Ramona’stwo days off were a chance to take a breath. Zara had asked to visit the library, and so they’d walked to the Fernwick Public Library. Upon Zara’s request, Ramona had taken her to the floor reserved for magical literature that was off-limits to non-mages, where Zara had spent hours looking through literature that might help with their severing. Ramona had passed the time browsing the romance section, then settling into a comfy chair and enjoying a little escapism about hot vampires.
On her other day off, while snow blanketed Fernwick in crisp white, Ramona did laundry and tidied her room while Zara pored over the books she’d checked out, cross-referencingA Comprehensive Guide to Magical Contracts and Their DissolutionwithInfernal Agreements: Legal Precedents and Loopholes.
Back at work the next day, she and Zara had tested the tether by having Zara sit in the café next door to the shop for most of the day while Marcus was around, strategically positioned in one of the booths against the wall shared between the businesses. It had worked well enough, and Ramona had loaned Zara her laptop, where Zara caught up on the latest season ofLove Potion, all thirty-four episodes of the season so far.
On Sunday evening, Zara used the toe of her shoe to sweep away a few discarded T-shirts and dresses and knelt in front of Ramona’s bookshelf, pulling out one of the old academic tomes.
“You were a professor, right?” Zara asked casually.
Ramona tried to shove down the queasy feeling that word inspired. She forced a casual nod, keeping her hands busy by loosely braiding her hair for bed. “In another life.”
Zara glanced up, tilting her head. “Humans remember reincarnation?”
Ramona rolled her eyes. “It’s just a saying. I mean, I was a professor, and now I’m not… anything.”
“Dr. Greenbriar,” Zara said, her thumb trailing over the gilded spine of another book she lifted.
Ramona grimaced.
“Tongues of Power: The Strategic Use of Multilingual Construction in Medieval Magical Texts,” Zara read aloud. “Wow, riveting stuff.”
Ramona scoffed. “Don’t make fun of my dissertation. I spent many, many years writing that?—”
Zara blinked. “Mortal, I’m not… making fun. I honestly find it very interesting.” She sat back on her heels, flipping open the book. “What kinds of courses did you teach?”
“I had two sections of Intro to Magical Languages, and Reading Medieval Grimoires in the spring with History of European Magic, 1200-1600, in alternating years. I was developing this graduate seminar on code-switching that would have been incredible, though, and the dean had talked to me about an advanced paleography course.”
It felt like a full lifetime ago that her life had been in the wood-paneled halls of Thornwood. She remembered her first day in her office, the terribly small one too close to the furnace room, sitting at her desk and feeling like she’d really made it.
But the worst part wasn’t losing the job. The worst part was losing the students.
The grad student who’d wanted Ramona to chair her dissertation committee. The undergrad who’d finally understood why magical Latincane mattered. The teaching assistant she’d been training. They’d all found other advisors. Other mentors. Other professors who could actually do magic. Because what use was a magical languages professor who couldn’t cast a basic spell? What use was expertise without execution? None. No use at all.
So now Ramona sold crystals to non-mages and tried not to think about the students who’d once waited after class to askquestions. Who’d gotten excited about grimoire paleography. Who’d wanted to be like her. She hoped they’d found better role models. They deserved better than a washed-up academic who couldn’t even reheat her tea without catastrophe.
Zara was looking at her, watching. “What made you leave?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got a few weeks without much else going on, Mortal,” Zara said with a sardonic smile, leaning back against the wall, Ramona’s dissertation still in her lap.
“Not tonight.” Ramona sighed, and thankfully, Zara didn’t press.
Zara gestured toward the bottom row of the bookshelf where all the textbooks were gathering dust. “Maybe there’s something that can help us in all of these books, something that only your expertise would be able to find.”
“Well, it’s a good thing demons don’t need much sleep, because that’s all you,” Ramona said. “I hung up my academic robes a long time ago.”
“If you taught a course about medieval grimoires, why didn’t the grimoire you used to summon me strike an odd chord with you?” Zara asked.
Ramona wrinkled her nose. She’d been asking herself the same thing. The text had seemed clear to her upon its first reading, and she’d missed so much. She cleared her throat. “Well, first of all, that wasn’t a medieval grimoire. That was a more modern text. Second, it’s one thing to critically study a spell, and another altogether to perform a spell. Think of it like analyzing a contract versus writing one.”
“I do love writing them,” Zara mused.
“And let’s just say my head’s been out of the game for a minute, you know? I wasn’t looking at that grimoire like Dr. Greenbriar. I was looking at it as sad sack Ramona,” she said.
Zara frowned. “That’s…” Her voice faded, but Ramona looked away before the inevitable pity could reach Zara’s face.
Ramona chewed on her thumbnail out of nervous habit.
