“What?”
“Everything you just said. The lending library, the translation services, the workshops. Write it all down.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see it. On paper. Concrete.” Zara’s hand found hers under the counter. “Not just an idea you’re dismissing before you’ve even thought it through.”
Ramona stared at her. “Zara?—”
“Please, Mortal.” There was something in Zara’s voice that made it impossible to refuse. “Just write it down. What you’d do if you had your own shop. If money and credibility weren’t obstacles. If you could build exactly what you wanted.”
Ramona looked at the laptop. At Zara’s hand warm on hers. At the quiet hope in Zara’s expression that made something in her chest ache.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay.”
She opened a new document. Stared at it for a long moment.
An hour later, Ramona had three pages.
Three pages of ideas she’d been carrying for two years without letting herself acknowledge them. She even had ideasabout the physical space — the layout, the lighting, the way books would be organized not by marketing categories but by magical tradition and historical period. A proper workspace in the back for translation projects. A small classroom area for workshops.
It was detailed. Specific. Real in a way that made her chest tight.
“Can I see?” Zara asked during a lull between customers.
Ramona turned the laptop toward her, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s just… thoughts. Nothing serious.”
Zara read in silence. Her expression was impossible to read — that corporate focus she got when analyzing data, running numbers, optimizing systems.
“This is good,” Zara said finally. “Really good.”
“It’s a fantasy.”
“It’s the start of a business plan.” Zara pulled the laptop closer, scrolling through. “Or it could be. You have services, target demographics, space requirements. You’re missing financials — startup costs, projected revenue, operating expenses — but the foundation is here.”
“I’m not… I’m not actually going to do this.” A small part of her panicked at the realness of what Zara was talking about, the concreteness of funding and operating this venture.
“Why not?”
“Because…” Ramona gestured helplessly. “Because I don’t have collateral for a business loan. Because I have terrible credit. Because no bank is going to lend to someone with my history.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Zara was quiet for a moment, still reading. Then she pulled out her HellBerry, started typing.
“What are you doing?” Ramona asked.
“Making notes.” Zara’s fingers flew across the screen. “Revenue projections. Cost analysis. Market research data — Fernwick’s magical community is underserved, which means there’s demand. You’d need to quantify that, but preliminary numbers suggest—” She kept typing. “Startup costs would be significant. Commercial space, inventory, renovation if needed. But if you structured it correctly, phased the expansion, kept overhead low initially?—”
“Zara.”
“—the translation services could provide steady income while you build the community space aspect. Workshops would be supplemental at first, but as reputation builds?—”
“Zara.” Ramona reached out, putting her hand over Zara’s to stop her typing. “What are you doing?”
Zara looked up. Her expression was serious. Intense. “Building you a business proposal. So when you’re ready —whenyou’re ready, don’t look at me like that, Mortal — you’ll have something to present to a lender.”
