Brewed with Love

A cozy, contemporary romantasy about a teen witch who wants to keep her family’s apothecary from falling to the competition but can only do so with assistance from her first crush. Plant witch Sage Bishop intends to run her family’s apothecary one day. The doors just have to stay open until she can take over from her nana. That’s why she spends all her time perfecting a tonic that’ll put Bishop Brews on the map. She certainly doesn’t need their latest hire--and her ex–best friend--Ximena Reyes causing any distractions. Alas, at the first sight of Ximena’s cheeky smile, Sage flees the shop, allowing someone to break into Bishop Brews and steal the tonic she’s been tinkering with. With Bishop Brews’ reputation on the line, Sage reluctantly partners with Ximena to find the culprit. As the mystery deepens, so do pesky old feelings. Will she be able to resist Ximena’s charm, or will she let it work its magic for a second chance at love?

Autorentext
Shelly Page lives in Los Angeles, in an apartment overflowing with books and unfinished oil paintings. Her co-edited QBIPOC YA horror anthology, Night of the Living Queers, sold to Wednesday Books; Brewed with Love is her debut novel. By day, she works as an attorney representing homeless LGBTQ youth.

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**A cozy sapphic romantasy about a teen witch trying to keep her family’s apothecary up and running, with a little help from her ex-best friend—and first crush.

“Brewed with Love will charm readers with its magic potions, quirky town, sweet romance, and witchy vibes.” —F.T. Lukens, New York Times bestselling author of Otherworldly**

Plant witch Sage Bishop intends to run her family’s apothecary one day. The doors just have to stay open until she can take over from her nana. That’s why she spends all her time perfecting a tonic that’ll put Bishop Brews on the map.

She certainly doesn’t need their latest hire—and her ex–best friend—Ximena Reyes causing any distractions. Alas, at the first sight of Ximena’s cheeky smile, Sage flees the shop, allowing someone to break into Bishop Brews and steal the tonic she’s been tinkering with, one that wipes their high school cheer captain’s memory.

With Bishop Brews now at risk of being shut down, Sage reluctantly partners with Ximena to find the culprit. As the mystery deepens, so do pesky old feelings. Their first kiss and Ximena’s subsequent ghosting keep replaying in Sage’s mind. Will she be able to resist Ximena’s charm, or will she let it work its magic for a second chance at love?

Leseprobe
1

My tonic is out for blood. Raucous green bubbles burst from the mixing pot, spilling over the sides and rushing at my feet like starving mice. Unruly fizz chomps at the toe of my high-­top Converse, instantly melting the rubber with its searing heat.

In hindsight, adding the carnations to the pot after my magic was a bad idea. Magic brews are fickle, and this one doesn’t have neatly printed instructions in my family grimoire for me to follow. I’m creating it from scratch, a feat only a witch as skilled as Nana manages to make look easy.

A smoky haze clouds the kitchen, and the scent of charred rubber fills the air as I lurch away from a particularly large bubble.

“Sage! What’s that smell?” Nana yells from her study.

“Um . . .” My gaze whips around for a way to stop the foamy mess before it escapes into the rest of the house. I’m not supposed to brew at home. Most of my supplies are at our apothecary, but after spending all night tink­ering with this blend, I thought I’d finally cracked it. Joke’s on me.

Nana’s heavy footsteps and her signature scent—­rose oil and lemongrass—­meet me before she does. A second later, she’s standing in the doorway, wiry bifocals sagging halfway down her broad nose. Her large gold earrings match her gold bangles. The green monstera hair clip I gave her last Mother’s Day holds her tiny gray afro in place. It complements her olive linen shift perfectly. If Nana was a succulent, she’d be aloe vera—­nourishing and sweet with a hardened exterior.

“I know you are not brewing in my—­ Oh! Not my rug!”

The poor rug she’s had for the last three decades is fighting for its life against the remnants of my failed tonic. Scorch marks decorate the patterned fabric. Nana’s stricken, and my most apologetic smile doesn’t help the situation.

“Which rug, Hazel?” Tiva hollers from the other room, though her footsteps are light and swift as she heads our way.

“The purple runner from Rugs R Us, but that’s hardly the point,” Nana replies sullenly.

Tiva pokes her head into the kitchen with our oldest pothos tucked under her arm like a baby. Her thick, waist-­length hair frames cheekbones as sharp as blades.

Sizzling bubbles charge toward her on a mission to destroy anything in their path, but Tiva’s fast. She flicks her wrist, gathering magic in her palm, and extends her hand. Instantly, the angry bubbles turn into harmless puddles.

Misbrewed tonics can do anything from itch to burn if touched. They leave behind nasty stains that are nearly impossible to get out (RIP my rainbow cacti shirt), and if ingested, they can cause dizziness, fever, pain, or even memory loss.

The key to brewing the perfect tonic is not only the ingredients—­all grown in the Hemwood, a redwood forest soaked with more magic than a fairy tale—­but how and when you put them in the pot. If the grimoire says “toss in” an herb, you better toss it. If it says to add a burst of individual magic after the mixture, don’t add it before. The order of operations, the attention to detail, and the witch’s intentions are what make a brew glow. Brewing isn’t a problem when I have guidance, but inventing something new is advanced magic requiring a deep understanding of herbal properties and the problem in need of remedying. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that.

“Explain yourself,” Nana demands, her round face pinched with annoyance.

I turn to Tiva for a show of support, but she shakes her head and covers a smirk with her free hand. Her and Nana have been together longer than the rug has haunted our kitchen, long enough to be like a second grandparent to me—­one who is all too amused by my predicament.

Nana levels her gaze. “Well?”

“I swear I thought I finally cracked this tonic. It’s going to put Bishop Brews back on top.”

“Ah yes. Your breakup cure.”

“It’s not a breakup cure. It’s an emotional recovery tonic, not just for heartbreak but for anything emotionally difficult someone might experience. It’s genius.” All the tonics we sell are healing, and this one would mend the mind and the heart.

Nana hums noncommittally. “And this has nothing to do with Ximena Reyes starting at the shop today?”

Ugh. As if I needed reminding. I’ve been dreading today since Nana told me Ximena applied for the open cashier position two weeks ago. Back then I could pretend it wasn’t happening. It was easy to imagine Ximena’s full day of training with Nana last weekend as a fluke. Now I have no choice but to face the music, which is easier said than done, because I’d rather pull out my teeth than spend fifteen long hours a week alone with Ximena.

I skirt around the counter, stepping over the now harmless mess on the floor, and throw t…