Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The drive up to Greenbriar Manor was lined with arching, ancient oak trees that formed a tunnel with their branches.
In the spring and summer, they turned into a verdant canopy, and in the fall, oranges and yellows and reds greeted guests.
Today, gnarled branches reached toward the car like outstretched claws.
The effect was as unsettling as the manor that loomed far down the drive.
The residence stood like a brick fortress, a horseshoe driveway in front leading straight to a staircase up to the massive and intricately carved front door.
What the manor lacked in frill, it made up for in size.
Though they’d only been a family of four, the Greenbriars also had a house manager and a cook, which left nearly fifteen more empty bedrooms.
Zara whistled, craning her head to see out the car window. “This is where you grew up?”
Ramona nodded, a lump forming in her throat, constricting her ability to speak.
“This kind of privilege usually makes people monsters. You should be way bitchier,” Zara commented.
“Ah, the demon has jokes,” Ramona said, putting the car in park near the old carriage house.
The fact that the car had made it was a bit surprising, but she’d have rather ridden a bicycle all the way here than be crammed in a car with Iris and Zara.
Just the thought of them at the dining table together was enough to make her palms feel sweaty again.
“No need to be nervous,” Zara said. “I can burn down the house at any moment.”
Ramona huffed a small laugh despite her growing unease, glancing sideways at Zara. “I want them to not know you’re a demon, preferably. Remember—”
Zara rolled her eyes, holding up her fingers as if using them to count the rules. “No stealing anyone’s souls, no entering into any bargains that are solely for my own gain, no corporate-speak, and I’m… not a demon. I am from Londoven.”
“Okay, but make it believable,” Ramona said. “No one says ‘I am from Londoven.’ You’re not a robot.”
“Why can’t I be Rushen? I could do such a good Rushen accent,” Zara said, smoothing the lapels of her jacket. “You know, I’m actually fluent.”
“Londoven is the furthest I’m willing to push it.” Ramona rifled through her bag, applying a tinted lip balm in her visor’s cracked mirror. “You’re positive my family won’t be able to tell you’re a demon?”
Zara shrugged. “Your mom and sister sound like gifted witches, especially Iris with the whole curse-breaking business, but I’m fairly confident I’ll be undetectable.”
Ramona blinked in alarm. “Fairly confident? Fairly?”
“Incoming,” Zara whispered only one moment before a tap sounded on Ramona’s window.
Ramona jumped, despite the warning, and turned to find Iris standing beside her car door, waving. Iris’s familiar, a raven, flew from Iris’s shoulder down to the ground.
Ramona took a breath and opened the door, stepping out onto the gravel drive. The cold bit at her face immediately. Iris was already moving in for an enthusiastic hug, and Ramona found herself caught in her sister’s embrace before she could prepare for it.
Iris was everything that Ramona was not. Iris was tall, slender, elegant. Her shiny, dark brown hair was smooth and coiffed, falling just past her shoulders.
“You made it!” Iris pulled back, her hands on Ramona’s shoulders, studying her face like she was looking for evidence. “And you brought your girlfriend!”
Zara emerged from the passenger side, smoothing down her jacket with practiced precision.
She’d glamoured her suit for the occasion — a dark blazer over a crisp white shirt, tailored pants that looked bespoke and expensive.
She looked like she belonged at a state dinner, not an awkward family Imbolc gathering.
“Iris,” Ramona said, her voice tight. “This is Zara. Zara, this is my sister.”
“Enchantée,” Zara said, offering her hand. Ramona wondered if it was too late to get back in the car and leave.
Iris shook her hand, eyes wide. “Wow. Hi. It’s so nice to meet you. Ramona has told me absolutely nothing about you.”
“I’m very private,” Zara said smoothly. Her accent had shifted ever so slightly, and Ramona wondered if she was really trying for Rushen.
“Okay.” Iris looped her arm through Ramona’s, already pulling her toward the house. “Come on. Mom’s been panicking about the dinner all day. Dad’s in the study pretending to read but actually just napping. Same as always. Bradford and the girls are already inside.”
Ramona let herself be dragged along, hyperaware of Zara walking behind them, taking in the grounds with that trademark intense focus. The front stairs. The carved door. The entryway with its vaulted ceilings and chandelier that was larger than Ramona’s car.
Her two nieces came barreling down the hall in a tornado of ruffles and limbs.
The oldest, five-year-old Daphne, hugged Ramona first, launching into her with enough force to make them both take several steps back.
