“Did what?”
“Break into Thornwood. Get the grimoire. Or at least photograph the relevant sections.” Zara’s voice was calm, like she was suggesting they pick up groceries. “It’s not impossible.”
“I’d rather set myself on fire.”
Zara leveled her with a long look.
Ramona stared at her. “You’re not serious.”
“Very serious, Mortal.” Zara’s expression was focused. “We need that information. It exists. It’s accessible, just not to you specifically. So we find a way around that restriction.”
“We find another way. Any way that doesn’t involve Thornwood.”
“We have to do what’s necessary to fix a problem we created.” Zara pulled up a chair, sitting beside Ramona. “Look, we don’t have to decide anything right now. But we should at least consider it as an option. Talk to the others. See if Kashvi has any other leads. But if this is the only way?—”
“No,” Ramona interrupted. She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to imagine walking back into Thornwood, into the place that had expelled her, stealing from their archives like some kind of?—
Like someone who was desperate enough to do whatever it took.
No. They were not there yet.
“Well,” Zara said. She stood, stretched. “Now. While we’re on the subject of things you should think about…” She gestured at Ramona’s laptop. “Pull up a new document.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to write something down.”
“What?”
“Everything you’d do if you had your own shop. Hypothetically. If money and credibility weren’t obstacles.”
“Zara—”
“Humor me. You’ve been researching convergence points all day. You need a break. And I’m curious.” Zara crossed her arms. “What would you do with a place like this if it were actually yours?”
Ramona looked at Mystic Moon — at the sanitized version of magic Marcus had created, at the customers who came in looking for aesthetic experiences instead of actual practice, at everything this place could be but wasn’t.
“I’d make it for witches,” she said quietly. “Actual witches. Not non-mages playing at magic.”
“What would that look like?”
And just like that, Ramona was talking. About the lending library she’d always wanted to create. About translation services for practitioners who couldn’t read the original texts. About workshops on linguistic theory in spellwork, about hosting visiting scholars, about creating actual community space for witches who didn’t have coven connections or Thornwood access.
“There’s no space for witches anymore,” Ramona said. “Not real space. Thornwood is elitist. The apothecaries are intimidating and few and far between. The online shops can scam you easily. The covens are insular. If you’re not part of the right families, if you don’t have the right connections, you’re just… alone.”
“So you’d create that space,” Zara said.
“I’d try.” The words were coming faster now. “It’d be more community focused than The Grimalkin, but the samewelcoming feeling, you know?” She stopped, face heating. “This is stupid. It’s not like I could actually?—”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have money. Or credibility. Or—” Ramona gestured at herself. “I’m the witch who got expelled from Thornwood for nearly killing the High Priestess. Who’s going to trust me to run a magical community space?”
“People who understand,” Zara said. “People who need what you’re offering. People who are also tired of elitist magical institutions that gatekeep knowledge.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Ramona said. “This isn’t my shop. And it never will be.”
“Write it down anyway.” Zara’s voice was gentle but firm.
