——————————————————

  Sunday, October 16th, 2253 — 10:05 AM

  The Mystical Menagerie

  ——————————————————

  The murmur of voices filled the shop like the low hum of a hive, not loud, just constant. Jeremiah stood behind the counter with his elbows on the wood, letting his gaze drift over the crowd that had claimed nearly every corner of the café. The air was heavy with coffee and warm pastry, edged with the faint tint of anticipation and excitement.

  He hadn’t expected this many to show up.

  The meeting wasn’t supposed to start yet — half of them were still nursing drinks, talking in clusters while the autobrooms glided between tables, brushing up stray crumbs from breakfast. Mani had claimed the center of the floor like it was a stage, animatedly explaining something to Stella and Alan, his hands carving invisible shapes in the air. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. Whatever he was describing clearly involved explosions of some kind. Stella watched with open excitement, while Alan looked quietly horrified.

  Ulrick occupied the seat nearest the counter, a mug of coffee the size of a small cauldron cupped in both hands. Beside him sat several Market Street store owners that Mani had somehow conned into helping sponsor the event. The large baker’s beard twitched each time Mani said something particularly grandiose, the motion somewhere between a smile and a stifled laugh. Lewis had claimed the stool beside him, trying — and failing — to keep up with Mani’s mile-a-minute pitch. Even Mero had shown up, lounging on the shelf above the pastry case with a croissant nearly as large as his torso, scattering crumbs each time he laughed at someone else’s expense.

  The shop smelled of cinnamon, tea leaves, and the faint musk of wet puppies. Outside, gray light spilled through the windows, glinting off the surface of Billy’s bubble, where the little kraken floated close to the ceiling, one eye fixed on the crowd, as if unsure about so many unfamiliar faces.

  What really caught Jeremiah’s attention, though, were several figures he hadn’t been expecting.

  Amani lingered near the terrarium wall, half-lost in the lamps’ glow. Her hood was pulled up, its edge casting a shadow across pale, almost luminous skin. One pair of arms was folded tight against her chest, the other buried in her hoodie pockets. Her halo-like horns caught just enough light to outline them in gold, despite her effort to keep them hidden.

  She looked uncomfortable — not bored, but wary. Her eyes flicked from the others to the floor and back again, a faint crease between her brows.

  Jeremiah had thought, briefly, about asking why she’d come. He hadn’t invited her. And Amani, for her part, didn’t exactly strike him as the “community meeting” type. But when she caught him looking, the look she shot across the room could have stripped paint.

  When Ulrick finally joined him, the man’s mug was nearly empty. The scent of roasted chicory clung to him, mixed with the faint trace of rain still caught in his coat.

  “You’re the one who asked her?” Jeremiah asked quietly, tilting his head toward the djinn.

  Ulrick raised a brow. “Why do you ask? Is she not welcome?”

  Jeremiah’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. “No! Nothing like that. It’s just…” he ran a hand through his hair, “I guess I just didn’t expect to see her again, is all. She didn’t really strike me as the ‘friendly neighbour’ type.”

  Ulrick nodded and set the mug on the counter. “She’s been keepin’ to herself too much since the incident. Girl’s got too much fire to sit in the ashes. Figured she needed somethin’ to stir her blood again. Nothin’ dangerous. Just… involved.”

  Jeremiah blinked. “You’ve been checking on her?”

  Ulrick shrugged, small and practical. “She’s got no one else close by. Lost her focus, and now half the folk she knew either pity her or steer clear outta fear.” His voice stayed low and steady. “That’s not right. Someone her age needs to get out, meet people, feel normal again.”

  Jeremiah leaned an elbow on the counter. “You think this is the right crowd for that?”

  Ulrick’s beard twitched with a knowing smile. “Better here than out there.”

  Jeremiah followed his glance across the room. Amani stood apart, phone in hand, thumb moving in idle motions that fooled no one. Her shoulders were tight, her attention split. When Mani’s laughter rose too loud, she turned her head sharply, her eyes narrowing and flicking toward the door almost on instinct.

  If he hadn’t seen her power firsthand, Jeremiah would have thought she looked like a skittish mouse for a fraction of a second.

  He smirked. “Fair point.”

  “Besides,” Ulrick said, his tone softening, “sometimes people just need to remember they’re still part of things. Doesn’t matter how strong they are. If they stop reaching out, the world forgets to reach back.”

  The words settled between them. Jeremiah didn’t answer right away. He nodded once.

  Ulrick clapped a hand on his shoulder, then lifted his mug and moved off, already muttering about a refill.

  Jeremiah exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, letting his gaze drift over the room again. Conversation hummed around him. He was still gathering his thoughts when another voice cut through the noise.

