Page 12 of Mane Brew

“The Severing.” I set down my spoon, appetite forgotten. “The ritual that weakened witch-shifter partnerships.”

“The ritual that nearly destroyed them entirely.” Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see beneath her grandmotherly exterior—something vast and tired and very, very old. “But that’s a longer story, and I’m not ready to tell it over dessert. For now, you need to understand what you’re dealing with.”

“Preservers who want to prevent new matings.”

“Preservers who want to prevent the Severing from being broken.” She turns toward the window. “The Registry has records—documents from before the Severing. History that the Preservers have spent centuries trying to erase. You might find them useful.”

“For the investigation.”

“For many things.” She rises from her chair—which promptly disappears—and moves toward the door. “Be careful, both of you. The people who left that symbol aren’t finished. They’re building toward a larger goal, and your brewery is just the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?” Zeph asks.

Grandmother Peach pauses at the threshold. “The end of a very old cage. Or the reinforcement of it. That depends on choices that haven’t been made yet.” She winks at me. “Enjoy the cobbler, lion. It’s good for the throat. And the heart. Both of which you’ll need.”

Then she’s gone. Simply not there anymore, as if she’d never been present.

The cobbler remains. Still warm. Still inexplicably delicious.

I stare at the empty doorway, trying to process what just happened. My documentation doesn’t have a category for cryptic warnings from ancient women who appear and disappear at will.

“She does that.” Zeph’s voice is amused, but underneath I hear uncertainty. “The mysterious pronouncements, the convenient departures. It’s her whole personality.”

“She implied—” I stop. Consider how much to say. “That there are things about this situation we don’t yet understand.”

“I noticed.” Those eyes find mine. “And here I thought she was just known for really good cobbler.”

I stand. Too quickly. Nearly knock over my chair.

“I need to file these reports.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “And follow up on the symbol. And coordinate with Elio about the intelligence implications.”

“Lots of documentation to do.”

“Extensive documentation.”

She’s smiling. Not the challenging smile from earlier—something warmer. Almost fond.

“You choked on your cobbler.”

“The cobbler was unexpectedly seasoned.”

“Seasoned.” She laughs—that surprised sound again, the one that does inadvisable things to my concentration. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

I gather my materials with more haste than dignity. The investigation is solid. The evidence is clear. The Preservers are involved, and I have leads to follow.

None of which explains why I can still feel the weight of her attention following me to the door.

I make it to the door before she speaks again.

“Rhodes.”

I stop. Don’t turn around.

“Thank you. For taking this seriously. For—” She pauses. “For the contextualization. And for not making me feel like a disaster.”

I should leave. I have reports to file.

“Your magic isn’t a weakness,” I hear myself say. “It’s a variable they failed to account for. That’s an advantage.”