“I just watched her face.” Zara paused. “She’s a very poor liar.”
“Yeah.” Ramona rounded the car and opened the driver’s side door. “Family trait.”
Zara’s mouth curved faintly at that, but she didn’t push.
Ramona slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, the cold sealed out in a dull thud. For a moment she just sat there, staring at the steering wheel.
It could have been worse.
It could have been Simone.
Iris, at least, had tried to pretend that seeing Ramona out and about in Thornwood could be normal.
Ramona exhaled slowly and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened for a beat. She glanced toward Zara, who was staring at the dashboard with an unamused expression. “I’d help, but we don’t have cars in hell, so I have no idea what to do here.”
“How do you get around?” Ramona asked, trying the ignition a few more times. “I’d have thought rush hour traffic would be one of Hell’s favorite pastimes.”
“We have a highly efficient train system, but you’re right. Maybe I could suggest a traffic jam for the next team-building exercise,” Zara remarked.
Ramona groaned. “Come on,” she said, patting the dash. “Please start.”
As if gentle words could convince it, the car sputtered for a moment, then started.
In the rearview mirror, Thornwood Apothecary receded into a neat, unimpeachable rectangle of glass and brick. Iris had said it was good to see her in Thornwood again. The phrasing looped in Ramona’s head.
In Thornwood again.
Like Ramona had a pattern. Like this was a return, not an accident.
She shifted in her seat, silence settling around them in the car. It could have been worse, she told herself again. No one had demanded answers.
But Iris had looked at her like she knew something, and Zara had protected her from running out of the store crying, and Ramona didn’t know which unsettled her more.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Let’s go out.”Zara crossed her arms over her chest.
Ramona looked up from the floor, where she’d been reviewing their ritual notes for the third time that morning. The new moon was tomorrow night. Everything was ready — the supplies, the incantation, the convergence point they’d identified in the woods forty minutes north of the city. They’d practiced the pronunciation. They’d memorized the steps.
Everything was ready, and Ramona felt like she was going to throw up.
“What?” she said.
Zara was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching her with that expression — the one that suggested she’d been thinking about something for a while and had finally decided to say it out loud.
“Enjoyment. Fun. Something you did purely because it made you happy, with no practical purpose whatsoever.” Zara tilted her head. “When?”
Ramona opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. Thought about it. Really thought about it.
The last time she’d done something just for fun. Not work. Not survival. Not numbing herself with bad TV or scrolling her phone until her eyes burned.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “Before the divorce, maybe? I don’t really have money for things like?—”
“That’s unacceptable.”
“It’s fine?—”
“It’s not fine. It’s been two years, Ramona.” Zara pushed off the counter, crossing the room with purpose. “The ritual is tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going out.”
