“Londoven is the furthest I’m willing to push it.” Ramona rifled through her bag, applying a tinted lip balm in her visor’s cracked mirror. “You’repositivemy family won’t be able to tell you’re a demon?”
Zara shrugged. “Your mom and sister sound like gifted witches, especially Iris with the whole curse-breaking business, but I’m fairly confident I’ll be undetectable.”
Ramona blinked in alarm. “Fairlyconfident? Fairly?”
“Incoming,” Zara whispered only one moment before a tap sounded on Ramona’s window.
Ramona jumped, despite the warning, and turned to find Iris standing beside her car door, waving. Iris’s familiar, a raven, flew from Iris’s shoulder down to the ground.
Ramona took a breath and opened the door, stepping out onto the gravel drive. The cold bit at her face immediately. Iriswas already moving in for an enthusiastic hug, and Ramona found herself caught in her sister’s embrace before she could prepare for it.
Iris was everything that Ramona was not. Iris was tall, slender, elegant. Her shiny, dark brown hair was smooth and coiffed, falling just past her shoulders.
“You made it!” Iris pulled back, her hands on Ramona’s shoulders, studying her face like she was looking for evidence. “And you brought your girlfriend!”
Zara emerged from the passenger side, smoothing down her jacket with practiced precision. She’d glamoured her suit for the occasion — a dark blazer over a crisp white shirt, tailored pants that looked bespoke and expensive. She looked like she belonged at a state dinner, not an awkward family Imbolc gathering.
“Iris,” Ramona said, her voice tight. “This is Zara. Zara, this is my sister.”
“Enchantée,” Zara said, offering her hand. Ramona wondered if it was too late to get back in the car and leave.
Iris shook her hand, eyes wide. “Wow. Hi. It’s so nice to meet you. Ramona has told me absolutely nothing about you.”
“I’m very private,” Zara said smoothly. Her accent had shifted ever so slightly, and Ramona wondered if she was really trying for Rushen.
“Okay.” Iris looped her arm through Ramona’s, already pulling her toward the house. “Come on. Mom’s been panicking about the dinner all day. Dad’s in the study pretending to read but actually just napping. Same as always. Bradford and the girls are already inside.”
Ramona let herself be dragged along, hyperaware of Zara walking behind them, taking in the grounds with that trademark intense focus. The front stairs. The carved door. The entryway with its vaulted ceilings and chandelier that was larger than Ramona’s car.
Her two nieces came barreling down the hall in a tornado of ruffles and limbs. The oldest, five-year-old Daphne, hugged Ramona first, launching into her with enough force to make them both take several steps back. “Auntie Mona!” Three-year-old Poppy howled, wrapping her arms around Ramona. Ramona hugged them both fiercely, then introduced them to Zara.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Zara,” Daphne said, standing a bit shyly behind Ramona. Poppy was staring up at Zara skeptically.
“Nice to meet you… young… ones,” Zara said slowly, as if she wasn’t sure how to properly address a child.
Ramona bit the inside of her cheek to hide a grin. The girls ran off, and Iris ushered them inside as if it was her own home. After all, it was her birthright to inherit Greenbriar Manor, as all eldest Greenbriar daughters had before her.
“This is quite the home,” Zara said quietly.
“It’s been in the family for generations,” Iris said proudly. “The Greenbriars have owned this land since the sixteen hundreds.”
“Impressive.” Zara’s gaze swept the portraits lining the hallway — stern-faced witches in elaborate gowns and suits, each one more intimidating than the last. “And these are your ancestors?”
“Every single one,” Iris confirmed. “All the way back to Constance Greenbriar, one of the founders of Thornwood Academy.”
Ramona felt Zara’s attention shift to her. She didn’t look back.
They found Ramona’s mother in the kitchen, directing the cook with the kind of precision usually reserved for complex spellwork. Eleanor Greenbriar was tall, elegant, her dark hair pulled back in an intricate braid threaded with silver. She wore a dark green dress, formal even for Imbolc, and when she turnedto greet them, her smile was warm but didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Ramona.” She crossed the kitchen and pressed a kiss to Ramona’s cheek. “You look well.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Ramona’s throat was tight. “This is my… Zara. Zara, this is my mother, Eleanor.”
“A pleasure, Mrs. Greenbriar.” Zara offered her hand.
Eleanor studied her for a moment, assessing, calculating, then accepted the handshake. “Welcome to our home. Any friend of Ramona’s is welcome here.”
The words were kind. The delivery was coolly polite. Ramona looked between the two of them. If anyone Ramona knew could clock a demon upon first sight, it was Eleanor. Instead, Eleanor dipped her head in greeting.
