Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The manor looked different in morning light — softer somehow, less imposing than it had been during Imbolc. Or maybe Ramona was different. Maybe walking into this house with Zara’s hand in hers and a plan in her pocket changed everything.
Eleanor opened the door herself, which was unusual. No formal greeting in the entrance hall, no carefully orchestrated arrival. Just Eleanor in a casual silk blouse and slacks, her hair pulled back simply, looking almost… normal.
“Ramona. Zara. Come in.” Eleanor stepped aside, gesturing them into the foyer. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for having us,” Zara said smoothly.
“Well, I was pleased to receive your message.” Eleanor led them through to the breakfast room — smaller than the formal dining room, with windows overlooking the garden.
It felt like centuries since Ramona had grown up here, afraid to touch anything in her own home.
She’d spent most of her time in her room studying, sitting in the garden, or outside of the main grounds, exploring the forests.
She’d never felt like this home was hers in any way, and it helped feeling detached now, knowing what she had to do.
The betrayal of stealing from her own mother…
She involuntarily shuddered just thinking about it, and Zara gave her a reassuring touch on the small of her back.
“Where’s Dad?” Ramona asked.
“Your father is away at a chess tournament — just spectating, he’s not competing at this one — so it’s just us this morning.”
“That’s fine,” Ramona managed. The house felt even larger without Thomas’s silent presence. Just the three of them. Intimate. Dangerous.
The table was set for three and notably casual — simple place settings, fresh scones, fruit, coffee. Eleanor poured without ceremony.
“So,” Eleanor said once they’d all settled. “What prompted the visit?”
“We wanted to see you,” Zara said before Ramona could speak. “After Imbolc, I thought it would be nice to check in. I didn’t want there to be any lingering… negativity.”
“I see.” Eleanor added cream to her coffee with precise movements. “Well, I’m glad you came.”
That was it? No interrogation about their motives, no pointed questions. Just… acceptance?
Ramona picked up her coffee, trying to process this slightly less sharp version of her mother.
“How is work?” Eleanor asked.
“It’s good. Zara’s consultancy has been a tremendous help,” Ramona said.
“That sounds promising.” Eleanor took a sip of coffee. “You’d be good at that if you’d only apply yourself.”
There it was — the little barb, the qualification. But softer than usual. The claws clipped, though not quite retracted.
They ate in relative peace. The conversation stayed surface level — Zara’s observations about Fernwick, updates about Iris’s girls, Eleanor’s mention of coven politics.
It was almost normal. Almost pleasant. Which made what Ramona was about to do feel infinitely worse.
“Your garden must be waking up,” Zara said as Eleanor refilled their coffee. “With the early spring we’ve been having.”
Eleanor paused, and something in her expression shifted. Brightened, just slightly. “Oh, yes. The crocuses are already blooming, and I have snowdrops by the greenhouse. The hellebores have been stunning this year. I planted new varieties last fall.”
“I’d love to see them, if you’ll show me,” Zara said, and her interest seemed genuine. “I don’t know much about gardening, but I’m trying to learn. Posey — one of Ramona’s roommates — has been teaching me about plants.”
“Would you like a quick tour?” Eleanor was already standing, more animated than Ramona had seen her all morning. “The greenhouse is heated, so I’ve been starting some summer plants already.”
“I’d love that,” Zara said. She glanced at Ramona. “Do you want to come?”
This was the opening. The moment they’d planned for.
“Actually, I think I left a book in my room last time I was here,” Ramona said, trying to sound casual. “I’ll just run up and grab it?”
“Of course,” Eleanor said, clearly distracted by the prospect of showing off her garden. “Take your time.”
They split up — Eleanor and Zara heading toward the back of the house, Ramona climbing the familiar stairs to the second floor.
Her heart was hammering. This was theft. This was—
Necessary. She thought of the corrupted convergence point, the purification of demonic entanglements, the way her roommates had spent hours over the past two and a half weeks helping her.
She passed her childhood bedroom and kept walking to her mother’s study, the tether pulling tight with every foot they were apart. By the pressure in her chest, she guessed maybe there was fifty feet between them.
The door was closed but not locked. Ramona slipped inside. She could feel the Greenbriar wards so strongly in this room, accepting her as one of their own but letting her know that they knew she wasn’t Eleanor.
The study was distinctly Eleanor’s — elegant pale wood furniture, perfectly organized bookshelves, a crystal vase on the windowsill. And the desk. The antique writing desk always covered in neat stacks of coven paperwork.
If the access key was anywhere, it would be here.
The surface was immaculate. Files in a holder, fountain pen in its stand, a small dish of paper clips. The top drawer: stationery, stamps, nothing interesting.
The second drawer was locked.
Ramona pulled a barrette from her hair, which she’d worn deliberately, just in case. Bent it. Started working on the lock.
This was absurd. She was a witch, not a burglar. She didn’t know how to pick locks—
The lock clicked open.
