“Yes,” Ramona agreed, taking Zara’s hand. “We can do the full debrief later. Right now, I think maybe we should go back inside and dance at the gala we crashed specifically to prove we belonged there, and I’d really like our latest coven member to be there when we do.”
“Coven member?” Zara questioned. “Your coven accepts all sorts, I see.” Her eyes slid to Cammie, who grinned and shrugged.
“Exile Coven is a very equal-opportunity coven,” Ramona said. “Humans and mortal demons alike are welcome.”
She pulled Zara back toward the ballroom. Her coven followed, Gerald triumphant overhead.
“You know,” Zara said as the music got louder. “I came all the way back from Hell for this. The dancing had better be worth it.”
“It won’t be,” Felix called from behind them. “Statistically, it really won’t.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kashvi said.
“Welcome to mortality,” Ramona said and pulled her through the doors.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The apartment was quiet.
Everyone else had gone to an afterparty at The Grimalkin. The Exile Coven, officially acknowledged. Felix had been so excited Gerald did three consecutive barrel rolls.
Ramona and Zara had walked home from the bar, not even going inside first.
Now the bedroom was dark except for the streetlight coming through the cracked window, the city humming quietly below. The flowers Posey had grown in Ramona’s hair were wilting slightly at the edges.
“Leave them,” Zara said. She was sitting beside her on the bed, jacket off, bow tie hanging loose around her neck. “They’re beautiful.”
“They’re dying.”
“Everything dies eventually.” A beat. “I would know.”
Ramona looked at her. At this woman who’d just handed back three hundred years without flinching. “Does it scare you? Being mortal?”
Zara considered it the way she considered most things — seriously, without rushing to an answer. “A little. Death wasalways theoretical before. Now it’s just distant. Eventual.” She turned to look at Ramona. “Mostly I’m relieved to be here.”
“How does it feel? Your body, I mean.”
“Loud,” Zara said. “Everything is very immediate. My heartbeat feels too fast. I’m hungry but I don’t know what I want. I’m tired and also wired.” A pause. “It’s a great deal of sensation for someone who hasn’t felt much in three centuries.”
“We can sleep,” Ramona offered. “If you need to.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” Zara’s hand found hers. “I want to feel everything. All of it.” She said it practically, like a straightforward statement of intent, which somehow landed harder than if she’d made a speech about it.
Ramona kissed her. Zara kissed back, slower than the ballroom coat closet kiss, one hand coming up to cup her face. Ramona leaned into Zara’s steadiness, taking her time.
When they broke apart, Ramona reached back toward the zip of her dress. “Help me with this. I can’t reach.”
Zara’s hands were careful on the zipper. Unhurried. The dress loosened and Ramona stood, let it fall, stepped out of it. She hadn’t worn anything special underneath, just some very plain, very comfortable underwear — she hadn’t planned for the night to end like this, which felt like the most honest version of it.
Zara was looking at her with barely contained awe.
“Your turn,” Ramona said.
Zara stood and unbuttoned her shirt with focused efficiency, then paused. “It’s different now. Everything’s more…” She searched for the word. “Present. I don’t know what to do with that yet.”
“You don’t have to do anything with it.” Ramona crossed to her, put her hands on her waist, felt her exhale. “We figure it out.”
“I don’t know if it’ll be different.” Zara said. Matter-of-fact, which made it more vulnerable somehow, not less.
