“Zara, please?—”
“I’ve been hiding it because I didn’t want to scare you?—”
Ramona felt tears threatening.Just say it. Just say it so we can deal with it.She put her hands on Zara’s arms. Looked her in the eyes. “I know,” Ramona said.
Zara blinked. “You know? How long have you known?”
Ramona was barely holding it together. “A few days.”
“A few—” Zara looked genuinely shocked. “How did you find out? Did Iris finally confess to you?”
Ramona’s confusion shifted to alarm. “Wait, what?”
“What?”
“Iris? What does Iris have to do with this?”
“She’s… the one… at least I’m pretty sure.” Zara’s expression was anguished. “She… she didn’t tell you?”
“Tell mewhat, exactly?”
They stared at each other. Through the tether: confusion, alarm, dawning horror.
“What do you know?” Zara asked carefully.
“What doyouknow?” Ramona countered.
The fox sat at Ramona’s feet, looking between them.
Zara reached into her pocket. Pulled out something small — a piece of bark, dark and twisted. She turned it over in her hands. “This morning. In your mother’s garden. I saw the tree.”
Ramona eyed the bark, trying to follow. “The… strange dead tree?”
“A banewood tree.” Zara held up the bark. “They’re used to anchor long-term curses. To keep them stable over years, sometimes decades.” She paused. “Ramona, I think you’re cursed.”
Silence. The words hung in the air between them.
Ramona felt as though time had temporarily slowed, like her thoughts were moving through deep quicksand. “I’m sorry?Cursed?”
“Yes.”
“You think I’m cursed.”
“I know you’re cursed.” Zara turned the bark over in her fingers. “I’ve suspected for weeks. But I wasn’t sure. I wanted to be certain before I told you. And this morning, when I saw the tree again—” She met Ramona’s eyes. “I’m sure now. This is banewood. And your mother knows.”
“My mother?—”
“Has a curse tree in her garden. A very old one. Carefully maintained.” Zara’s voice was gentle but firm. “I asked her about it. She got defensive. Angry. That’s why we were arguing when we came into the study and found you.”
“My mom cursed me?” Ramona asked.
“No, I believe your sister did,” Zara said, her voice dropping low, like it pained her to say.
Ramona’s mind was reeling. “Iris wouldn’t… she’s my sister…”
“The spell you mentioned that killed the tree when you were kids. When Iris was eleven and you were eight.” Zara stepped closer. “You saidshedid something to a tree.”
“Yes, but?—”
