Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Grimalkin was quieter than usual for a Thursday evening, which meant the hedge witch argument in the corner had only three participants instead of the usual five, and Parliamentarian was asleep on the bar rather than actively soliciting tribute.
Odette moved behind the counter with her customary unhurried efficiency, setting drinks down in front of people who hadn’t quite finished deciding what they wanted yet.
Kashvi had claimed their usual table — the one near the back where the candlelight was good enough to read by but dim enough that nobody could see your screen from across the room. Her laptop was open, two empty glasses pushed to one side, a third half finished. She’d clearly been here a while.
Ramona and Zara slid into their seats. Odette appeared, set something in front of each of them without comment, and disappeared. The jukebox was doing something atmospheric in the corner, the kind of music that suggested the evening was about to get complicated.
“Good news and bad news,” Kashvi announced, turning her laptop to face them.
“Good news first,” Ramona said.
“I found three different texts, all from the thirteenth century, all using variations of the same base methodology, that might help us with a combination of a cleansing and a severance.”
“And the bad news?”
Kashvi’s expression was apologetic. “They’re all in Thornwood’s restricted collection.
I can see the citations. I can see descriptions of the rituals.
But the actual texts — the grimoires with the full incantations and procedures — those are in the archives.
Behind wards. Accessible only to authorized personnel. ”
Ramona’s stomach sank. “Just like what I found.”
“But there’s something else.” Kashvi pulled up a scholarly article, tilting the screen.
“I found a paper from the 1890s about convergence point restoration. The author theorizes that cleansing rituals and severance rituals share fundamental structural similarities — they’re both about dissolution, separation, breaking unwanted bonds. ”
Ramona leaned forward, scanning the text. “So?”
“So if we can access the cleansing ritual texts, we might also find information that helps us modify the severance ritual.” Kashvi pulled up another document.
“Look at this citation. Liber Purgationis Maleficae doesn’t just cover demonic corruption cleansing.
It has an entire section on magical severance.
Specifically, how to separate demonic energy from sacred spaces without destabilizing either one. ”
Zara had gone very still beside Ramona. “That’s — that could work. If we understand how to separate my demonic signature from the convergence point without destroying it, we could apply the same principles to separating the tether without—”
“Without it backfiring,” Ramona finished. “Without any wild magic cascading. Without needing Hell’s bureaucracy to process the unbinding.”
“Exactly.” Kashvi looked between them. “The ritual you tried before failed because you were treating the tether like something that could just be cut. But what if it needs to be cleansed? Dissolved gradually, methodically, using the same principles as convergence point purification?”
“That makes sense,” Zara said slowly. “Demonic bindings aren’t just magical contracts. They’re energy signatures woven together. You can’t just sever them — you have to unweave them. Carefully.”
“Like untangling a knot instead of cutting the rope,” Ramona added.
“Right.” Kashvi scrolled through her notes. “But to understand the full methodology, to get the actual incantations and ritual structure, we need the grimoire. The complete text. Not just academic references to it.”
She looked at Ramona. The look was deliberate. Pointed.
Ramona felt sick.
“I’m not going back there.” Her voice came out sharper than intended, too loud for the corner of a bar. Parliamentarian opened one eye from his spot on the counter. “I can’t. If I show up at Thornwood—”
“We don’t have a choice,” Kashvi said, quieter now, leaning in. “I overheard some witches talking here last night. We’re not the only ones who know about the corruption. And if they know, the Magical Council knows. We need those texts. Soon. And they’re in a place you used to have access to.”
“‘Used to’ being the operative phrase.”
“So we figure out how to get access again.” Zara had shifted beside Ramona, a solid presence at her shoulder. “We have eleven days. That’s enough time to plan.”
Ramona looked between the two of them. “That’s insane even to think about. The wards alone—”
“Are designed to keep out unauthorized individuals,” Zara finished. “Which means they’re designed to let in authorized ones. We just need to understand the access protocols.”
“I don’t have access anymore.”
“But you know someone who does.” Zara’s voice was calm, logical, the same tone she used when reorganizing a shop display or building a case for something Ramona wasn’t going to like. “You know the building. You know the security measures. You know who has access and when.”
Ramona stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”
“Your mother.” Zara said it simply, as if suggesting they pick up milk on the way home. “She’s in the Thornwood Coven’s inner circle. She has access to the archives. She has a key.”
The table went quiet. Even the jukebox seemed to pause for a half second before sliding into something new.
“I’m not asking my mother for help.” Ramona’s voice went flat. “Did you miss the part where she just spent an entire dinner reminding me what a disappointment I am?”
“I didn’t miss it.” Zara’s expression was steady. “But she’s also the most practical path to what we need. Access keys work on all the wards. If we had hers—”
“We’re not stealing from my mother.”
“Why not?” Zara tilted her head. “Taking her access key for a few hours seems like minimal recompense. I would wager she hardly even uses it.”
“That’s not—” Ramona stopped. Started again. “Are you doing your demon temptation thing on me?”
Zara’s mouth quirked up in the tiniest of grins.
Across the table, Kashvi suddenly became very interested in her drink.
“You could ask,” Kashvi suggested carefully. “Explain that you need access to the archives for research. She doesn’t have to know what you’re researching.”
“She’ll ask questions. She’ll want to know why. And then—” Ramona shook her head. “She’ll either say no or she’ll tell the whole coven that I’m trying to get back into Thornwood, and then everyone will know, and—”
“Then we take it without asking,” Zara said. “When’s the next time you’ll see her?”
“I don’t—” Ramona stopped. “Ostara. Spring equinox. But that’s the day after the new moon.”
