Chapter 347 Grandma Margarita

Chapter 347: Chapter 347 Grandma Margarita

Emilia’s POV

This Carina really had a gift for playing the victim.

The old woman in the doorway, this Margarita, gave off a quiet power that made the hair on my arms prickle. Whatever she carried, it sat heavy and ancient under that gentle, grandmotherly face.

I’d met a few heavy hitters in my life. She was in a league of her own.

So I let Carina go.

I drew my fangs back behind my lips and felt my claws shrink into ordinary fingers, the half-shift sliding off me like a coat off my shoulders.

"This is all one big misunderstanding," I said to Margarita, spreading my now-human hands in a show of good faith.

"It is NOT!" Carina scrambled away from me and rounded on the old woman, the words tumbling out so fast they tripped over each other. "This mixed-blood mutt trespassed on our land! We were just trying to run her and her friend off, and then she tried to torch the whole forest and threatened Melissa and the others until they marched her right inside!"

"You kidnapped my friend," I corrected mildly.

"Enough, Carina." Margarita lifted a hand, and the girl shut her mouth. "You need to have that leg looked at. Melissa, take her to be treated."

The girl who’d done all the talking back in the fog peeled away from the group, slipped an arm around Carina’s waist, and steered her off down the lane without a backward glance.

Margarita turned to me and waved a hand toward the open door. "Come inside, traveler."

I had to hand it to her. A leader, through and through. Far more reasonable than her flock of spitting, name-calling little witches.

Inside, Margarita vanished into the kitchen to fix me something to drink.

I sank into the cushions of her sofa and fished my phone out of my pocket. The signal, dead for the last hour, had flickered back to life. The little bars climbed one by one. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

A wave of email notifications dropped down the screen. One caught my eye. Vesper Crane had sent through the full breakdown of the Sundering.

Money really did make the world go round. Even in a town that time forgot.

Margarita returned and set a steaming cup on the low table in front of me. Herbal tea, pale gold and fragrant.

I almost waved it off out of pure habit. You don’t drink what a witch hands you. But then the smell hit me.

It curled up from the cup and hooked straight into some buried corner of my childhood, warm and green and achingly familiar. It smelled exactly like the tea my mother used to brew for me on cold mornings, back when the world was small and safe and hers.

I lifted the cup and took a careful sip.

The same. Down to the last note. The warmth spread through my chest and loosened something I hadn’t known was clenched.

So this was a Hollowthorn recipe. My mother’s inheritance, steeped in a stranger’s kitchen.

"Child," Margarita said, settling into the chair across from me, folding her hands in her lap. "What brings you all this way?"

I set the cup down and met her eyes. "First, let me apologize. I never meant to hurt anyone in your town. I just... panicked. When you take someone’s friend, you don’t leave her a lot of calm, measured options."

I waited for the flash of temper. It didn’t come. She only tipped her head, listening, giving me her full attention.

"I came here for two reasons," I went on. "The first is to find my roots. My witch bloodline."

I reached into my pack and drew out the photograph. My mother, young and laughing, cradling a small version of me against her shoulder.

"May I?" Margarita asked, something flickering in her eyes.

"Of course." I slid it across the table. "Maybe you could find some clues for me."

She lifted the photo carefully, her thumb tracing slow circles over my mother’s face. "Your mother fell in love with a wolf," she said softly. "And she had you."

"Yeah." I let out a long breath. "It’s a long story."

She laid the picture against her knee and looked up at me. "I have all the time in the world."

So I told her. I laid out the whole of it, every thread of my mother’s life and everything that had been done to her.

By the time I finished, Margarita had gone very still. The silence stretched, long and strange, and unease crawled up the back of my neck. Something in her face had shifted and closed, like a door drawn quietly shut.

But I was the one asking for favors here. Prying seemed like a poor way to repay the hospitality.

"Your tea’s gone cold," she said at last, rising with a hand pressed to her lower back. "Let me fix you a fresh cup."

And she disappeared into the kitchen again.

I pulled out my phone the moment she was gone. Lily had carpet-bombed me with messages, a frantic wall of them down the screen. The last one made my stomach drop.

[I told Sebastian. He’s on his way.]