The Brewed Heart

Chapter Thirteen

Shadows Beneath the Grove

The light from the mirror had long since faded, but its echoes clung to Luca like ash in his lungs.

He stood motionless beside the spring, the earth still humming faintly under his feet. The grove was silent now—no rustle of leaves, no chirp of night birds. Even the wind had paused, as if the forest itself waited for him to breathe again.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

The woman in the mirror wasn’t the mother who raised him. That woman, kind and small and always humming while she stirred soup, had sun-wrinkled cheeks and hands that smelled of rosemary and river stone. This one—this vision—was cloaked in moonlight, eyes burning like starlight, her presence crackling with power so ancient it made his bones ache.

And yet… he had known her.

Felt her in his blood.

Felt her as if she’d once rocked him to sleep, whispered stories through lullabies made of spellwork and breath.

Was that his mother?

Was that who she had truly been?

Behind him, Althea’s voice rose, sharp and low, cutting through the quiet like a blade sheathed in silk.

“If what the mirror showed us is true,” she said, her words meant only for Nerissa and Bryn, “and he’s from the Solavare bloodline, we have a problem.”

Bryn folded her arms, a frown tightening her brow. “That line was thought to be gone—dead, hidden, erased. If Luca carries that blood, others will notice. Others will want to use him.”

“We can’t leave him out here unprotected.” Althea’s tone was measured, but the weight behind it was clear. “We’ll bring him to the coven. The High Mother and her council need to see this for themselves.”

Nerissa’s eyes flicked to Luca with a rare glint of curiosity, but she said nothing, her fingers brushing absently against the moss-covered bark as if listening for the forest’s opinion.

The silence held between them, until finally Althea stepped toward him, her voice softer now. “Luca.”

He blinked, as if waking from a faraway place. “Yeah?”

“Tomorrow, Nerissa and Bryn will cover the café. You’re coming with me to the coven.” She paused. “It’s time you met the High Mother.”

He stared at her, as if trying to decipher another language. “The High Mother? And—wait—the coven? Where is that?”

Althea’s lips curled into something close to a smile. “Not far,” she said. “Actually… it’s through the back garden. You know the forest behind the café? On the far edge, past the old stone wall and the silverleaf trees—that’s coven territory. I chose that place for the café because it borders our land. Neutral ground. But close enough to keep watch.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but just then, Nerissa raised her voice in song. A low, lilting hum spilled from her lips like water over glass, weaving through the trees. Vines rustled in response, shifting toward the sound, leaves trembling as if they too were

listening.

Bryn rolled her eyes dramatically. “Show-off,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched with a grin she couldn’t quite suppress.

Luca’s thoughts were still tangled with the mirror, but the surreal blend of magic and banter grounded him in the present just enough to nod. He murmured a goodnight, his voice distant, and turned toward the path that would lead him back to his hotel room.

The moon was high by the time Althea, Bryn, and Nerissa made their way back toward the heart of the coven.

The forest stretched wide around them, familiar and alive, its canopy glittering with starlight. Twigs crunched underfoot. A breeze whispered through the trees, tugging at Althea’s hair, stirring her thoughts.

“So…” Bryn began, her tone light and far too casual. “Are we gonna talk about the way you keep looking at him?”

Althea didn’t turn. “No.”

“Oh come on,” Bryn said with a snort. “You were glowing. Not magically. Emotionally. Which is even rarer.”

“I was not glowing.”

Nerissa, walking beside her in that eerie, floaty way of hers, gave a small, thoughtful hum. “You were,” she confirmed, expression unreadable. “In the grove. The way your aura shifted when he touched the mirror—it pulsed.”

“Stop,” Althea said sharply, her voice clipped.

“Why?” Bryn asked, nudging her shoulder. “Is he your mate?”

Althea halted mid-step. The forest quieted with her.

“It’s not that simple.” Her voice cracked just slightly, and that was enough. “You know it’s not. Witches don’t find their mates easily.

You think if he was mine, I’d know? Unless I kiss him under a full blood moon, there’s no certainty. No magic that screams in my head. No scent that pulls me like a damn compass.” She glanced at Bryn, eyes narrowed. “It’s easier for you. Your wolf practically shouts it at you and makes you smell his sweat from miles away.”

Bryn laughed, unbothered. “It’s true.”

Althea turned to Nerissa, her green eyes gleaming. “And you—I’ve never asked. How do sirens find their mates? Do you sing to

them like you’re casting a spell and wait for them to drown?”

Nerissa didn’t even blink. “Sometimes,” she said simply. “If they don’t drown, they’re worth keeping.”

Bryn nearly choked laughing.

Althea just shook her head, exasperated and smiling despite herself.

The tension eased. The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of blooming nightshade and damp moss. The path curved beneath their feet, leading them toward the familiar lights of the coven quarters nestled deep in the trees.

Without a word, Nerissa extended her hand. Bryn took it first, fingers lacing easily. After a beat, Althea joined them, and together they walked the last stretch in silence, hands intertwined, the night soft around them.

But even as they returned home, one truth remained.

Something had changed.

Something was awakening.

And tomorrow, everything would begin to shift.