The fox opened one eye briefly, regarding Posey with what might have been respect, then closed it again.
“How did you know about the convergence points?” Zara asked, genuinely curious.
“The plants told me.” Posey said it simply, like this was obvious. “Well, not in words, exactly. But they know things. Energy things. They’re very sensitive.” She touched one of the potted herbs on the windowsill fondly. “This basil was practically vibrating that night.”
Ramona exchanged a glance with Zara. Through the tether, she felt Zara’s amusement — and underneath it, a genuine question.How much do we tell them?
“The ritual failed at that convergence point,” Ramona said finally. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “The severance ritual. We tried it at the new moon and it… didn’t work.”
The kitchen went quiet. Even Felix stopped watching the fox long enough to turn around.
“Are you okay?” Cammie asked. She’d been silent until now, but her voice was steady. Concerned. “Both of you?”
“We’re fine,” Zara said. “Ramona was hit by some kind of magical backlash, but she’s recovered.”
“Magical backlash?” Kashvi’s eyes widened, a spark flying from her pointer finger. “That sounds?—”
“It’s fine,” Ramona interrupted. “I’m fine. We’re both fine. We just—” She took a breath. “We have to try again. Next new moon. We have a little over three weeks to figure out what went wrong.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Felix set down his spatula and turned to face them fully.
“Okay,” he said. “So let me get this straight. You two had been planning this huge magical ritual — a ritual that apparently requires medieval grimoires and convergence points and specific lunar timing — and you didn’t think to mention it to any of us?”
“It wasn’t—” Ramona started.
“We’ve been living together for two years,” Felix continued. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “Two years, Ramona. And you’re doing major magic — dangerous magic, based on the ‘magical backlash’ situation — and you didn’t think to ask your three witch roommates for help?”
“I didn’t want to—” Ramona stopped. “I didn’t think you’d want to be involved with something so dangerous.”
“But wedowant to be involved,” Posey said, and she looked genuinely confused rather than hurt. Like the concept of not wanting to help simply didn’t compute. “You’re ours. That means we help. That’s how it works.” She said it so simply, so obviously, like she was explaining that water was wet.
“I thought—” Ramona’s throat was tight. “I thought it was my problem. Mine and Zara’s. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it.”
“Into what?” Cammie leaned forward. “Into helping you? Into being there for you? That’s literally what friends do, Ramona. Even friends who don’t have magical powers but would fight a bear for you.”
The fox, who had been sitting quietly near Ramona’s feet, made a small sound — something between a chirp and a whine. Agreement, maybe.
Felix jumped. “Did it just?—”
“The fox is agreeing with you,” Ramona said.
“How do you know that?”
“I just… know.” And she did. She could feel it — not through words, but through something else. A sense of the fox’s emotions, its opinions… No, notitsopinions,hisopinions, filtered through whatever nascent connection had formed when she’d invited him inside. “He thinks I’m being an idiot.”
“Smart fox,” Kashvi murmured.
“Very wise,” Posey added, nodding at the fox with a soft smile. “His energy is very old. Very patient. He’s been waiting for you for a long time, I think.”
“We all want to help,” Kashvi said. “If you’ll let us.”
Ramona looked around the kitchen. At Zara, standing beside her, close enough to feel her warmth. At Felix, fidgeting with his short brown curls. At Kashvi, closing her laptop. At Posey, smiling with her expression open and sweet and completely without judgment. At Cammie, looking exhausted from her shift but still here, still present. At Gerald, cooing once, meaningfully. At the fox, watching her with golden eyes.
These people, who had taken her in two years ago when she had nothing. Who had never asked her to explain the incident, never pushed her to talk about Simone, never treated her like she was broken or dangerous or too much. Who had just… been there. Consistently. Quietly. Without conditions.
And she’d been so focused on not being a burden that she’d never let them actually help.
