Something's Brewing Too Novels & Stories

The brewery hummed around them, the conditioning tanks doing their work, the CO2 bleed valve on the far tank making its small intermittent sound. “Huxley,” she said. “Yes,” he said. “The barleywine,” she said. “The one in the back tank.” “It’s not ready,” he said. “I know,” she said. “When will it be?” “Another six weeks,” he said. “I want to taste it when it’s ready,” she said. “You’ll be here,” he said. She held his gaze. “Yes,” she said. The argument happened in week eight. It was a real argument, the kind that required both of them to know something specific, and it started with the new recipe he’d been developing.

The chuckle leaving my lips is still thick with emotion, shaky and wary if it should leave my mouth in the first place. Sabine glances at me and rummages through the cabinets. “Definitely something stronger.” She murmurs under her breath and comes up with four short glasses and a bottle of Cuarenta y tres. “Can you grab dad a beer, he likes those Estrella’s in the back.” She says while she pours a bit of liquor in the for glasses. “Sure mom.” I say chuckling, the sorrow and hurt nearly gone from my voice and my head feeling a lot lighter already. I love this woman for her ability to drag me from the pits of my mind.

The chore board might as well be a wanted poster. My name sits there in neat capital ink like someone took a deep breath and decided to see how far they could push me. ABIGAIL BARNS — KITCHEN ASSISTANCE (INFUSIONS) Infusions. Drinks. A word that should be harmless and instead makes my throat remember years of burning. Tessa reads it over my shoulder and goes pale so fast I think she might actually faint this time. “Oh no,” she whispers. “No, no, no.”

The sticking point. I looked down at the coffee table. Picked up my abandoned beer, drank some, put the bottle back down. Turned the bottle. “Newt. Sometime this fucking year. Before I start thinking you’re going to want to actually mate, you know, for science.” He let out an uncomfortable-sounding laugh.

It was as if I were an observer, watching life unfold from a distance, unable to fully immerse myself in the experiences of others. The brewery was alive with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of glasses as I immersed myself in the lively atmosphere. The dimly lit space was filled with chatter and the unmistakable aroma of brewing beer. Aria, Lucas, and Mike were engaged in animated conversation, and I was grateful for the distraction.

She leaned in close, her breath smelling of strawberries and static. "Now... would you like to see the 'Script' for tomorrow? It involves a **Volcano**."

Holly blinked as she looked at the menu. “Oh yeah. Riordan and Keila are doing rather well with their brewing, and you can get some of their drinks at places outside their brewery.” I nodded. “Thinking of getting one?” “Actually, with the day I’m having, I think that earned one. And given how today has gone, I’ll take the Dark Horizon.” Holly sighed.

I snapped out of my thoughts and continued. "We've partnered to create an app that helps you get fit and regulate your intake of liquids. Brew Mystique has produced a beverage that helps in restoring water and electrolytes lost during perspiration," I said, earning an 'ou' from the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I saw Isra handing Ace a bottle of the product but I also noticed that shimmer. I went to the table and grabbed the bottle she was handing him.

He awkwardly smiled at the man, "Um...Hi, do you have alcohol?" "Huh? Coal? Why do you need coal, young man?" Neal waved his hand, "No..no, not coal. Alcohol, or Bandage?" "Huh? Bondage?" The man's face etched into confusion. Neal rolled his eyes. Is he deaf or something? "BANDAGE. DO YOU HAVE ANY MEDICAL KIT?" Neal yelled, a little frustrated now. "What's going on here?" Kaiden came to the kitchen. He was surprised to see Neal downstairs. He looked at blood on his finger.

I watch the small pile grow and feel my chest go tight, because this is it, this is the thing I came for, the time I can buy, earned and not bought, not borrowed, earned. “That’s the bulk of it,” he says, sliding the parcels across the counter. “The bitter root, the binding agent, the lung-clear, the silvercap. You’ll brew it the way you said and not the way my wife said.” A dry glint. “Off the flame. After the heat.” “After the heat,” I agree, and gather them in.