  “Well, someone’s been busy.”

  He looked up, blinking in disbelief as Sam strolled through the crowd with a grin that could light up the whole shop. Her wild red hair was pulled into a loose half-up that refused to behave, a few strands already escaping to frame her face. A worn sweater hung off one shoulder, jeans tucked into scuffed boots. She looked utterly at home, even as she slipped between tables like a fox who knew she didn’t need permission to be there.

  “Sam?” Jeremiah said, straightening. “What are you doing here?”

  She cocked her head, mock offense flashing in her eyes. “What, you really weren’t going to invite your business partner to your first big event?”

  Jeremiah’s mouth opened, then shut again, managing only a sheepish smile. “I just figured you’d be too busy. Shelter, contracts, all that. Didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm. “You didn’t ask. Even I get a day off once in a while.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing,” she cut in, smirking. “You don’t pull something like this without at least pretending to let me help. I can’t be here every day, but I can show up.”

  Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped in surrender. “Alright, alright. Thanks, Sam.”

  “Mm-hm.” She took a sip of her coffee, then added, quieter, “You’re welcome.”

  For a few seconds, the noise of the crowd faded to a background hum — just two old friends standing in the shop they’d both, in their own way, helped build.

  Then Sam’s smile faded.

  Her eyes shifted past Jeremiah’s shoulder, her expression cooling in a way that was subtle but unmistakable.

  “That said,” she murmured, lowering her voice, “what’s she doing here?”

  Jeremiah followed her gaze and sighed.

  Near Sissy’s enclosure stood another unexpected presence.

  Nic.

  The woman looked like she’d stepped out of a boardroom rather than Market Street — a sharp blue suit, polished shoes, not a wrinkle out of place. Her hair was pinned back in a professional bob, and a pair of wire-frame glasses sat on her nose. He didn’t even remember the dark-skinned woman wearing glasses when he last met her. Two hulking figures flanked her, arms crossed, heads on a swivel. But Nic herself was focused entirely on Sissy.

  The tortoiseshell cat stared back, unblinking.

  It was a silent standoff — predator and queen, neither willing to blink first. The cat’s tail flicked once. Nic smiled.

  When she finally looked away, Jeremiah felt it like a shift in pressure. Her gaze found him, steady and cool. The smile stayed.

  Jeremiah straightened automatically. “Ah,” he muttered. “Right.”

  Nic started forward, heels clicking against the floor. Sam moved before Jeremiah could, stepping squarely into her path.

  The room seemed to hold its breath as eyes turned toward them, seeming to sense the tension. Even Mero’s lazy crunching stopped.

  “Samantha,” Nic greeted, voice smooth as poured oil.

  “Nicole,” Sam returned, every syllable dry as sandpaper.

  Jeremiah frowned, glancing between them. “Wait. You two know each other?”

  Neither woman looked at him.

  Sam’s eyes stayed locked on Nic’s, her tone flat. “I worked with Sarah during the restoration trips after the Big Red incident.”

  Nic’s smile curved, all polished edges. “Of course, the little Central Princess didn’t do much besides hiding in Machina Redux’s shadow. Guess you were too scared to mingle with us uncivilized Outskirt folk.”

  Sam’s cheeks flushed deep red with anger, embarrassment, or maybe both. “Excuse me?” she snapped, stepping forward, hand rising with a finger aimed squarely at Nic’s chest.

  Nic’s smirk didn’t falter. Her eyes narrowed, the light in them sharp and cold, and the two bodyguards at her flanks shifted like wolves scenting blood — one half a step forward, the other angling slightly to cover her side.

  The air between the women grew taut.

  Jeremiah moved before he fully thought it through. He stepped between them, hands raised, his voice steady.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “This is my shop. There will be no fighting here.”

  He drew a slow breath, the kind Ulrick had drilled into him until it became instinct. He let the rhythm settle, then released it. A low pressure rolled outward from him, barely visible, more felt than seen. A subtle pull through the air, brushing skin and bone like the slow turn of a tide.

  For an instant, the entire shop seemed to hold its breath. Mugs rattled faintly on their saucers. The nearest hanging lamp swayed once, slow and deliberate, as if the building itself were echoing his words.

  It was over in seconds.

  Sam blinked, her mouth still half-open in retort. Nic’s eyes widened, her expression flickering from irritation to startled curiosity. Even the bodyguards froze, glancing toward their boss for a cue.

  Then both women took a step back.

  Jeremiah exhaled and lowered his hands. “Good,” he said quietly.

  Sam’s hand dropped to her side. She gave him a sharp look — not angry, but not pleased either. The kind that promised a conversation later. Still, she stepped back.

