Chapter 5 #2
He pushed through the door in his usual outfit — a turtleneck and approximately forty necklaces layered over each other. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had that serene smile that meant he was about to ask Ramona to do something very annoying.
“Ramona!” he said, arms spread wide like he hadn’t seen her in years instead of one day. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Hey, Marcus.” Ramona’s brain scrambled. Zara was right there, standing by the discount bin, very obviously not a normal customer. “I thought you weren’t in until Thursday?”
“I’m not. Just swinging by to grab the deposit bag. Left it in the office yesterday.” He glanced past her, noticed Zara. “Oh! A customer. Wonderful.”
Zara had gone very still. Her expression was perfectly neutral — the kind of neutral that screamed I am pretending to be human but achieved more of a mannequin quality.
“She’s just browsing,” Ramona said quickly.
“Take your time!” Marcus called to Zara, his voice too loud for the small space. “Let me know if you need any guidance on your spiritual journey.”
Zara nodded once, silent.
Marcus headed toward the back office, weaving through the displays. “How’s the morning been? Any interesting customers?”
“Just the usual.” Ramona followed him, positioning herself between Marcus and Zara. “Tourists. A few locals.”
“Wonderful, wonderful.” He disappeared into the office — really just a converted storage closet with a desk and a filing cabinet that hadn’t been opened in the two years Ramona had been here.
Ramona caught Zara’s eye and jerked her head toward the back, trying to signal to the demon that her mannequin moment should turn into casual browsing.
Zara, blessedly, understood. She drifted toward the back of store, picking up books one at a time.
Ramona exhaled.
“Found it!” Marcus emerged with a blue bank bag. “You know, Ramona, I’ve been thinking we should host regular events at the new place. It’s so much bigger. Maybe a new moon circle? Or a crystal renewal workshop?”
“That all sounds great,” Ramona said, only half paying attention as she watched Zara robotically lift books off the shelf without even looking at them.
“Exactly! Which is why you’d be perfect for planning it for Dylan.” He patted her shoulder. “Think about it. I’ll check in Wednesday.”
He was gone before Ramona could argue, the bell chiming his exit.
She waited thirty seconds. Then she walked to the back of the shop. Zara was holding a book in one hand and had apparently been in the process of placing it back on the shelf when she’d frozen.
“Coast is clear,” Ramona said.
Zara set down the book. Carefully. On a shelf that Ramona now realized was organized alphabetically by author.
“Are you—” Ramona looked closer. “Are you alphabetizing the romance novels?”
“I was browsing.”
“You’re literally organizing the books.”
“Your system is inefficient, Mortal.”
“There is no system. That’s the point.”
“Exactly.” Zara picked up another book, checked the author, slid it into place between two others. “Which is why I’m creating one.”
Ramona stared at her. At the demon from Hell who had apparently decided that the most pressing issue in her life was the organizational structure of Mystic Moon Books’s romance novel section.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I’ve been doing inventory management for nearly three centuries.” Zara didn’t look up from the books. “This is painful to witness.”
“So you’re just… fixing it?”
“I’m browsing in an organized fashion.”
Despite herself, despite everything, Ramona felt a laugh bubble up. It came out slightly hysterical. “You’ve been here three hours and you’re already reorganizing.”
“Someone should.” Zara didn’t even glance her way, but her tone seemed to imply Ramona was helpless, which made Ramona cross her arms in frustration, defensive and ready to argue.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You didn’t have to.” Zara finally looked at her. “Your system — or lack thereof — was making my skin crawl. And I don’t even have conventional skin.”
Ramona stepped closer, examining the shelves in every direction. Zara had made it through about a quarter of the stock, organizing books by author within genre categories. It was… actually much better. She could actually find things now.
“You’re good at this,” Ramona said quietly.
“I’m good at many things.”
“Wow, and so humble.”
“That’s not one of them,” Zara said with a quirk of a smile.
The moment stretched. Standing among bookshelves with a demon who was reorganizing the shop one paperback at a time. It should have felt invasive. It should have felt wrong.
Instead, it felt… nice? To have someone care about the details. To have someone see the chaos and want to fix it instead of just shrugging and saying “Ramona is a lost cause.”
“Thank you,” Ramona said.
Zara’s expression shifted. She seemed slightly embarrassed, eyes wide and blinking. “You’re welcome, Mortal.”
Ramona took a moment to look at Zara up close, examining how her skin had a reddish quality, how her dark hair waved. How full her dark lips were. She was alluring in a way that made Ramona want to lean closer.
The front bell chimed — another customer.
“I should—” Ramona gestured toward the door.
“Go. I’ll continue browsing.” Zara picked up another book. “Alphabetically.”
Ramona left her there, organizing shelves that hadn’t been organized since the store opened.
And as she helped a customer find meditation cushions, she caught herself thinking about how Zara was a demon.
She was meant to be alluring. She was meant to draw in unsuspecting and desperate humans just like herself.
And yet, Zara didn’t seem to see Ramona’s world as a lost cause just yet.
She probably would. Give Zara three weeks and she’d probably be running, not caring about the pain of the tether.
By five o’clock, Ramona’s feet hurt and her headache had returned with a vengeance. She flipped the sign to “Closed,” locked the door, and found Zara sitting cross-legged on the floor of the back room, surrounded by perfectly organized stacks of books.
