“Does it help?”
“Sometimes,” Zara repeated. Her tone made it clear the subject was closed.
They drove in silence for another block. Ramona counted the traffic lights — three until the turn, then two more until the apartment. Numbers were easier than thinking about how a demon somehow understood personal boundaries better than her ex-wife had.
“You should consider it, though,” Zara said without looking at her.
“Therapy?”
“And the business idea.” Zara’s voice was casual. Too casual, the kind of casual that meant she’d been thinking about it. “When we break this tether, you should think about it. The magical supply shop.”
“I’m not—” Ramona stopped. What was she going to say?I’m not capable?I’m not brave enough?I’m not anything except a witch working retail in a store that sells lies to non-mages?
“I’m just stating facts, Mortal.” Zara finally looked at her. “You’re very competent. You seem to be good with customer-facing interactions. And you clearly hate working for Marcus.”
Ramona’s throat tightened. The compliment felt too big, too real. Like Zara had seen something Ramona had been carefully hiding. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m simply making an observation.”
But the way she said it — matter-of-fact, certain, like she hadn’t just casually dismantled every excuse Ramona had been telling herself for two years — made Ramona wonder what else Zara had observed about her in just one day.
That was somehow the most unsettling thought she’d had all day.
CHAPTER SIX
“We’re stopping somewhereon the way home,” Ramona announced, pulling onto a street a few blocks from the apartment.
Zara smoothed the front of her jacket with both hands and said “very well” in the tone of someone being gracious about an invitation they hadn’t technically received.
When they parked, Ramona turned to look at the demon in her front seat. “Can you—” Ramona gestured vaguely at Zara. At all of Zara. The suit. The posture. The quality of presence that had made her car feel unreasonably small. “Try not to look like you’re about to conduct a meeting.”
Zara looked at her. “I always look like this.”
“I know. That’s what I said.”
“You want me to do something about my face.”
“I want you to do something about your entire—” Ramona stopped. Made a gesture that encompassed the situation. “Never mind. Just don’t make anyone feel damned.”
“I make no promises,” Zara said.
Ramona pushed The Grimalkin’s doors open without breaking stride. Zara paused on the threshold.
Ramona glanced back. “What.” It was not a real question.
Zara was looking at the door with an expression she hadn’t worn all day — not the cataloging attention she’d given the crystal display, not the professional assessment she’d applied to the customers. Something more careful. More alert. “This establishment has significant magical shielding.”
“Yep.”
“The kind that makes it invisible to those who don’t know it’s here.”
“Yep.”
“And you know it’s here.” Zara looked at her. “You’ve been coming here for some time.”
“Yep.” Ramona held the door. “Since I moved in. Are you coming in, or are you going to do a structural analysis on the doorframe?”
Zara stepped inside.
