Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Ramona stood in front of the full-length mirror in her childhood bedroom, wearing the dress they’d found at the vintage shop in Thornwood.
It was perfect. Deep emerald green, the kind of color that made her skin look luminous instead of pale. The bodice was fitted, the skirt flowing. It was elegant but not trying too hard. It was exactly the kind of dress that said I belong here without a question mark.
The others were getting ready in the guest rooms down the hall. She could hear Felix arguing with Gerald about a bow tie. Kashvi’s voice drifted down the hall, talking to ghosts Ramona couldn’t see. Posey and Cammie were giggling about something.
But Ramona was alone. She wanted to get ready alone, had told everyone she wanted some time.
She stared at her reflection.
The dress was right. Her makeup was light — truthfully, she was afraid at some point during the night she’d cry her mascara right off, and she instead took a moment to look up a glamour spell for waterproofing her eye makeup.
The fox sat on the bed behind her, watching her with what looked like a bored expression. He seemed to be letting her know she was on her own tonight.
Her own eyes flicked upward, toward her hair.
The purple was still there. Faded and uneven from when she’d glamoured it the first time. Some sections were vibrant, others washed out. Some strands were more pink than purple. It felt like a scar, like a visible reminder of her inability to do even basic magic correctly.
The curse, she knew now. It felt odd to think that way. It was as if her life had split in two now — there was before the curse, and after the curse. Before Zara, and after Zara.
No. No, she would not be crying off her makeup before she even made it to the gala. She was focusing on her hair, not on losing the only one who had ever truly seen her and loved her anyway.
She took a deep breath through her nose. Her hair looked messy. Unkempt. Not appropriate for the Ostara Gala.
Eleanor would hate it.
The Council would judge her for it.
She really should fix it. Glamour it back to her natural color, now that she could. Or, better yet, something classic and sophisticated. The kind of hair color that said now she had her life together, that she was a respectable witch, that she deserved to be taken seriously.
Ramona raised her hand. Her magic responded instantly, easy and eager. She focused on her reflection. Thought about brown hair. Normal hair. Acceptable hair.
The purple began to fade and shift toward brown.
But it looked… wrong.
Not wrong like her magic failing — wrong like she was erasing something, like she was going backward instead of forward. With brunette hair, she looked like Eleanor. Like Iris.
Zara had loved the purple.
“It suits you,” she’d said, her long dark-tipped fingers winding through Ramona’s hair. “Unexpected. A little rebellious. Very you.”
Ramona lowered her hand. The glamour dissolved. The patchy purple returned.
She stared at her reflection.
The purple was her. She’d chosen it. Not because it was professional or acceptable or what her mother would approve of, but because she’d wanted something different. Something that wasn’t Ramona Greenbriar, Epic Failure and General Disappointment.
Except she wasn’t the disappointment anymore. Without the curse to explain all of her failures, who was she?
Who was she, post-curse? After Zara?
Ramona raised her hand again. This time, she didn’t think about brown. She didn’t think about acceptable. She thought about more.
Her magic surged but stayed gentle and controlled. Responding to her intent like it was the easiest thing in the world.
The purple in her hair deepened, turning glossy. The patchy sections evened out. The faded parts became vibrant.
The kind of purple that caught light and held it, that made people look twice, that announced itself without saying a word. It was bold and unapologetic. That’s the Ramona Greenbriar she wanted to be.
Ramona adjusted it slightly. Added depth, darker purple at the roots, brighter at the ends. Made it look intentional instead of accidental. Like she’d chosen this and meant it.
She let the magic settle, dropped her hand, and stared at her reflection.
The woman looking back at her felt different. Not because of the dress or the hair or the makeup. Because of the way she stood. The way she looked at herself.
Like she belonged in her own skin.
Like she wasn’t broken. Had never been broken, not really.
Like she was powerful.
The door opened behind her. Ramona turned.
Kashvi stood in the doorway, wearing a deep blue dress that made her golden skin look ethereal. Percival the ghost cat wound around her ankles.
“Wow,” Kashvi said. “Your hair.”
“Too much?” Ramona asked.
“Not enough.” Kashvi smiled. “It’s perfect. Very ‘I just broke a lifelong curse and I’m here to make everyone uncomfortable about it.’”
Ramona grinned. “That’s exactly the vibe I was going for.”
“You nailed it.” Kashvi stepped into the room. She adjusted Ramona’s necklace — a simple gold chain they’d found in her old jewelry box. “How are you feeling?”
Ramona considered lying and saying she was fine, but this was Kashvi. Her coven. Her family.
“Terrified,” she admitted. “And sad. And angry. And—” She stopped. “Like I should be able to feel Zara. Through the tether. Know what she’d say about all this. But there’s just… nothing.”
“That sounds awful,” Kashvi said softly.
“It feels awful.” Ramona’s voice came out sharper than intended.
Kashvi put a hand on her arm, her eyes warm and gentle.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone. To have them ripped away without warning.
” She paused, but didn’t expand on the revelation of her past that Ramona had never heard before.
“And I know that going to this gala won’t fix it.
Won’t make the grief go away. But it might give you something else to think about. Even just for a few hours.”
“I’m sorry you’ve lost someone, too,” Ramona said softly, squeezing Kashvi’s hand.
“Hasn’t everyone, in their own ways? Grief is universal,” Kashvi said. Their eyes met in the reflection, and Kashvi smiled. “Enough sad talk. Come to the gala.”
Ramona looked at herself in the reflection again.
At the purple hair, finally the way she’d always wanted it.
At the emerald-green dress. At the woman who looked powerful and whole and nothing like the disaster witch who’d derailed her entire life.
“I know Zara would want me to go,” she said quietly.
Kashvi nodded. “I think she would, too. She’d want you to walk in there with your head high and your badass magic and show everyone exactly who you are.”
Ramona swallowed, blinking back tears. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“Yes, you do.” Kashvi’s hand found hers. Squeezed. “You’re Ramona Greenbriar. Former professor. Current magic store employee. Accidental demon summoner. Curse-breaker. Coven leader.” She paused.
Ramona’s throat was tight. “That makes me sound like some stupid hero.”
“No, it makes you sound like a motherfucking survivor,” Kashvi said.
Ramona’s resolve crumpled. The tears flowed freely now, and she let Kashvi embrace her, crying into her shoulder for a quiet few moments. “I feel like half of me is gone,” she confessed through sobs.
“Then we’ll be the other half. Until you figure out how to be whole on your own again,” Kashvi said, petting her hair. “That’s what covens do, right? Hold each other up when we can’t stand on our own.”
Ramona pulled back, wiping at her face. “Is that what covens do?”
“I don’t know. We’re making this up as we go.” Kashvi’s smile widened, her thumbs brushing a few tears off Ramona’s cheeks. “But that sounds good, doesn’t it?”
In the emptiness of Ramona’s chest, she could have sworn she felt a tiny flutter of hope and love and gratitude. “Yeah,” she murmured.
There was a knock on the door. Felix stuck his head in. Gerald was perched on his shoulder, wearing a tiny purple bow tie that matched Ramona’s hair.
“You ready?” Felix asked. “The others are waiting downstairs. And I have to warn you — Posey grew flowers in the entryway and they’re definitely going to give Eleanor a heart attack.”
“Perfect,” Ramona said.
She took one last look in the mirror.
Purple hair — finally right, finally the way it should have been all along. Green dress. Clean magic humming under her skin.
No tether. No Zara. But not alone.
She took a deep breath, straightening her posture. “Let’s go crash a gala,” she said.
And followed her coven downstairs.