  Nic tilted her head, an appraising smile touching her lips. “Interesting,” she said, then flicked a casual wave toward her bodyguards. They exchanged a look and stepped back into place.

  Around them, the low buzz of conversation resumed, hesitant at first, but Mani quickly grabbed the crowd’s attention once more.

  Jeremiah turned to Nic. “Would you mind telling me why you’re here, Ms. Nic? We’re closed today, and we’ve got an event to plan.”

  Her smile widened, lazy and deliberate. “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  Jeremiah’s brow furrowed. “Meaning?”

  Before she could answer, a large hand landed on his shoulder with a solid thump.

  “Easy, lad,” Ulrick rumbled as he stepped in beside him. “She’s not here to start trouble. At least not that sort.”

  Jeremiah half-turned as the baker grinned down at him, mug in one hand, the smell of chicory and roasted beans hanging thick around him.

  “The Kindergarten likes to have a hand in any public event this side of the Crossroads,” Ulrick went on, voice carrying easily. “Usually as security. That’s how they earn their keep — keepin’ trouble from gettin’ too close to the brave folk who still do business out here.”

  Jeremiah blinked. “You’re saying they’re offering to play guards?”

  Ulrick leaned closer, voice dropping to a murmur that rumbled low enough to make Jeremiah’s ear tickle. “Call it that, if you want. But don’t dismiss her offer too quickly. The Kindergarten’s a feeder for the bigger outfits and gangs. If you’ve got their blessing, others will think twice before pushin’ their luck.” His gaze flicked toward Nic’s men, then back. “Especially if there’s betting tied to this little tournament. Otherwise… someone might decide they’re owed a cut.”

  Jeremiah exhaled slowly. “Right.”

  Nic’s eyes gleamed. She didn’t say a word, but her expression made it clear she’d caught at least part of that exchange.

  Her tone shifted subtly then, losing some of its playful edge. “Well then, since we’re talking business, I’m also here to offer an apology. Officially, that is.”

  Jeremiah blinked. “An apology?”

  “For Jonny’s stunt last week,” she clarified.

  Jeremiah blinked. “You heard about that?”

  Nic laughed — a bright, polished sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course I did. I’m his second, after all.”

  Jeremiah groaned under his breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Figures.”

  Her tone softened just a touch. “You have my word, it won’t happen again. Whatever’s got his pants in such a twist lately, it’s not something I condone.”

  Jeremiah studied her for a moment, weighing the sincerity in her eyes before nodding. “It’s fine. No harm done. As long as that’s the last of it, I’ll call it even.”

  He hesitated, curiosity getting the better of him. “Though I have to ask — if you’re his second, why aren’t you the one in charge? You seem more suited to the job.”

  Nic’s smile turned wry. “Because, despite my sunny disposition—”

  One of her guards snorted a laugh before he could stop himself.

  Nic didn’t spare him a glance. She lifted one heeled foot and brought it down hard on his boot. The crunch of leather and the man’s strangled hiss cut through the air. Without breaking rhythm, she finished, her tone cool and even, “—I’m not exactly a people person. I deal with logistics, coordination, and numbers. Jonny deals with… people.”

  Her gaze unfocused for a moment, some distant thought shadowing her expression. “He’s good at it, too. Keeps things from boiling over, most days. If I were in charge, we’d have splintered a dozen times already.”

  Ulrick chuckled into his coffee, eyes glinting over the rim of the mug.

  Nic gave a loose shrug, the motion almost self-deprecating. “Jonny might be impulsive, but he has a talent for holding the crew together — one way or another. He’s our glue. I just make sure the pieces are in the right place.”

  The humor bled from her expression. Her brow creased, voice lowering. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. Doesn’t sit right. He’s been different — sharp around the edges. It’s not like him.”

  Ulrick’s expression sobered, and he nodded slightly.

  Jeremiah opened his mouth to ask more, but Mani’s voice cut through the murmur of the shop like a firecracker.

  “Alright everyone! The meeting’s starting!”

  The boy stood on one of the café tables, mug raised high like a toastmaster, a grin splitting his face. The room erupted into movement — chairs scraping, laughter rising as people drifted toward the center.

  Jeremiah glanced back at Nic. “You’re welcome to stay and listen if you’re serious about helping,” he said, leveling her with a look. “But I don’t want any trouble.”

  Nic’s smirk softened into something that almost resembled respect. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She gestured for her guards to stand down again, then followed the crowd toward the forming circle.

  Jeremiah stayed back a moment longer, exhaling slowly as the noise filled the room once more. Sam brushed past him, shooting him a sidelong glare that promised questions. Ulrick gave him a grin that said Better you than me.

  And for a brief, ridiculous second, Jeremiah almost wished for another quiet day of muddy paw prints and spilled coffee.