“Mmm.” Zara’s tone suggested she knew exactly what Ramona had been doing. “Find anything useful?”
“Lots of things. Very useful things.” Ramona opened a new tab with renewed determination. “I’ll compile my findings tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
They sat in silence for another ten minutes. Ramona stared at her screen, trying not to get distracted. But the words kept blurring together. Her head was starting to hurt.
“I think I’m done for tonight,” Ramona announced, closing her laptop. “My brain is fried.”
“Understandable.” Zara finally looked up. “We can start fresh tomorrow.”
“Definitely. Tomorrow.”
Ramona woketo the smell of coffee and the sound of pages turning.
She turned to find Zara at the desk, surrounded by even more books than yesterday. The grimoires were arranged in neat stacks, sticky notes protruding from various pages. Zara’s notebook was filled with dense handwriting in what looked to be three different languages, two of which Ramona didn’t recognize.
Zara had pushed her sleeves up to her elbows at some point — probably hours ago, given the meticulous organization spread across the desk. The morning light caught on her forearms, illuminating the fine dark hair there, the elegant bones of her wrists as she turned another page, the faint glow of red underher skin. She was wearing her reading glasses, the thin silver frames that made her look like a scholar. A brilliant researcher. Someone who belonged in a university library at three in the morning, lost in primary sources and terrible coffee.
Someone devastatingly attractive.
Ramona’s mouth went dry.
It was unfair, really. Zara had no right to look that attractive, completely absorbed in medieval grimoires, one hand absently pushing her hair back from her face, the other making precise notes in margins. The glasses had slipped down slightly on her nose. She pushed them back up without looking away from the text, a gesture so… human.
“Good morning,” Zara said without looking up, though she had to have felt Ramona awaken through the tether. “Coffee’s fresh. I made enough for both of us.”
She turned then, finally meeting Ramona’s eyes over the rim of those disconcertingly attractive glasses, and held out a steaming mug.
Ramona’s brain short-circuited somewhere between the glasses and the forearms and the casual domesticity of Zara making her coffee at whatever terrible hour she’d woken up to do research.
“Thanks.” Ramona took the warm mug and eyed the research setup warily. “You’ve been busy.”
“I told you, demons don’t need much sleep.” Zara made another note. “I’ve been cross-referencing binding magic across different time periods. The medieval approaches are fascinating, but the contemporary texts have more detail on severance rituals specifically.”
“That’s… great.” Ramona sat down across from her, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. “Very thorough.”
“I found three different versions of the ritual we need. They have slight variations in the incantation, but the corecomponents are consistent.” Zara pushed a piece of paper across the table. “I made a list. Could you help me understand this? Some of these phrases are ambiguous.”
Ramona glanced at the list. Her chest tightened immediately.
Verra vincarae disruptara…
Sicrae erata principarum…
Lybrae nostara veris…
These weren’t just random Latincane phrases. These were complex grammatical constructions that required understanding of magical theory, historical context, subjunctive mood, ablative absolutes…
“I think those are pretty straightforward,” Ramona said, pushing the paper back. “Just standard incantation structure.”
“But this one here”—Zara pointed—“switches to Old Vallone mid-phrase. Doesn’t that suggest something significant? Like what you were explaining about power markers?”
“Maybe. Hard to say without more context.”
“The context is in this grimoire.” Zara tapped one of the books. “Pages forty-seven through fifty-two. I marked the relevant sections.”
Ramona did not reach for the grimoire. “I’m sure you’ve got it covered. I bet your Old Vallone is excellent.”
