Zara nodded. Didn’t push. Filed it away wherever she filed the things Ramona told her, which seemed more careful than expected.
Parliamentarian had migrated fully onto the stool beside Zara and was leaning against her arm with the boneless commitment of a cat who had made a permanent decision. Zara’s hand rested near him in a way that wasn’t quite petting but wasn’t not petting either.
“We should test the tether,” Ramona said. “Properly. While the apartment’s empty.”
Zara straightened slightly. Back to business. “Empty?”
“Tuesdays are usually pretty empty at home. Felix’s Crypts and Covens game usually runs until ten.”
“Then we have time.” Zara finished her drink, set the glass down with her customary precision. Odette appeared, glanced at both glasses, raised an eyebrow.
“We’re good,” Ramona said. “Thank you.”
Odette inclined her head. The almost imperceptible acknowledgment that meantyou’re welcomeandcome backandI have noted that you brought a demon to my bar and have filed this information away for another timeall at once.
They got their coats. Parliamentarian watched them leave from his stool with an expression of dignified regret.
At the door, Zara paused.
“This place,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’d like to come back.”
Ramona pushed the door open into the January cold. “I figured.”
The apartment wasdark when they got back, which meant Felix was at his Tuesday night Crypts and Covens game. Posey would be at the community garden until sunset. Kashvi was probably at the library. Cammie would be closing at the café.
Privacy. Finally.
Ramona unlocked the door and immediately kicked off her shoes, leaving them in the pile by the entrance that Felix kept trying to organize into a “mindful shoe meditation space.” Her feet ached. Her head ached. Everything ached in that specific way that came from standing on concrete floors for eight hours while pretending to be enthusiastic about rose quartz.
“I’m going to make dinner,” Ramona announced, dropping her bag on the counter. “You hungry?” Zara had refused breakfast and lunch, and Ramona was beginning to question whether demons even ate food.
Zara had followed her inside, pausing near the shoe pile. “Yes.”
Ramona pulled open the fridge, surveying the contents with the grim determination of someone who’d been putting off grocery shopping. Eggs. Half a block of cheese with a questionable expiration date. Some wilted spinach. In the back of the freezer, buried behind one of Posey’s elaborate fermentation projects, she found pasta sauce that Felix had made last month.
“Spaghetti okay?” Ramona asked. She glanced toward Zara. “You can come in, you know. Sit on the couch. Or at the table. You’re going to be here for a few weeks, you might as well get comfortable.”
Zara tilted her head with an assessing expression. “Do you need help making it?”
“It’s just boiled water. I can manage,” Ramona said with a reflexive snark in her tone. She filled a pot with water and set it on the stove, then rummaged through the cabinet for pasta. She found a box of spaghetti, half empty, that had probably been there since she’d moved in. Good enough.
She wasn’t a great cook. Simone had done most of the cooking when they were together — had enjoyed it, even, turning their tiny kitchen into some kind of experimental culinary lab.Ramona had been the one who did dishes, who cleaned up when Simone had used every dish possible. A fair division of labor, she’d thought at the time.
The water took forever to boil. Ramona leaned against the counter, watching Zara walk carefully into the kitchen, examining the room with that same cataloging intensity she brought to everything. Taking in the mismatched mugs, the flourishing herb garden on the windowsill, the collection of takeout menus held to the fridge with magnets from exotic places none of them had ever been.
“Your roommates are all witches?” Zara asked.
“All of them but Cammie,” Ramona answered, adding salt to the water.
Zara nodded slowly, reaching to touch her hand to the edge of the saucepan. The water began to boil instantly. “But you’re not an official coven?”
Ramona shook her head and added the pasta. “No, not even close.”
“Don’t witches usually live with their covens?” Zara asked, handing Ramona a wooden spoon from the utensil holder.
