But as she explained the properties of lavender versus eucalyptus, she could feel Zara watching her. Assessing. Cataloging.
It made her skin prickle.
Around eleven, during another quiet stretch, Ramona found Zara standing in front of another display, staring at it with the expression of someone witnessing a crime.
“Problem?” Ramona asked.
“This sage bundle,” Zara said slowly, holding up a small bundle of white sage tied with purple string, “costs twelve dollars.”
“Yeah?”
“And this book”—she picked up a paperback about crystal healing—“costs eight dollars.”
“Okay?”
“The sage bundle is three plant stems tied together. The book is two hundred pages of printed information.” Zara looked at Ramona. “Your pricing structure makes no sense.”
“My boss prices things based on what he thinks people will pay.”
Zara looked personally affronted by that philosophy. “That’s not a pricing structure. That’s chaos with a cash register.”
“Welcome to my life.”
Zara set down the sage and the book, shaking her head. “And the inventory system is… Do you even have one?”
Ramona glanced back toward the register. “There’s a spreadsheet. Somewhere.”
“Somewhere?” Zara looked like she might launch into a panic attack at any moment.
“Marcus updates it occasionally. When he remembers. Which is never.”
“How do you know what needs restocking?”
Ramona shrugged. “I look at the shelves. If they’re empty, I restock them. If we don’t have it, I make a note of it.”
Zara stared at her. “That’s not a system.”
“I’m aware.”
“This place shouldn’t function.” Zara ran a hand hastily through her hair, clearly stressed.
“And yet here we are. Functioning.” Ramona moved past her to help a customer who’d just walked in — a young woman looking for birthday candles, the regular kind, becauseapparently Mystic Moon Books was now also a place people came for emergency party supplies.
When the customer left with the same candles Ramona usually recommended for cord cutting, Ramona turned back to find Zara examining the discount bin with a look of pure horror.
“These books aren’t even organized by category,” Zara said.
“They’re five dollars each. People dig.”
“But if you organized them — by genre, or author, or even just alphabetically — people would buy more because they could actually find what they’re looking for.”
“Probably.”
Zara pinched the bridge of her nose — a gesture that looked eerily similar to what Ramona did when dealing with Marcus. “We have one hundred and seventeen different departments just for processing soul contracts. And somehow, this”—she gestured at the store—“is more chaotic than Hell.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s not.”
