“Good news first,” Ramona said.
“I found three different texts, all from the thirteenth century, all using variations of the same base methodology, that might help us with a combination of a cleansing and a severance.”
“And the bad news?”
Kashvi’s expression was apologetic. “They’re all in Thornwood’s restricted collection. I can see the citations. I can see descriptions of the rituals. But the actual texts — the grimoires with the full incantations and procedures — those are in the archives. Behind wards. Accessible only to authorized personnel.”
Ramona’s stomach sank. “Just like what I found.”
“But there’s something else.” Kashvi pulled up a scholarly article, tilting the screen. “I found a paper from the 1890s about convergence point restoration. The author theorizes that cleansing rituals and severance rituals share fundamental structural similarities — they’re both about dissolution, separation, breaking unwanted bonds.”
Ramona leaned forward, scanning the text. “So?”
“So if we can access the cleansing ritual texts, we might also find information that helps us modify the severance ritual.” Kashvi pulled up another document. “Look at this citation.Liber Purgationis Maleficaedoesn’t just cover demonic corruption cleansing. It has an entire section on magical severance. Specifically, how to separate demonic energy from sacred spaces without destabilizing either one.”
Zara had gone very still beside Ramona. “That’s — that could work. If we understand how to separate my demonic signature from the convergence point without destroying it, we could apply the same principles to separating the tether without?—”
“Without it backfiring,” Ramona finished. “Without any wild magic cascading. Without needing Hell’s bureaucracy to process the unbinding.”
“Exactly.” Kashvi looked between them. “The ritual you tried before failed because you were treating the tether like something that could just be cut. But what if it needs to be cleansed? Dissolved gradually, methodically, using the same principles as convergence point purification?”
“That makes sense,” Zara said slowly. “Demonic bindings aren’t just magical contracts. They’re energy signatures woven together. You can’t just sever them — you have to unweave them. Carefully.”
“Like untangling a knot instead of cutting the rope,” Ramona added.
“Right.” Kashvi scrolled through her notes. “But to understand the full methodology, to get the actual incantations and ritual structure, we need the grimoire. The complete text. Not just academic references to it.”
She looked at Ramona. The look was deliberate. Pointed.
Ramona felt sick.
“I’m not going back there.” Her voice came out sharper than intended, too loud for the corner of a bar. Parliamentarian opened one eye from his spot on the counter. “I can’t. If I show up at Thornwood?—”
“We don’t have a choice,” Kashvi said, quieter now, leaning in. “I overheard some witches talking here last night. We’re not the only ones who know about the corruption. And if they know, the Magical Council knows. We need those texts. Soon. And they’re in a place you used to have access to.”
“‘Used to’ being the operative phrase.”
“So we figure out how to get access again.” Zara had shifted beside Ramona, a solid presence at her shoulder. “We have eleven days. That’s enough time to plan.”
Ramona looked between the two of them. “That’s insane even to think about. The wards alone?—”
“Are designed to keep out unauthorized individuals,” Zara finished. “Which means they’re designed to let in authorized ones. We just need to understand the access protocols.”
“I don’t have access anymore.”
“But you know someone who does.” Zara’s voice was calm, logical, the same tone she used when reorganizing a shop display or building a case for something Ramona wasn’t going to like. “You know the building. You know the security measures. You know who has access and when.”
Ramona stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”
“Your mother.” Zara said it simply, as if suggesting they pick up milk on the way home. “She’s in the Thornwood Coven’s inner circle. She has access to the archives. She has a key.”
The table went quiet. Even the jukebox seemed to pause for a half second before sliding into something new.
“I’m not asking my mother for help.” Ramona’s voice went flat. “Did you miss the part where she just spent an entire dinner reminding me what a disappointment I am?”
“I didn’t miss it.” Zara’s expression was steady. “But she’s also the most practical path to what we need. Access keys work on all the wards. If we had hers?—”
“We’re not stealing from my mother.”
