“Then why are you so weird to me?” Cammie asked, her words slurred.
Ramona huffed. “Cammie, you can’t just pounce on people like that.”
Zara pushed her foot to touch Ramona’s. “It’s not a matter or like or dislike. I simply feel nervous around…” She looked up to the ceiling as if searching for the word. “Non-witches.”
Ramona tried to keep her face neutral, even though she knew Zara was lying. Zara was fine with the non-mages that came into the shop, polite and helpful.
Cammie was fully pouting now. “But I’m nice.”
“You are nice,” Zara repeated back, her voice soft as if coaxing a child out of a tantrum.
The table went a little quiet. Even the jukebox seemed to hold.
Zara didn’t offer any more explanation. Cammie seemed satisfied with Zara’s answer, turning her head as a pair of nymphs with green-tinged skin walked by. “Do they have to be so hot?” she said loudly.
One of the nymphs glanced over her shoulder with surprise, then laughed as the pair found a booth toward the back of the room.
Sometime past midnight,Felix announced he was going to get one more round and promptly got into a conversation at the bar that showed no signs of concluding. Kashvi and Posey had migrated to the other end of the table, heads together, talking about something that was making Kashvi’s sparks fly. Cammie was on her phone, tilted away, giving them space with the subtlety of someone who was absolutely doing it on purpose.
Ramona and Zara sat with their shoulders pressed together in the particular way they’d stopped noticing and couldn’t stop doing.
The enchanted candelabra chandelier cast warm, low light over the table. The jukebox had gone soft again — something instrumental now, no words, just the shape of a feeling.
“Are you scared?” Ramona asked.
“Yes,” Zara said.
“Me too.”
Zara’s hand found hers under the table. Her thumb traced the same slow circles it always did. Like she’d been doing it for years. Like it was habit.
“I keep thinking about the things I want to say to you,” Ramona said. “And then I can’t figure out how to say any of them.”
Zara turned to look at her. Her eyes in the flickering candlelight were dark and certain. “I already know.”
“You can’t know, I haven’t?—”
“Ramona.” Zara’s voice was quiet, steady, the voice that meant she was being very precise on purpose. “We’ve been tethered together for nearly seven weeks. I know.”
Ramona’s chest did something complicated. “That’s an unfair advantage.”
“Yes.” The corner of Zara’s mouth moved. “It is, Mortal.”
The jukebox shifted again, into something that had no business being this tender. Felix was still at the bar, gesturing broadly at someone. Cammie was not looking at them.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ramona said.
Zara looked at her. “Where do you want to go?”
“Home.” Ramona held her gaze. “I want to go home.”
Something moved through Zara’s expression, quiet and certain and wanting. She set down her glass. “Then let’s go home.”
They said their goodbyes, which took longer than it should have because Felix got tearful and needed a hug, and Gerald had to be formally bade good night with a lot of bowing on Zara’s part, and Posey held Ramona’s hands for just a moment too long, and Cammie said “see you tomorrow” in a voice that meanthave funandI’ll mind my own businessandI’m glad she has youall at once.
They walked out through the bar, and Ramona tried not to grow nostalgic, thinking that this could be the last time they walked home together.
Outside, the night was cold and clear, Fernwick quiet around them. The door to The Grimalkin swung shut behind them.
