Page 29 of Mane Brew

“How did you know we were here?” Sakura asks.

“The mist told me.” She settles onto a stool with the ease of someone who’s been sitting in taverns since before taverns had names. “Also, Leire’s announcement about emergency intervention was quite loud. I believe they heard it in the shifter quarter.”

Leire has the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

“Peach pie.” I eye the dessert. “Any particular reason?”

“Can’t an old woman share baked goods without ulterior motive?”

“You can.” I cross my arms. “You just don’t.”

Her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. Ancient eyes. Eyes that have seen more than any of us can comprehend. “Clever girl. Your grandmother would be proud.”

The mention of Gran makes my throat tight. Seven years since she left me the brewery and everything else. Seven years of building her legacy into mine.

“The Blackthorn lions have history with witches.” Grandmother Peach cuts into the pie with a knife that appeared from nowhere. “Long ago. Before the Severing took everything.”

The temperature in the room drops. Or maybe that’s just me.

“What do you mean, before?”

“Exactly what I said.” She slides a slice toward me. “Before. Two hundred fifty years ago, before the Severing shattered what was natural and right, the Blackthorn line was mated to witch blood. Strong magic. Steady foundation. The kind of partnership that built empires.”

Leire and Sakura exchange glances. Anouk’s composure doesn’t waver, but her attention sharpens.

I think about my brews affecting Rhodes more intensely than anyone else. About his peculiar sensitivity to magical disruption. About the way my magic settles in his presence, steadying without effort.

“You knew.” The realization hits hard. “You’ve been watching my magic settle around him.”

“I knew it was possible.” She reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a small charm—a twisted metal knot wrapped in preserved flowers. “Your magic, dear—brewing magic—it’s partnership magic at its core. It transforms, creates new possibilities from what it combines, and grows stronger with a foundation to work from. The full moon approaches. Things will become complicated. Keep this close.”

I take the charm. It buzzes against my palm—old magic, protective magic, the kind that takes centuries to cultivate.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because the Preservers are moving faster than anticipated. Because the Severing grows weaker with every mating that forms. Because—” She pauses. Takes a breath. For the first time since I’ve known her, Grandmother Peach looks tired. “Because Rhodes is my mate’s descendant. I’ve watched his line for generations. I knew, eventually, one of them would find their way back to a witch.”

The room goes silent.

“Your mate,” Anouk says slowly. “A Blackthorn.”

“Before the world broke.” Grandmother Peach’s gaze goes distant. Haunted. “Some losses never heal, dear. They just... scar over. And you learn to carry them.”

Sakura’s hand drifts to her belly. Protective. Understanding dawning in her expression.

“You’ve been guarding the ritual site and waiting,” she whispers. “All this time. Waiting for the matings to return.”

“Waiting. Hoping. Preparing.” Grandmother Peach finishes her pie. “And now they’re returning. Three pairs so far. Maybe more to come.” Her gaze settles on me again. “Maybe much more.”

I grip the charm tight enough that the metal edges bite into my palm.

“I’m not—we’re not⁠—”

“Not yet.” She stands. “But some things are inevitable, dear. The only question is how much time you waste fighting before you accept them.”

She’s gone before I can respond. Vanished into shadows that shouldn’t exist in a well-lit taproom. The pie remains. So does the charm. So does the weight of centuries of waiting, pressing against my chest.

The wine is gone. The third bottle opened and drained while we processed Grandmother Peach’s revelations. Sakura switched to water an hour ago, but the rest of us are well past tipsy and heading toward philosophical.