“Then that’s too far away.” Zara’s voice was firm. “The corruption is spreading now. We need to move faster than that.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Breakfast.” Zara said it like it was obvious. “This weekend. We invite ourselves over for a casual visit.”
Ramona stared at her. The candlelight made Zara look unreasonably composed for someone proposing a felony in a bar on a Thursday. “You want to voluntarily subject yourself to another meal at my mother’s house.”
“I want to acquire the access key we need,” Zara corrected. “And expedite our timeline. Waiting gives the corruption more time to spread. Better to handle it now.”
“And what — you distract her while I steal from her study?”
Zara blinked. “Pretty much.”
“You really are demonic.” Ramona’s voice was flat. “You love watching people suffer.”
“I don’t love watching you suffer.” Zara’s expression shifted — something warmer, more mischievous, the look that meant she was about to say something Ramona wasn’t going to be able to respond to in public. “Though I do enjoy certain other activities you’ve thought about back in that bedroom—”
Ramona’s face went hot. “Zara—”
“Remember that dream you had?” Zara’s voice had dropped lower, intimate, completely unconcerned with the fact that they were in a bar. “The one where I bent you over that little desk with all your old trophies above us—”
“Zara!”
Kashvi had started coughing with aggressive pointedness. The hedge witches in the corner glanced over briefly and then returned to their argument, unbothered, because this was The Grimalkin and people minded their own business.
“I’m just saying,” Zara continued, completely unruffled by Ramona’s mortification, “there are perks to going back there. We grab the key, we make some dreams come true—”
“We are not—” Ramona looked around wildly. “Kashvi is right here.”
“I’m not listening,” Kashvi announced loudly, typing aggressively on a laptop that wasn’t even open to anything relevant. “I hear nothing. I am a professional researcher focused entirely on archive security protocols.”
“See?” Zara’s smile was absolutely wicked. “No one’s listening.”
Ramona smacked Zara’s shoulder, her cheeks still burning. Somewhere behind the bar, Parliamentarian opened one eye, deemed the situation beneath him, and went back to sleep. “You’re actually evil.”
Zara’s voice went soft. Affectionate. The shift that still caught Ramona off guard every time. “And you know I’m right. About breakfast, at least. The sooner we get the key, the sooner we can fix this.”
Ramona wanted to argue. Wanted to say absolutely not, that she’d rather wait for Ostara than voluntarily return to her mother’s house for another round of passive-aggressive commentary and disappointed sighs.
But Zara was right. The corruption was spreading. Every day they waited was another day the convergence point died. And if the Liber Purgationis Maleficae really did contain what Kashvi thought it did…
They needed it. Both rituals. Convergence point cleansing and a modified severance approach.
“Fine,” Ramona said. “We’ll go to breakfast. This weekend.”
“Deal.” Zara held out her hand for Ramona’s phone with the calm confidence of someone who already knew the answer. Ramona handed it over. She wasn’t sure when she’d started doing that.
Zara scrolled, found the contact, started typing. “I’ll tell her we’d like to visit. That we have something to discuss.”
“She’s going to think we’re getting married.”
“Let her think whatever she wants.” Zara was already composing the message with the focused efficiency she brought to everything she decided was happening. “As long as she invites us over.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Most of our ideas are terrible,” Zara replied. “But they usually work out.”
“Name one time.”
“The severance ritual that created this whole mess technically worked. We didn’t die. The tether is still intact.” Zara looked up, her expression softening. “And I got to stay with you. I’d call that a success.”
Ramona’s chest felt too full for a Thursday night in a bar. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m strategic.” Ramona’s phone buzzed on the table between them. Zara glanced at it, smiled — the real one, the one that was still new enough to be startling. “Your mother says Saturday morning works. Breakfast at nine. She’s delighted we want to visit.”
“She’s already planning the wedding,” Ramona muttered.
“Then we’ll have to disappoint her.” Zara slid the phone back across the table. “We’re just there for breakfast and larceny.”
“Grand larceny,” Kashvi corrected, still pointedly not looking at either of them. “Stealing an enchanted access key from a senior coven member is definitely grand larceny.”
“Temporary requisition,” Zara amended.
“Felony,” Kashvi countered.
“This is really terrible,” Ramona said. But she was leaning into Zara now, into the warmth of her, letting herself be held in the small sideways way that had become ordinary somewhere in the last few weeks without her noticing.
Odette appeared, replaced all three of their glasses without being asked, and disappeared again.
“Saturday morning,” Zara murmured against Ramona’s hair. “Breakfast with your mother. Acquire the key. Then we meet the others at the convergence point to confirm what the fox showed you.”
“And then we plan the actual Thornwood break-in,” Kashvi added. “Which will require significantly more preparation than just stealing a key.”
“One felony at a time,” Ramona said weakly. “My mom will be busy with the Ostara Gala for the next couple weeks and probably won’t notice it missing.”
Zara’s laugh was warm against her temple. Ramona felt a pulse of affection through the tether. “That’s my girl.”
The jukebox shifted into something that sounded almost celebratory, which felt pointed.
The hedge witches had resolved their argument or abandoned it — either way, the corner had gone quiet.
Parliamentarian had relocated to the end of the bar closest to their table, which from him was practically an endorsement.
Saturday was coming. The Thornwood grimoire heist was coming. And somewhere underneath all of it, the growing, terrifying, completely inconvenient suspicion that she was in love with a demon and had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
Ramona finished her drink.
“Another round?” Kashvi asked.
“Obviously,” said Ramona and Zara at the same time.
Odette was already there.