Page 28 of Roaring Spell

Zeph grabs my hand the moment I reach the bar, shaking vigorously. “I heard everything. The storms, the bear, the dramatic disaster yesterday—excellent chaos. Really quality work. I respect it.”

“Thank you?”

“Back corner. Private booth. I’ll bring the beer.” She’s already pouring—four glasses that glow faintly purple. “New batch. Side effects are minimal.”

“What kind of side effects?”

“Probably temporary.” She grins. “Also probably not hallucinogenic. I fixed that batch. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Go on. They’re waiting.”

The private booth is tucked near the fireplace, partially hidden by hanging herbs that smell like rosemary and wild magic. Leire waves me over with undisguised delight. Anouk nods acknowledgment, elegant even while nursing what appears to be a pint of glowing purple beer.

And in the shadows⁠—

“Don’t mind me, dear.” Grandmother Peach is already there, a plate of cobbler before her and an expression of profound knowing on her ancient face. “Just enjoying the ambiance.”

“How did you⁠—”

“Best not to ask.” Leire pours me wine from a bottle that wasn’t on the table a moment ago. “She appears when she wants to. We’ve stopped questioning it.”

“Wise policy.” Grandmother Peach winks. “Though the truth is fairly simple. I walked through the door. Like everyone else.”

“You weren’t here when I came in.”

“Wasn’t I?” She takes a delicate bite of cobbler. “Memory is such a tricky thing. Ask your friends about bears. They know things. Three hundred years of matching magical creatures gives one a certain... perspective.”

Leire chokes on her wine. “Three hundred years?”

“Give or take.” Grandmother Peach waves a dismissive hand. “The exact count becomes less relevant after the first century. Now. About the bear.”

“There’s nothing about the bear.”

“There’s very much about the bear.” Grandmother Peach sets down her fork, fixing me with those too-bright eyes. “You’ve been circling each other for weeks. The mist is getting impatient. So am I.”

“The mist is impatient?”

“The mist has been waiting for this particular match for quite some time.” She rises, gathering her things with surprising grace. “Don’t fight it too hard, dear. Some things are meant to be weathered in company.”

She picks up her cobbler dish, gives a pleasant nod, and simply walks to the door. Just like anyone else would leave. Remarkably, impossibly ordinary.

“How does she always do that?” I stare at her abandoned cobbler plate. “The exit timing. It’s impeccable.”

“Practice.” Anouk finishes her beer. “Centuries of it, apparently.”

Zeph arrives with more glowing purple beverages, distributing glasses with manic enthusiasm. “Right. The crone has departed. Now we can discuss important matters.”

“The investigation?” I sip cautiously. The beer tastes like hops, honey, and faint electricity. Not unpleasant.

“No, no. The investigation is boring.” Zeph drops into the booth with zero grace. “I want to hear about the bear.”

My face heats. “There’s nothing to hear about the bear.”

“Bullshit.” Leire’s grin is wicked. “He built you new shelving. That’s basically a marriage proposal in bear culture.”

“It’s really not⁠—”