Unbinding.
The word hung in the air between them, waiting.
Cammie’s contributionwas more practical.
“You need to eat,” she announced one evening, appearing with grocery bags. “Both of you. You’ve been living on coffee and fear for weeks.”
“I’ve been eating,” Ramona protested.
“Granola bars don’t count.” Cammie started unpacking ingredients with the efficiency of someone who’d worked in food service for years. “You’re doing heavy magical work. Your body needs actual fuel. Protein. Complex carbs. Vegetables in their natural form.”
She cooked them meals — real meals that required multiple pots and actual seasoning. She packed lunches for Ramona’s shifts at Mystic Moon. She left containers in the fridge with notes:Eat this before research. Love, Cammie.
“I didn’t realize I had a second mom,” Ramona said, only half joking. “You’re actually more nurturing than my real mom.”
“Someone has to take care of you.” Cammie blew a kiss, then added with a wink, “Since you’re clearly not doing it yourself.”
Posey’s helpcame from an unexpected angle.
“You know what I noticed?” Posey said one afternoon, appearing in the doorway of Ramona’s room with a potted fern. She had that dreamy quality to her voice, like she was half in this conversation and half somewhere else entirely. “The energy in here feels… scratchy. Like static. Plants help with that.” She drifted into the room, setting the fern on the windowsill with gentle hands. “They’re very good listeners, you know. And they filter magical energy. Like… like a water filter, but for magic.” She smiled, touching the fern’s leaves fondly. “This one told me you needed help.”
At least Posey wasn’t trying to bring Princess Buttercup in. Ramona glanced to the fern, its fronds swaying slightly in the breeze from the open window. She glanced toward the fire escape where the fox was sunbathing, then back to Posey. “The plant… told you.”
“Well, not in words.” Posey looked at Ramona like this should be obvious. “But yes. Plants know things. They’re very wise, actually. Much wiser than most people give them credit for.”
She started bringing more plants. Small ones at first — a pothos on the desk, a snake plant in the corner. Then larger ones. Within a week, Ramona’s bedroom looked like a miniature forest.
“I can’t see my desk anymore,” Ramona said, looking around at what had become a small jungle.
“You don’t need a desk.” Posey adjusted the fern with careful fingers, her voice soft and wondering. “The way the air feels different in here, don’t you feel it? Clearer? Plants are very generous like that. They just want to help.” She smiled at the fern. “Don’t you?”
And somehow — impossibly — Ramonadidfeel it. The constant low-grade anxiety that had been her baseline for two years started to ease. Not disappear, but… soften. Like something in the air had shifted.
“Thank you,” Ramona said quietly.
Posey looked up, and her smile was radiant — pure and uncomplicated and full of genuine warmth. “Oh, you’re welcome. But really, you should thank the plants. I just help them get where they need to go.” She paused, tilting her head like she was listening to something. “They’re very happy to be here with you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The living roomwas full of the familiar sounds of a Tuesday evening: the TV playingLove Potion, which had somehow become required viewing in their apartment; Kashvi’s commentary about the contestants’ terrible magical technique; Cammie’s laugh; the smell of popcorn.
“She’s going to pick Kellen,” Felix said, gesturing at the screen with a handful of popcorn. “It’s so obvious.”
“She should pick Devin,” Kashvi countered. “Kellen can’t even cast a basic attraction charm without messing it up.”
“That’s what makes him endearing,” Felix argued.
“That’s what makes him incompetent.”
Zara, sitting on the floor beside Ramona, was completely absorbed in the show. She’d gotten intoLove Potionwith an intensity that surprised everyone — analyzing the contestants’ strategies, critiquing their spell choices, predicting outcomes with the precision she usually reserved for Hell’s bureaucratic procedures.
“She’s not going to pick either of them,” Zara said without looking away from the screen. “She’s going to eliminate both and bring back Trevor from week three.”
“No way,” Felix said.
“Watch.” Zara made a note on her HellBerry. She was keeping a spreadsheet. An actual spreadsheet tracking contestant compatibility and strategic moves.
It was adorable. Ramona tried to focus on her translation instead of watching Zara watch reality TV with the intensity of someone planning a corporate takeover.
