The number sat there on her screen, accusatory.
She lay there for a moment, doing mental math that refused to work in her favor. Her next paycheck wasn’t until after the due date, and she’d been late almost every month for the past six months. She could ask her parents, but that would require explaining why she needed money, which would lead toquestions about her job, which would unravel the entire lie she’d been maintaining for two years.
“Fuck,” she whispered to the duck-shaped water stain.
She dragged herself out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen, where Felix was making coffee and Gerald was perched on the back of a chair, watching with his judgmental pigeon eyes. The morning light coming through the kitchen window was gray and weak. The weather outside had all the charm of a wet paper bag.
“Morning,” Felix said, not looking up from his French press. He was wearing a sweater with a cat on it, which Gerald seemed to take as a personal insult based on his agitated cooing.
Ramona poured herself coffee and gave a sideways glance at Gerald.
“Hey, about rent, I’m going to be a tiny bit late again,” Ramona said, not looking at Felix with deep concentration. As the longest tenant of the apartment, Felix had become the rent collector, a job that meant Ramona had to apologize to him near the end of every month.
Felix shrugged. “Okay. Get it to me when you can.”
The bookshop felt smallerthan usual. Or maybe Ramona just felt like the walls were closing in.
She’d arrived ten minutes late, and Marcus was already there, reorganizing the crystal display in a way that made absolutely no sense. Rose quartz next to obsidian? The man had no understanding of basic energetic principles.
“Morning, Ramona,” he said without looking at her.
“Morning.”
She busied herself with opening the register, counting bills with numb fingers, anything to avoid the inevitable conversation. Maybe if she looked busy enough, he’d forget.Maybe a meteor would hit the shop. Maybe she’d spontaneously combust.
Unfortunately, none of those things happened.
At 10:47 a.m., Marcus found her restocking the Occult section in the back corner — the small, dark area filled with books that no witch worth her wand would ever touch.Wicca for Dummies.How to Talk to Your Spirit Guides. A book calledCrystals and Cryptocurrencythat seemed to fundamentally misunderstand both concepts.
“Hey, so.” Marcus leaned against the bookshelf, vape pen in hand. The artificial mango smell made her stomach turn. “About that talk.”
Ramona set down a copy ofMoon Magic Made Easyand turned to face him. Her pulse kicked up. “Right.”
“So, the shop’s been doing really well. Like, really well.”
For one wild, impossible second, Ramona’s heart lifted. They were doing well. He was going to give her a raise. Maybe even make her assistant manager. She’d been here two years, she knew every corner of this place, she could?—
“We’re opening a second location,” Marcus continued, grinning like he’d just announced world peace. “Downtown. Bigger space, better foot traffic. It’s gonna be huge.”
“That’s… great,” Ramona said carefully. The hope in her chest continued to bloom.
“Yeah, and I’ve been thinking about who should run it.” He paused, and Ramona held her breath. The moment stretched.
Ramona saw the meaning of his pause. He was trying to tell her he wanted her to run the new shop. She smiled, almost blushing at the idea. “I’d?—”
“My brother’s perfect for it. He just graduated, super business-savvy, you know how it is.”
The breath left her lungs. The smile left her face. She blinked in surprise. “Your… brother,” she repeated slowly, as if maybe hejust needed to hear it said back to realize what kind of an idea that was.
“Yeah! Dylan. He was in Sigma Nu, so he’s got great people skills. He’s gonna crush it.”
Ramona stared at Marcus. At his stupid turtleneck and his stupid vape pen and his stupid, oblivious face. The entire shop was funded by his rich parents — ofcoursehe’d hire his brother. Her hands were shaking. She shoved them in her pockets. “And what about… here? The original location?”
“Oh, you’ll keep doing what you’re doing. You’re great at it.” He said it like he was giving her a gift. Like she should be grateful. “I mean, someone’s gotta hold down the fort, right?”
“Right. Like… a manager here?” Ramona said, not exactly proud of the embarrassingly high octave her voice her had reached.
“Uh, hmm. We’ll figure that out.”
