Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ramona sat cross-legged on her bed, the grimoire open in her lap, the fox curled across her thighs like a warm, breathing, weighted blanket. She’d been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.
The curse-breaking spell.
It was right there. Written in Iris’s precise handwriting in the margins — translations, component lists, timing requirements. Everything Ramona would need to break a curse that had shaped her entire life.
Her sister had known the answer, and she’d had it in her hands for nearly two months.
Two months.
And before that — years of research, years of knowing something was wrong, years of watching Ramona struggle and fail and hate herself while Iris studied curse-breaking and said nothing.
The fox shifted, pressing its head against her hand. She scratched the downy fur around his ears, and he closed his eyes.
“I’m not broken,” Ramona whispered to the empty room.
The words should have felt liberating. Should have been a revelation, a weight lifting, the answer to a question she’d been asking her whole life.
Instead, they just felt hollow.
Because if she wasn’t broken, if her magic wasn’t fundamentally wrong, then what did that mean?
That she’d spent twenty-seven years hating herself for nothing?
That every failure, every disaster, every moment she’d felt inadequate or useless or fundamentally less than everyone around her — all of it had been a lie?
That she could have been different?
The thought was almost worse than thinking she was broken.
At least when she’d thought it was just her — just the way she was born — she could accept it. She could work around it, compensate, try harder. She could tell herself it wasn’t anyone’s fault, just bad luck, just the way magic worked for some people.
But knowing someone had done this to her?
Knowing Iris had done it, even accidentally, in a moment of sibling anger when she was eleven, and then spent the next twenty-seven years knowing and saying nothing?
Ramona’s hands were shaking. She gripped the grimoire tighter, knuckles going white.
The fox made a small, concerned sound.
“I’m fine,” Ramona said. Not to the fox. To herself. Testing the words.
They tasted like ash.
Who would she have been without the curse?
The question kept circling through her mind, relentless. Would her magic have worked properly? Would she have been confident? Powerful? Would she have stayed at Thornwood, built a career, been someone who mattered?
Would Simone have stayed? That thought hit like a punch to the gut.
If her magic had worked — if she hadn’t been the disaster witch who broke everything she touched — would Simone have looked elsewhere? Would Kate have seemed like a better option than a wife whose spells actually functioned?
Or would she still have left? Would Ramona still have been somehow not enough, curse or no curse?
She didn’t know. Couldn’t know. That was the worst part — the not knowing who she might have been.
The door opened softly. Ramona looked up.
Zara stood in the doorway, two mugs in her hands. She was still wearing the clothes from the heist — black jeans, dark shirt — but she’d taken off her shoes. Her hair was slightly mussed.
“Kashvi made tea,” Zara said quietly. “Well, Felix made tea. Kashvi tried to help and nearly set something on fire. Gerald supervised.”
Ramona managed a small smile despite everything. “Of course he did.”
Zara crossed the room, set one mug on Ramona’s nightstand, then sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the fox.
“All right, we don’t have the grimoires, but we can figure it out,” Zara said.
“I failed us,” Ramona whispered. “Again. Always.”
Zara shook her head. Her eyes were honey-warm as they watched Ramona. Not like she was a barely contained explosion, which was how a lot of people looked at her. She watched Ramona with intrigue and patience and affection.
“You’ve been staring at that page for a while,” Zara said. “I can feel it. Through the tether.”
“What can you feel?”
“Everything.” Zara’s voice was soft. “The anger. The betrayal.” She paused. “The grief.”
Ramona’s throat went tight. “I’m not grieving.”
“You are.” Zara’s hand found hers, careful not to jostle the grimoire. “You’re grieving the person you could have been. The life you might have had.”
“I don’t know who that person would have been.” Ramona’s voice cracked. “I don’t — I’ve been this person my whole life. The one whose magic doesn’t work. Who fails at everything. Who’s broken and wrong and—” She stopped. “Except I’m not. I never was. Someone just made me think I was.”
“I know.”
Ramona’s hands were shaking harder now. “Iris watched me fail. Watched me get expelled. Watched my marriage fall apart. Watched me lose everything. And she knew. She knew the whole time that it wasn’t all my fault.”
“Yes.”
“That’s—” Ramona couldn’t finish. Couldn’t find words big enough for the betrayal.
The fox shifted, pressing closer. Ramona’s free hand found its fur automatically, stroking without thinking.
“Fucked up,” Zara finished. “It’s fucked up.”
“I’m so angry,” she whispered. “I’m so angry I can barely breathe.”
“I know.”
“At Iris. At my mother. At—” Ramona stopped. “At myself. For not seeing it. For not questioning it. For just accepting that I was the problem.”
“You were eight when it happened,” Zara said gently. “A child. You couldn’t have known.”
“But later. When I was older. I should have—”
“Should have what? Suspected someone had cursed you?” Zara’s thumb traced circles on the back of Ramona’s hand. “Ramona, you trusted your family. You trusted that they would tell you if something was wrong. That’s not a failing. That’s just — being human.”
“It feels like a failing right now.”
“I know.” Zara wrapped her arms around Ramona, letting Ramona fall limp and loose and messy against her chest.
They sat in silence for a moment. The fox’s breathing was steady, warm against Ramona’s legs. The grimoire sat open between them, Iris’s handwriting mocking in its precision.
“What if I break the curse and nothing changes?” Ramona asked quietly into Zara’s shirt. “What if — what if twenty-seven years of damage is too much to undo? What if my magic still doesn’t work right because I’ve spent so long thinking it wouldn’t?”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” Zara said, kissing her head. “Together.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.” Zara shifted closer. “Ramona, look at me.”
