Page 4 of On Tap for the Bear
"Name it."
"I have a friend coming to visit—well, acquaintance really. Food writer. We met at a festival a couple years back." She shifts the basket. "She's going through something rough. Called me from the road tonight—said she was heading up this way and wanted to know if I was still here."
Something in my chest tightens, and the bear inside me stirs with sudden interest. I ignore both reactions, focusing on Cilla's words instead.
"When's she arriving?"
"Tomorrow morning, actually. She told me she needed to pull over and rest somewhere, so she's planning to get here around nine or so." Cilla glances at her watch. I was hoping maybe you could make her feel welcome? You know, in that gruff but secretly kind way you have."
Beau snorts into his beer. "Gruff but secretly kind. That's putting it nicely."
I flip him off, which only makes him grin wider.
"What's her name?" Calder asks.
"Quinn Samuelson. She's really talented. Writes about food and restaurants and all that. I thought maybe if she likes it here, she might write something about Redwood Rise. Could be good for tourism."
The ley line pulses again, stronger this time, and something primal in me practically lunges forward. I grip the edge of the bar, forcing myself to stay calm, to breathe through the unexpected surge of instinct.
What the hell?
"You okay?" Cilla's looking at me with concern, and I realize I've been standing frozen for several seconds.
"Fine," I manage. "Just—yeah, I'll make sure she feels welcome."
Cilla studies me for another moment, then seems to accept my answer. "Great. Thanks, Eli. I should get back—I've got three dozen cupcakes that need frosting before tomorrow." She waves to my brothers. "See you guys at the bonfire this weekend?"
Beau waits until the door closes behind her, then leans forward, his eyes sharp. "What was that about?"
"Nothing."
"That wasn't nothing. Your bear practically jumped over the bar."
I shake my head, not having an explanation that makes sense even to myself. "I don't know. Just a weird feeling."
"About the food writer?" Calder asks, his tone more cautious than curious.
"Drop it," I say, more sharply than intended. "It's nothing."
But it doesn't feel like nothing. It feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if there's water below or rocks.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of poured drinks and cleared plates. My brothers eventually drift off—Beau home to Anabeth, Calder to a late dinner with Cilla, Sawyer probably still wrestling with that sea lion. The crowd thins as the night wears on, and by eleven, I'm wiping down tables and stacking chairs.
Henderson is the last to leave, shuffling out with a wave and a promise to return next week. I lock the door behind him and stand in the empty tavern, listening to the building settle, to the ley line humming beneath my feet.
The pull toward the cellar is irresistible.
I unlock the heavy wooden door behind the bar and descend the stone steps, each one worn smooth by generations of Hayes family members. The temperature drops as I go deeper, and the hum of the ley line grows louder, more insistent. By the time I reach the bottom, it's practically singing.
The cellar is where I keep my brewing equipment, the oak barrels of aging beer, the carefully controlled environment that turns grain and hops and yeast into something worth drinking. But it's also directly over one of the strongest ley nodes in Redwood Rise, a convergence point where three separate lines meet and intertwine.
I can see it if I let my vision sharpen—golden threads of energy pulsing through the earth, weaving together in complexpatterns that have existed longer than human memory. They're brighter than usual tonight, almost agitated.
The animal inside me paces restlessly, agitated in a way I haven't felt since I can't remember when. Not during the wildfires two years ago, not during the earthquake last spring, not even during the winter storm that nearly took out the power for the whole town.
This feels different. Personal.
I place my palm against the cold stone floor, feeling the energy flow through me. As a Hayes, I'm connected to these lines in a way that goes beyond blood or duty. Calder's the primary guardian, but we all feel them—when they're troubled, when something's disrupting the natural balance, when danger is approaching.
