Epilogue #2
Simon scratched at the door again, a few timely minutes after Talula and Dahlia had fully woken themselves up. “The good pastries will be gone soon, you sex fiends.”
Dahlia pulled Talula in for one more kiss. “We better go before he earwigs us.”
“We never confirmed that he could do that,” Talula muttered as she reluctantly tugged herself out of bed. “If he could, he’d use it to keep us from the road trip tomorrow.”
For Dahlia’s birthday, they’d decided to take a month off and drive the convertible all the way down the coast, hitting every odd roadside attraction and culinary gem they could find.
Simon had reluctantly agreed to stay behind after several concessions:
Two Talula-portaled notes a day with updates on their location.
Talula and Dahlia’s promise that if he did join them, he’d spend most of the trip as a deeply uncomfortable third wheel.
For the rest of the year, they’d quit teasing him about his former identity (which was finally revealed after Simon discovered them watching old episodes of Merlin.
They binged the entire series in a week so Simon could hate-watch it and provide unhinged commentary like, “For the record, I dressed better than that donkey-eared ragamuffin. And my spells always worked the way they were supposed to!”).
Talula and Dahlia’s plan was to drive south to Baja, then come right back up.
Talula could picture it so easily—Dahlia with a pair of driving gloves and a fifties-style kerchief wrapped around her curls, a bag of cherries from a roadside fruit stand in Talula’s lap, their voices hoarse from singing with the radio.
But Talula had one more thing to do before they could hit the road.
Their farmers’ market visit went as usual, with Simon strutting like a king among earwigs while they shopped and chatted with vendors.
They came across Kristen (as they sometimes did, though less and less frequently).
And, as she always did, Dahlia waved at her with one hand and held Talula’s with the other until Kristen looked away.
Afterward, Talula took Dahlia to the Blue Moon.
“I have an early birthday present for you.” Talula’s heart raced as they passed the rakshasa manning the register. “Simon, stay here.”
Simon rolled his eyes. He dragged a croissant to his custom-monogrammed dog bed in the café’s most sunlit corner.
“Ooh, secretive.” Dahlia clapped her hands. “Very sexy. I’m down.”
Talula pulled her through the Employees Only door and down the stairs to the Volta. The Volta sparkled as it always had, blue filaments floating eagerly toward Talula and Dahlia. They both stopped to take it all in.
“It’s like looking at the ocean.” Dahlia sighed. “Something so mighty and beautiful that you kind of ache a little.”
Talula cupped Dahlia’s cheek. “I know what you mean.”
She searched Dahlia’s warm eyes, awed by the trust and love she saw there. Then Talula reached into her bag and pulled out a container of homemade cookies nestled next to an almost-familiar book.
“Dessert after breakfast?” Dahlia reached for the sweets.
Talula shook her head. “They’re not for you.”
In between shifts, her romantic life, and her suddenly very busy social calendar, Talula spent a few minutes every day in the Volta.
She’d spend her time there learning the secrets of magic from her alternate self.
She’d come out after what had felt like weeks in the Volta but was only a few minutes in her world.
Talula needed that time to prepare for this moment, along with the help of Volta Talula, Sara’s magical wisdom, and Mrs. Bochart’s baking advice.
“Do you trust me?” Talula offered up her hand.
Dahlia took it. “With the world.”
Together, they stepped through the Volta. In a flash of cerulean sorcery, the Volta showed them the sidewalk across from the Joneses’ house.
Dahlia cocked a hip, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Why do I feel like we just took a private plane to go across town?”
Talula stayed quiet, watching as Dahlia took in the familiar scene. Finally, realization crept over Dahlia’s face.
This was the Joneses’ house two autumns ago. The trees in the yard had turned red-gold, and pumpkins were perched on porches and front steps. Nearby, children shrieked gleefully as they crunched through leaf piles.
Across the street, in the house Dahlia would eventually live in, a deep, booming laugh warmed the fall air.
“Oh. Oh,” Dahlia whispered. “That’s…that’s my dad.”
Talula squeezed her hand. “Yes. Just him. Your mom is at the store right now, so it’ll be just the two of you.”
“But is this okay? We won’t ‘monkey paw’ time or something?” Dahlia’s voice was tight with want.
Talula shook her head. “We—the other Talula and I—found every possible scenario in every possible timeline, factoring in every choice we could make. This is the day you can see your dad and everything will be fine.”
Dahlia shook her head, still not quite believing.
Talula pointed at the cookies. “He just has to eat these forget-me-now cookies. He won’t remember that he saw you.”
Dahlia visibly wilted. Talula was ready for that. “But he won’t forget the feelings that come from seeing you. He just won’t know why he’s feeling them or why he’s thinking of you so much.”
