Zara’s voice was careful. “You seemed… distressed.”
“Distressed?” Ramona crossed to the bed, sitting down with more space between them than was probably necessary. “Try complete and total mortification.”
“They seem… enthusiastic.” Zara’s conceptual spine was ramrod straight, her tone careful.
“I let them think we’re dating. To explain your presence.”
“Yes. I gathered that.”
“And Kashvi?—”
“Kashvi is perceptive,” Zara said, her eyes focusing on something far away as she considered. “The tether does create a magical signature. It’s understandable she would notice.”
“They’re going to keep asking questions.”
“Probably.”
“And I can’t exactly tell them you’re a demon from Hell.”
“That would be inadvisable,” Zara agreed, nodding.
They sat in silence for a moment. Ramona could hear her roommates still talking in the kitchen — muffled voices, occasional laughter.
“They’re just being overbearing. Don’t worry about any of that. I’m not…” Ramona awkwardly waved her hand between them. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“They’re just concerned about you,” Zara said, her voice softer now. “They want you to be happy. It’s… nice, actually. That you have people who care.”
Ramona looked at her. Zara was still sitting very straight, hands folded, carefully not looking at Ramona. But there was something in her expression — something almost wistful.
“Do you have people like that?” Ramona asked. “In Hell? A family? Friends?”
“Not really.” Zara stood up, moving back toward the chair. “Demons don’t typically form those kinds of bonds.”
“Do you have a family?”
Zara shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Aren’t demons born, like humans?” Ramona asked.
Zara shook her head. “No, we’re created through energy transfiguration. We don’t have parents in the same way a mortal would. We just… are, I suppose.”
Ramona tried to read Zara’s hardened expression. “That sounds lonely.”
“It’s efficient.” Zara stood and sat back down in the chair, the wood and plastic creaking under her. “You should sleep, Mortal. Tomorrow is another workday.” She pulled out her phone as if to signal that the conversation was over.
Ramona grabbed her spare pillow and the throw blanket from the end of her bed. She handed them to Zara, who accepted them with the same polite resignation as before.
“Thank you, Mortal.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ramona awkwardly hid in her closet as she changed into her pajamas — sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt from a marathon Simone had run years before.
She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up. The room felt strange with Zara in it. More crowded. The air seemed different, charged with something Ramona didn’t want to name. Like a tentative understanding was beginning to weave between them.
“Lights?” Zara asked.
“Oh, sure.” Ramona reached for the lamp on her nightstand. “Hey, can demons see in the dark?”