Ramona did. Zara’s expression was serious, focused, completely present.
“You are not broken,” Zara said, each word deliberate. “You never were. Someone did something terrible to you, and then people who should have protected you kept that secret for decades. That’s unconscionable. That’s—” She stopped. “I don’t have words for how angry that makes me.”
Ramona sniffled.
“But none of that — none of it — means you’re broken.
” Zara’s hand tightened on hers. “It means you were hurt. By people who should have known better, and you survived anyway. You learned to compensate. You built a life despite everything working against you. That’s not weakness.
That’s—” Zara paused. “That’s remarkable. ”
Ramona’s eyes were burning. “I don’t feel remarkable. I feel—”
“Betrayed.”
“Yes.”
“Angry.”
Ramona nodded.
“Scared about what comes next.”
“Yes.” Ramona’s voice broke. “I don’t know who I am without this.
The struggling. The failing. The…” She gestured helplessly.
“All of it. That’s been my entire identity.
The disaster witch. The one who can’t get it right.
And if that was never real, if that was just a curse someone put on me, then who am I? ”
“You’re Ramona,” Zara said simply. “You’re the woman who summoned a demon by accident and then convinced her to help instead of making demands.
You’re the person who translated medieval grimoires for fun.
Who works a shitty job to make rent. Who has friends who would commit felonies for her without hesitation.
Who just broke into her former workplace to steal the knowledge she needed. ”
“That’s all just circumstances.”
“No. That’s you.” Zara moved closer, until their shoulders were touching. “The curse didn’t make you kind. It didn’t make you smart. It didn’t make you brave enough to keep trying even when everything told you to give up. That was all you. Despite everything working against you.”
Ramona wanted to believe her. Wanted to accept that there was something worthwhile underneath the curse, underneath the decades of self-hatred.
“What if… what if we break the curse and nothing changes? Curse broken, and I’m still the same mess of a person.
What if this is just who I am, curse or no curse? ” Ramona’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Then you’ll be you,” Zara said it like it was simple.
Like it was obvious. “Ramona, I’m not attracted who you could be.
I’m attracted to who you are, right now.
The way you think. The way you translate languages dead for centuries just because you find them beautiful and interesting.
The way you care about people. The way you keep trying even when everything is working against you. ”
“That’s just—”
“That’s you,” Zara interrupted. “Not the curse. Not your magic. You. And breaking this curse isn’t going to change that. It’s just going to give you back what was taken from you.”
Ramona felt tears threatening. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Believe that I might actually be good at something. Powerful. Worth…” She couldn’t finish.
“Worth loving?” Zara supplied gently.
“Yeah.”
“Then let me believe it for both of us.” Zara’s hand came up to cup Ramona’s face. “Until you can believe it yourself.”
A tear slipped down Ramona’s cheek. Then another.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered. “Of being angry. Of being scared. Of not knowing who I am.”
“I know.”
“I want to break this curse and have all the answers and know exactly what comes next.”
“That’s probably not how it works,” Zara said with a small smile. “Breaking the curse is just the beginning. You’ll still have to figure out who you are. What you want. What kind of magic feels right to you. It’s not going to be instant clarity. And you can do that all.”
“You make it sound manageable.”
“It is. We have a plan. We’ll make it without the grimoires. We have your friends who are shockingly on board with crimes.” Zara smiled slightly. “We have a fox who’s clearly chosen you. We have everything we need.”
The fox made a small sound, as if agreeing.
Ramona managed a shaky laugh. Zara’s thumb wiped away the tears on Ramona’s cheek. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You just have to rest. Process. Let yourself be angry and scared and uncertain,” Zara said.
“That doesn’t sound very productive.”
“Healing isn’t productive. It’s necessary.” Zara paused. “And you’ve been wounded. Deeply. For a very long time. You’re allowed to feel that.”
Ramona closed her eyes. The fox was warm across her lap. The grimoire sat open on the bed in front of them, promising answers if she could just be brave enough to try.
Ramona opened her eyes. Looked at Zara — at the demon who’d been summoned by accident and stayed by choice, who’d held her through panic attacks and made her business plans and defended her to her mother.
“Okay,” Ramona said softly. “Okay.”
“Okay you believe me, or okay you’ll try to believe me?”
“Okay I’ll try.”
“Good enough.” Zara smiled. “Now drink your tea before it gets cold. And then get some sleep. We have quite a full schedule ahead of us.”
Ramona carefully closed the grimoire. Set it on the nightstand. The fox shifted but didn’t wake, just settled more comfortably across her lap.
She picked up the mug of tea — chamomile, honey, something soothing. Took a sip.
Through the window, the sky was starting to lighten. Not quite dawn, but getting there.
In eight days, they’d cleanse the convergence point, break the curse, and break the tether.
One problem at a time. Kind of.
“Thank you,” Ramona said quietly.
“For what?”
“For staying. For believing in me even when I don’t. For not being mad about us losing the grimoires. For—” Ramona gestured helplessly. “All of it.”
“You’re welcome.” Zara ran a hand through Ramona’s hair. Ramona drank her tea while Zara sat beside her and the fox slept across her lap. When she finally set down the empty mug and slid under the covers — careful not to disturb the fox, who simply adjusted and stayed put — Zara was still there.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Zara murmured.
And for the first time in a very long time, Ramona believed her.
The morning light already streamed through the window, warming the room. She fell asleep with Zara’s hand in hers and the fox curled at her side and the grimoire, the book holding the answer to a question she’d asked for almost her entire life, waited on the nightstand.
Later, they’d start fixing things, but right now — just for a little while — she let herself rest.