Dahlia kept staring, running a thumb over the back of Talula’s hand over and over again.
Wondering if she’d messed up, Talula looked down at her feet. “We don’t have to do this. If it’s too much—”
Dahlia grabbed Talula’s shoulders. “Look me in the eye and tell me I get to see my dad again and everything will be okay.”
“You have one hundred and twenty-eight minutes from when you open the door. Then you have to go.” Talula bit her lip. “I’m so sorry; it was the most time we could find without causing a ripple effect—”
“Two hours? I get two hours with him?” Dahlia’s voice cracked. “I would give anything for two minutes.”
Talula pulled Dahlia into a hug. “I know.”
“You know what my dad always said?” Talula felt Dahlia take a shaky breath. “ ‘Never delay joy, not when you can help it.’ ” She looked back up at Talula, her eyes shining with tears, her dimples at their most dazzling. “I don’t want to delay this. Not for another minute.”
“Okay, my love.” Talula wiped a tear from Dahlia’s cheek. “You go ahead. I have a little time-space continuum errand to run.”
“No.” Dahlia shook her head fiercely. “You’re coming with me. This is my only chance to introduce my dad to the love of my life.”
Talula would never feel so honored in her very long, extraordinary life. “Let’s go find this joy.”
“Can I tell him everything? Because of the cookies?”
“Anything and everything.”
Dahlia snatched up Talula’s hand and ran to open her front door. “Dad!”
“Dahlia?” A deep voice rang out from the living room. Quick as lightning, a man with Dahlia’s eyes and dimples appeared. He laughed with delight. “Baby girl! What are you doing here?”
Dahlia threw herself at her dad, who caught her with an oomph.
“I missed you, I missed you so much.” Dahlia wept.
“Oh, honey.” Confounded and concerned, Dr. Jones rocked his daughter back and forth. “I missed you, too.”
“Dad,” Dahlia sniffed. She didn’t waste any time. “I’m from the future. This is my girlfriend; she’s a sorceress. Talula, show him.”
Talula, almost paralyzed with meet-the-parents nerves, tried to think of something sufficiently magical to do. So she conjured an entire roast chicken from…somewhere.
She caught the bird in her arms. It was piping hot. Talula dropped it on the floor with a floomp. Totally panicked, Talula called her air affinity to lift the bird off the floor. It spun in the air, like a bizarre ensorcelled rotisserie. Dahlia guffawed at the shocked look on her father’s face.
“Wow.” Dr. Jones’s mouth fell open. “Okay. I mean…wow.”
Her hands and forearms a little schmaltzy, Talula stuck out her arm for a handshake. “Um. Nice to meet you, Dr. Jones.”
“You’re the young lady from the coffee shop.” Like an absolute gentleman, Dr. Jones went ahead and shook Talula’s chickeny hand.
“Yes, sir.”
“That chicken smells good.”
“Thanks, it’s actually, um, technically stolen, so I’m gonna just—” Talula sent the chicken away. Magical blue miasma fluttered around her. Talula swatted at it nervously. “I can make chicken, though. Really good chicken. And I can do other magical stuff that doesn’t involve…stealing chickens…”
Dr. Jones shook his head and laughed. “I’m very happy to meet you and your magical self.”
He turned to his daughter (Dahlia’s arms were wrapped tight around his middle). “But honey, why are you here? Are you going to give your old man some lottery numbers?”
Dahlia’s throat worked, but she couldn’t say the words. She looked at him, begging for him to understand.
At first, he didn’t. Then, he did.
His body seized up for a moment, eyes seeing out into the future that awaited him. “Ah. It’s like that.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Dahlia’s eyes streamed.
“So you’re here…”
“For two hours.”
“No weird Doctor Who shit’s gonna happen?” Dr. Jones asked. Talula saw Dahlia in that question, saw that same big love for the world.
“No, sir.” Talula shook her head. “We actually needed to come back for the sake of reality. I have something I need to do.”
“But you brought her here?” Dr. Jones asked, adjusting his glasses to take Talula in. “With your magic?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got to hear this story.” Dr. Jones let his arm rest around Dahlia’s shoulders. “If I’d known my time-traveling daughter and her magical girlfriend were gonna show up, I’d have made snacks.”
Talula’s eyes found Dahlia’s. “How about I make some cocoa?”
Dahlia’s grin was luminous.
While Talula cooked, Dahlia talked to her dad.
She told him everything. About quitting her job (“Good riddance”), about the Blue Moon (“I always thought there was something else going on at that place”), about Samhain (“I wish I could’ve seen those bastards shaking in fear of my girl”). About Talula.