Chapter 21 #2
“Severance cuts the connection,” Kashvi said quickly, already pulling up new tabs on her laptop.
“It’s surgical. Precise. An unbinding is…
” She paused, searching for the right word.
“Broader. It dissolves all magical bonds associated with the spell. Not just the tether, but anything in the vicinity.”
“That sounds good,” Felix said, coming into the living room with a dish towel. “Right? More thorough?”
“It’s also significantly more dangerous.” Kashvi’s voice had gone sharp with concern. “Unbinding rituals don’t discriminate. They can unravel everything. Including things you don’t want unbound.”
“Like what?” Ramona asked.
“Like…” Kashvi gestured vaguely. “Protective wards. Or existing contracts. Or anything that was magically formalized. It’s unpredictable.”
Zara had gone very still. “Contracts,” she repeated softly. Her eyes seemed far away, like she had gone deep into a thought.
“Yes. Any magical contract that was active when the tether formed could potentially be affected by an unbinding.” Kashvi looked between them. “That’s why most practitioners avoid unbinding rituals unless absolutely necessary. The collateral damage can be extensive.”
“So we stick with severance,” Ramona said firmly. “We’re not risking that kind of chaos.”
“Agreed,” Zara said. But her voice was still distant. Thoughtful.
Felix shrugged, returning to the kitchen. “Just a thought. Seemed simpler.”
“Simpler isn’t always better,” Kashvi muttered, making notes on her laptop. “Especially not with magic.”
But Ramona noticed the way Zara kept glancing at Kashvi’s screen for the rest of the afternoon. The way her expression would go distant, like she was working through some complicated equation in her head.
Through the tether, Ramona felt something she couldn’t quite name. Not worry, exactly. More like… possibility.
She didn’t ask in front of the others. They had enough to figure out with the severance ritual. But the seed had been planted.
Unbinding.
The word hung in the air between them, waiting.
Cammie’s contribution was 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 help came 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 — Ramona did feel 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. ”