“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I’ve been doing inventory management for nearly three centuries.” Zara didn’t look up from the books. “This is painful to witness.”
“So you’re just… fixing it?”
“I’m browsing in an organized fashion.”
Despite herself, despite everything, Ramona felt a laugh bubble up. It came out slightly hysterical. “You’ve been here three hours and you’re already reorganizing.”
“Someoneshould.” Zara didn’t even glance her way, but her tone seemed to imply Ramona was helpless, which made Ramona cross her arms in frustration, defensive and ready to argue.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You didn’t have to.” Zara finally looked at her. “Your system — or lack thereof — was making my skin crawl. And I don’t even have conventional skin.”
Ramona stepped closer, examining the shelves in every direction. Zara had made it through about a quarter of the stock, organizing books by author within genre categories. It was… actually much better. She could actually find things now.
“You’re good at this,” Ramona said quietly.
“I’m good at many things.”
“Wow, and so humble.”
“That’s not one of them,” Zara said with a quirk of a smile.
The moment stretched. Standing among bookshelves with a demon who was reorganizing the shop one paperback at a time. It should have felt invasive. It should have felt wrong.
Instead, it felt… nice? To have someone care about the details. To have someone see the chaos and want to fix it instead of just shrugging and saying “Ramona is a lost cause.”
“Thank you,” Ramona said.
Zara’s expression shifted. She seemed slightly embarrassed, eyes wide and blinking. “You’re welcome, Mortal.”
Ramona took a moment to look at Zara up close, examining how her skin had a reddish quality, how her dark hair waved. How full her dark lips were. She was alluring in a way that made Ramona want to lean closer.
The front bell chimed — another customer.
“I should—” Ramona gestured toward the door.
“Go. I’ll continue browsing.” Zara picked up another book. “Alphabetically.”
Ramona left her there, organizing shelves that hadn’t been organized since the store opened. And as she helped a customer find meditation cushions, she caught herself thinking about how Zara was a demon. She was meant to be alluring. She was meant to draw in unsuspecting and desperate humans just like herself. And yet, Zara didn’t seem to see Ramona’s world as a lost cause just yet. She probably would. Give Zara three weeks and she’d probably be running, not caring about the pain of the tether.
By five o’clock,Ramona’s feet hurt and her headache had returned with a vengeance. She flipped the sign to “Closed,” locked the door, and found Zara sitting cross-legged on the floor of the back room, surrounded by perfectly organized stacks of books.
“We’re done for the day,” Ramona said.
For a moment, Ramona just stood there. The demon who’d arrived in an expensive suit looking like she’d stepped out of a boardroom was now covered in dust, hair falling loose, completely absorbed in alphabetizing paperbacks about crystals and moon phases. It was ridiculous.
“I finished the fiction section,” Zara said quickly.
“I can see that.”
“Tomorrow I’ll start on the reference books.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” Zara stood up, brushing dust from her pants. “It’s satisfying. Seeing order emerge from chaos.”
