That part did not feel fear.
It felt heat. Awareness. Want.
Ramona swallowed, pulse skidding traitorously, and hated herself just a little for how fast her body had decided this was not a threat, but a promise.
Zara cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows and giving Ramona a pointed look as if to sayReally? That? Here?
Ramona opened her mouth to protest, to lie, when Severine returned with the hawthorn branches wrapped in enchanted cloth, suddenly extremely helpful and apologetic. Ramona paid for everything without meeting the clerk’s eyes, too busy trying to get her heart rate under control.
They were almost at the door when?—
“Ramona?”
Her stomach dipped.
Iris stood near the entrance, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder, her raven balanced neatly on her shoulder. Her dark hair was windswept, cheeks pink from the cold. She looked genuinely surprised.
“Iris.” Ramona’s voice came out careful. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Iris’s gaze flicked briefly to Zara, then back. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Neither did I,” Ramona said.
A small pause. The bell above the door swayed faintly in the draft.
“What brings you in?” Iris asked, tone light but edged with something Ramona couldn’t quite name.
“Work,” Zara said smoothly, lifting an inexplicably acquired clipboard just enough to make the point. “Comparative sourcing.”
“Right. Of course.” Iris nodded, too quick. “That makes sense.”
“And you?” Ramona asked.
“Work too.” Iris adjusted the strap of her bag. “I’ve got a client case. Just a minor curse. Nothing dramatic.” She smiled like she expected Ramona to question her about it.
Ramona didn’t. “That sounds… busy,” she said instead.
“It is.” Iris’s fingers tightened briefly on the canvas strap. Her eyes flicked past Ramona toward one of the glass cases — heldthere half a second too long — then snapped back. “Thornwood’s inventory is reliable. Easier than ordering through the registry.”
“Completely,” Ramona agreed, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what she was agreeing about. She just didn’t want Iris to notice anythingshewas buying. The hawthorn branches were a fairly conspicuous item in her arms, though. “Well.”
“Well.” Iris shifted her weight toward the door. “Good seeing you.”
“You too,” Zara said pleasantly.
“Tell the girls I said hi,” Ramona added.
“I will.” Iris hesitated, then looked at her sister with something softer, almost searching. “It’s good to see you in Thornwood again,” she said. “Really.”
Ramona held her gaze. “Thanks.”
They stepped out into the cold, the door swinging shut behind them. The cobblestone street was quiet, afternoon light filtering through bare winter trees. Ramona tucked the bag of supplies closer to her chest, the weight of moonstone and hawthorn and blessed salt settling against her like armor. Zara’s hand came to rest lightly at the small of Ramona’s back — steady, grounding.
“Well,” Ramona said as they walked to the car. “That was weird.”
“It was.” Zara’s expression was thoughtful, glancing back at the shop. “Your sister is hiding something.”
“She’s always hiding something. Iris has been hiding things since she was twelve.” Ramona shifted the bag of supplies on her arm. “What makes you say that?”