“Auntie Mona!” Three-year-old Poppy howled, wrapping her arms around Ramona.
Ramona hugged them both fiercely, then introduced them to Zara.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Zara,” Daphne said, standing a bit shyly behind Ramona. Poppy was staring up at Zara skeptically.
“Nice to meet you… young… ones,” Zara said slowly, as if she wasn’t sure how to properly address a child.
Ramona bit the inside of her cheek to hide a grin. The girls ran off, and Iris ushered them inside as if it was her own home. After all, it was her birthright to inherit Greenbriar Manor, as all eldest Greenbriar daughters had before her.
“This is quite the home,” Zara said quietly.
“It’s been in the family for generations,” Iris said proudly. “The Greenbriars have owned this land since the sixteen hundreds.”
“Impressive.” Zara’s gaze swept the portraits lining the hallway — stern-faced witches in elaborate gowns and suits, each one more intimidating than the last. “And these are your ancestors?”
“Every single one,” Iris confirmed. “All the way back to Constance Greenbriar, one of the founders of Thornwood Academy.”
Ramona felt Zara’s attention shift to her. She didn’t look back.
They found Ramona’s mother in the kitchen, directing the cook with the kind of precision usually reserved for complex spellwork.
Eleanor Greenbriar was tall, elegant, her dark hair pulled back in an intricate braid threaded with silver.
She wore a dark green dress, formal even for Imbolc, and when she turned to greet them, her smile was warm but didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Ramona.” She crossed the kitchen and pressed a kiss to Ramona’s cheek. “You look well.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Ramona’s throat was tight. “This is my… Zara. Zara, this is my mother, Eleanor.”
“A pleasure, Mrs. Greenbriar.” Zara offered her hand.
Eleanor studied her for a moment, assessing, calculating, then accepted the handshake. “Welcome to our home. Any friend of Ramona’s is welcome here.”
The words were kind. The delivery was coolly polite. Ramona looked between the two of them. If anyone Ramona knew could clock a demon upon first sight, it was Eleanor. Instead, Eleanor dipped her head in greeting.
“Thank you for having me,” Zara said.
“Ramona, why don’t you show Zara around?” Eleanor turned back to the stove. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. Your father should be awake by then.”
Dismissed.
Ramona led Zara through the house, pointing out rooms without much enthusiasm. The library. The drawing room. The conservatory, where her mother grew her magical herbs. Each room was immaculate, perfectly maintained, utterly cold.
“Your mother seems nice,” Zara said carefully.
“She can be, sometimes. In her way.” Ramona paused at the back door. “Do you want to see the garden?”
“Of course.”
The garden was dormant for winter, but even now it was beautiful — structured beds, stone pathways, a fountain at the center that had frozen over. And at the far end, standing alone in what should have been a rose garden, was a tree.
Zara stopped walking, staring at it from a distance. “What’s that?”
The tree was ancient — gnarled, twisted, its bark blackened in places like it had been struck by lightning. Its branches reached up and out at unnatural angles, creating shadows even in the pale winter sun. No leaves. No life. Just dead wood that somehow still stood.
“Oh, just some nuisance tree. Iris accidentally killed it with a spell when she was eleven, and nothing can cut it down. It grows back the next morning, no matter what. It’s such an eyesore and such a pain in my mom’s ass that I secretly kind of love it,” Ramona said with a grin.
Two lines appeared between Zara’s eyebrows as she stared at the tree for a long moment, then pulled out her phone and took a picture. She turned back to Ramona, gave one last glance at the tree, and turned back toward the house. “Interesting,” she was mumbling as Ramona walked past her back inside.
Dinner was exactly as awkward as Ramona had feared.
The dining room was formal — long table, high ceilings, another chandelier that cast everything in dim candlelight. The table was decorated in dozens of flickering white pillar candles and woven crosses that she was sure her mom had been making for days.
Ramona’s father, Thomas, had finally emerged from his study, looking distinguished and distant in his gray suit jacket. He shook Zara’s hand with the same assessing coolness as Eleanor, then took his seat next to Eleanor, who was positioned at the head of the table.
Ramona sat across from Iris and Bradford, with Zara beside her.
Zara watched the raven sitting on a perch beside her mother’s owl.
Ramona had mentally prepared a dozen excuses for the close distance to Zara all night, but no one seemed to notice that Zara never strayed more than a few feet from Ramona’s side.