothing.”
“Give her time,” Simon urged. “Now, come. We have quite a while until the next reservation. There are several extremely intriguing smells I’d like to investigate.”
The festival grounds overflowed with attendees. Mortals in costume flooded the walkways. Blending in with the costumed humans, members of the magical community meandered without disguises, enjoying the sights and the occasional pumpkin-spiced deep-fried Twinkie.
Simon and Talula stopped by the Navarros’ for a fresh biscuit smothered in homemade raspberry jam. Anna reported that they were nearly sold out.
“We had to start taking names and email addresses from people who wanted to buy more jars!” Anna said excitedly as Emilio dutifully scratched Simon under the chin.
“Best. Samhain. Ever,” Emilio confirmed.
Simon and Talula ventured over to the main stage to watch an ancient Samhain ritual reenactment. Which Simon critiqued liberally.
“Pfff, in my day, druids had more tattoos.”
Talula checked her phone a thousand times, but no Dahlia text came through. To console herself, she found Sita Auntie at her booth, selling samosas stuffed with various curries and fillings. It was the restaurant’s first time at the festival, but they had the longest line so far.
“I saved these for you, beta.” Sita Auntie loaded Talula up with food.
“I think Kaniskha’s aunties are magic,” Talula confided to Simon as they sat on a hay bale to eat their snacks.
“All love is magic, Talula,” Simon said, taking a bite of samosa. Then a half-chewed morsel fell out of his mouth. “What is that?”
Talula followed his gaze. She spotted a long, short-legged furry creature identical in shape and fluffiness to Simon. The other creature’s coat, however, was golden brown, white, and dark chestnut.
“That’s a corgi.” Talula watched Simon’s shocked expression. She asked, as gently as she could, “Simon, you know you’re a dog, right?”
“The four legs, nubby little tail, and ridiculous ears clued me in, but thank you for reminding me,” he replied snarkily. “I just…forget sometimes.”
They watched the dog scratch at the scruff of its neck, an eerie echo of Simon’s well-worn gesture.
“Should I go talk to him?” Simon asked self-consciously.
Talula took a bite of samosa to give herself time to think of an answer. “I don’t think he’d be a great conversationalist.”
“I, however, am great at conversations.” Damien King—CEO of Orion Hunts, abusive ex of Kiki, kidnapper of Sara, and terrorizer of magical beings—sat down next to Talula with a plate of pumpkin-spiced funnel cake in his hand.
Fear and bile rose in Talula’s throat. Simon’s ears pressed against his skull, his black lips pulled back into a feral growl.
“Great festival,” Damien said casually. “Top-notch funnel cake. You must give me the name of your guy.”
Talula could barely hear her own thoughts over her thundering heart. “You need to leave. I have a restraining order.”
“I heard. So cute.” Damien waved at a nearby cluster of costumed children. “But your small-town mall cops aren’t going to do anything, and you know it.”
“What do you want?” Talula snapped.
“Me?” Damien King took a thoughtful bite of funnel cake. “I want all the magical creatures here.”
Talula froze.