Ramona stared. Had she just burgled her first lock? A sense of pride and accomplishment washed over her, and she hoped Zara could feel the sensation through the tether. Instead, she felt a sense of dread from Zara.
No time to think about that. She tugged the drawer open.
Inside: organized files, a leather planner, and a velvet case. She opened it.
There were two keys, though both were enchanted. She could feel the magic thrumming. One was larger and more ornate and warm to her touch. She guessed it was probably for the Greenbriar wards. The other was smaller, simpler, with the Thornwood crest.
That was it.
Ramona reached for it. The moment her fingers closed around it, she felt the enchantment respond, testing her magical signature.
Then it settled. Accepted her.
Because she used to be authorized or because her mother’s blood ran in her veins, she didn’t know.
She slipped it into her pocket, closed everything, locked the drawer again with shaking hands.
Done. Not too bad.
She was halfway to the door when she heard voices downstairs. Not calm voices. Raised voices. She froze, straining to hear.
“…completely inappropriate—” That was her mother, sharp and angry.
“I’m simply making an observation—” Zara’s voice, controlled but edged.
“You call that an observation? It was distinctly an accusation,” her mother snapped.
The voices were getting louder. Were they coming up the stairs? Ramona took a step back from the door, holding her breath.
“Eleanor—”
“That’s Mrs. Greenbriar to you—”
The study door opened.
Ramona gasped, stumbling backward. The stolen key burned in her pocket.
Eleanor stopped in the doorway, face flushed. Behind her, Zara’s expression was carefully neutral, jaw tight.
“Ramona?” Eleanor’s voice was strained. “What are you doing in here?”
Through the tether: Zara’s sharp alarm. And anger, though not directed at Ramona, but lingering from outside.
Ramona’s mind raced. She needed something believable to excuse her being in here.
“I was looking for blessed salt,” Ramona said smoothly. “Iris mentioned you keep some in here for quick warding. We had an incident at the apartment. I wanted to be prepared.”
Eleanor’s expression shifted — anger to concern. “What kind of incident?”
“Some kind of spirit. Attached to an artifact Kashvi was studying.” Ramona kept her voice steady, pulling the lie from somewhere deep down. “It’s been handled, but it made me realize we should have basic protective materials on hand.”
“You should have warded that apartment when you moved in,” Eleanor said, moving into the room with that purposeful stride that meant a lecture was coming. “This is exactly what I’ve been saying for years. You don’t plan ahead. You wait until something goes wrong and then scramble to fix it.”
“I know, I just—”
“Always reactive instead of proactive.” Eleanor was already at the cabinet, pulling out a jar of blessed salt labeled Sacred Ground. “Here. Take this. Though frankly, if you’ve already had one incident, you should be doing a full cleansing.”
She pressed the jar into Ramona’s hands with more force than necessary.
“Maybe try thinking ahead occasionally,” Eleanor added, voice sharp. “Instead of waiting until you’re in crisis mode. As always.”
Ramona took the jar, face burning.
“Mrs. Greenbriar,” Zara said, voice carefully even. “I hardly think that is necessary, given our… very recent conversation.” Ramona could feel Zara’s distinct disgust through the tether.
Eleanor turned to Zara, something complicated crossing her face.
“We should go,” Zara continued. “We don’t want to impose upon your day.”
“Of course.” Eleanor stepped back, still clearly tense from whatever they’d argued about.
They moved through the house in silence. At the door, Eleanor paused. “Be careful,” she said. Nothing more.
Ramona tried not to look at her mother like she’d grown another head, though she was pretty sure she was unsuccessful in that.
They walked to the car. Got in. Ramona started the engine, glancing sideways toward Zara, who was staring straight ahead with tension in her jaw.
Neither spoke until they’d turned onto the main road.
“What happened?” Ramona asked. “Are you okay?”
Zara’s hands tightened in her lap. “I’ll explain it later. I was mostly trying to get her to raise her voice so you’d know we were coming upstairs.”
“Is everything okay?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Zara glanced at her, but her dark eyes were softening already. “Did you get it?”
Ramona pulled the key from her pocket.
“Got it.”
Zara’s smile was fierce. “Good. The others should already be at the convergence point. Let’s go confirm what the fox showed you, then we can plan the actual break-in.”
Ramona laid the key in her lap as she drove, felt the enchantment thrumming. “I just lied to my mother’s face and stole from her,” she said quietly.
“How does that feel?” Zara asked.
Ramona thought about it. About Eleanor’s lecture, about the blessed salt pressed into her hands like proof of inadequacy, about taking something back that had been kept from her.
“Not as bad as I thought,” Ramona said. “Maybe a life of crime was my calling all along, and I just needed a little demonic influence to see my true path.”
Zara laughed, lifting Ramona’s hand to kiss her knuckles. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? One demonic temptation at a time.”