“We’re done for the day,” Ramona said.
For a moment, Ramona just stood there. The demon who’d arrived in an expensive suit looking like she’d stepped out of a boardroom was now covered in dust, hair falling loose, completely absorbed in alphabetizing paperbacks about crystals and moon phases. It was ridiculous.
“I finished the fiction section,” Zara said quickly.
“I can see that.”
“Tomorrow I’ll start on the reference books.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Zara stood up, brushing dust from her pants. “It’s satisfying. Seeing order emerge from chaos.”
They walked back through the empty store together. Zara snapped her fingers, and every candle in the shop extinguished at once.
Ramona turned off the lights and set the alarm, her hands moving through the familiar routine while her brain tried to catch up. “You know, I’ve been manually blowing out those candles for two years. Marcus insists on ‘ambiance.’ There are thirty-seven of them.”
“That’s inefficient.”
“That’s… all I can do,” Ramona said quietly.
They stepped outside. The afternoon sun was already sinking low, winter days too short for comfort. Ramona locked the door and tried not to think about how she’d just watched actual magic happen in Mystic Moon Books. The irony was almost funny. Almost.
“At least Marcus won’t be in until Thursday,” Ramona said as they headed back toward her car.
The cold bit at her face, making her eyes water.
Or maybe that was just exhaustion. “I have Thursday and Friday off, so the next two days should be fairly easy and Marcus-free, and then we have a bit of time to figure out how we’re going to get through the weekend shifts. ”
“I’ll stay undercover,” Zara said. “Continue organizing.”
Ramona should have been annoyed. Should have told Zara to stop, that it wasn’t her problem, that Ramona could handle her own mess. That’s what Simone would have said — Stop trying to fix everything, Ramona. Some things are meant to be messy.
But the books really did look better organized. And Ramona was so tired of messy.
“Fine,” Ramona said. “Organize away.”
They walked in silence for a block. Then Zara said, quietly: “You would be good at it, you know.”
“At what?”
“Running a magical supply business.” Zara didn’t look at her. “You have a way with customers.”
“It’d be a waste of my education,” Ramona said, sniffling in the cold.
“And this isn’t?”
“This isn’t a career like opening my own shop would be. This is temporary,” Ramona insisted. She said it with conviction, even though she’d been saying temporary for two years now.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk about that with your therapist,” Zara said, wrenching open the stuck passenger door of Ramona’s car.
“How do you know about therapists?” Ramona asked, grateful for the subject change. “Does Hell have therapists?”
“Of course Hell has therapists.” Zara folded herself into the passenger seat with more grace than the car deserved — which wasn’t hard, since the car was held together mostly by audacity. “Mandatory after your first century. The emotional burnout rate among temptation specialists is alarming.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Zara pulled the seat belt across her chest, examining the frayed edge with the expression of someone reconsidering their life choices. “Hell’s HR department implemented a comprehensive mental health program in 1997. Weekly sessions, quarterly wellness checks, annual retreats.”
Ramona braced herself, hoping the car would start on the first try. The engine coughed, protested, then grudgingly turned over. “Demons do therapy retreats?”
“Everyone in hell does therapy retreats, Mortal. Even the damned.” Zara tried to adjust the seat, which didn’t adjust, and gave up. “Though I’ll admit the trust falls are deeply awkward.”
“I cannot picture demons doing trust falls.”
“No one can. That’s why they’re mandatory.” Zara looked out the window as Ramona pulled into traffic. “Character building, apparently.”
Ramona glanced at her, trying to read her expression. But Zara’s face had gone neutral again — that carefully blank look that gave nothing away. The same look Ramona had perfected during the last year of her marriage. The I’m fine, everything’s fine face.
“Do you actually go?” Ramona asked. “To therapy?”
“That’s a personal question.”
“You’re literally tethered to me. I think we’re past personal boundaries.”
Zara was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that Ramona thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then: “Sometimes.”
“Does it help?”
“Sometimes,” Zara repeated. Her tone made it clear the subject was closed.
They drove in silence for another block. Ramona counted the traffic lights — three until the turn, then two more until the apartment. Numbers were easier than thinking about how a demon somehow understood personal boundaries better than her ex-wife had.
“You should consider it, though,” Zara said without looking at her.
“Therapy?”
“And the business idea.” Zara’s voice was casual. Too casual, the kind of casual that meant she’d been thinking about it. “When we break this tether, you should think about it. The magical supply shop.”
“I’m not—” Ramona stopped. What was she going to say? I’m not capable? I’m not brave enough? I’m not anything except a witch working retail in a store that sells lies to non-mages?
“I’m just stating facts, Mortal.” Zara finally looked at her. “You’re very competent. You seem to be good with customer-facing interactions. And you clearly hate working for Marcus.”
Ramona’s throat tightened. The compliment felt too big, too real. Like Zara had seen something Ramona had been carefully hiding. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m simply making an observation.”
But the way she said it — matter-of-fact, certain, like she hadn’t just casually dismantled every excuse Ramona had been telling herself for two years — made Ramona wonder what else Zara had observed about her in just one day.
That was somehow the most unsettling thought she’d had all day.