Page 24 of Alpha Charmed

Leire shoots her a look. “We’re not being subtle.”

“I know. I just thought we should at least pretend.”

“Why pretend? She knows why we’re here.” Leire turns back to me, her expression softening into the concerned-friend version that’s somehow more difficult to refuse than the demanding one. “Anouk. You had someone break into your home. Your magic has been unstable for months. We noticed.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Your air is doing the thing.” Sakura gestures vaguely at the space around me. “The thing where it gets very still before someone argues.”

I hadn’t noticed. But she’s right—the temperature in my office has dropped two degrees, and the papers on my desk are eerily motionless despite the draft from the window.

“I simply don’t have time for social obligations tonight.”

“Then it’s a good thing this isn’t a social obligation.” Leire straightens, crossing her arms. “It’s a mandatory wellness check mandated by your extremely concerned friends. We have the authority.”

“You don’t have any authority.”

“I have the authority of caring about you and refusing to watch you self-destruct.” Her voice softens again, and I hate how effectively that tactic works on me. “Please, Anouk. One evening. Zeph’s got a new batch that’s supposedly good for processing complicated emotions. And there’s cobbler.”

“Grandmother Peach already gave me cobbler.”

“There’s more cobbler. There’s always more cobbler. That’s the fundamental law of Mistvale.” Leire grins, sensing victory. “Come on. You can bring your notes if you need to. But you’re coming.”

I look at Mathilda’s journals. At the weight of centuries-old conspiracies and present-day murder. At the evidence that everything I thought I understood about the magical world is built on lies and violence.

Then I look at my friends. At Leire’s determined concern and Sakura’s gentle hope. At the proof that maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to carry all of this alone.

“Fine.” I close the journals and rise from my desk. “One drink. One hour. And I’m not discussing my personal life.”

Leire and Sakura exchange a look that suggests they’ve already won more than I intended to concede.

I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been outmaneuvered.

Duskfire Brewery smells like hops and warmth and barely contained chaos.

The stone-and-timber building sits on the edge of The Hollow, its thick walls built to handle magical incidents. I can see the scorch marks on the doorframe from Zeph’s last “experimentation mishap”—or at least, the most recent one she’s willing to admit to. The windows glow with amber light, and the sound of laughter drifts through the evening air.

Inside, the atmosphere is exactly what I expected: rustic bar with mismatched stools, copper brewing equipment gleaming in the back, a chalkboard menu that changes based on what’s “behaving” today. Today’s specials include “Liquid Courage” (actual courage-enhancing), “Memory Lane Ale” (lets you taste your happiest memory), and something called “Regrettable Decisions Lager” that has a warning symbol next to it. The large fireplace crackles with flames that might be magical—with Zeph, you never know. Buckets are strategically placed throughout the room.

Zephyra Grimwood rises to greet us with a glass in each hand and a grin that borders on unhinged. “You came! Excellent. I’ve prepared specific beverages for tonight’s intervention.”

“It’s not an intervention.”

“It’s absolutely an intervention.” Zeph sets the glasses on the table and slides into the booth, patting the seat beside her. “Sit, sit. This batch is for ‘coven leaders in denial about their feelings for wolf alphas.’ Very targeted effects. I’ve been refining it for months.”

“I’m not in denial about anything.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. I sit, accepting the glass Zeph pushes toward me with the wariness it deserves. The liquid inside is a deep amber, shimmering with undertones that might be gold or might be magical interference.

“What exactly are the side effects of this?”

“Minimal. Probably.” Zeph takes a long sip from her own glass—a different color, I notice. “Mild truth-telling, enhanced emotional processing, and a slight tendency to make declarations. Nothing dangerous.”

“That sounds very dangerous.”

“Only if you have things you don’t want to say out loud.” Her grin widens. “Do you have things you don’t want to say out loud?”

“Everyone has things they don’t want to say out loud. That’s the definition of privacy.”