(WLTK) B2 - Chapter 46: “Playground Rules.”

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Sunday, October 16th, 2253 — 10:05 AM

The Mystical Menagerie

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The murmur of voices filled the shop like the low hum of a hive — not loud, just constant. Jeremiah stood behind the counter, elbows resting on the wood, and let his gaze drift over the small crowd that had claimed nearly every corner of the café. The scent of coffee and warm pastry hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint ozone bite of mana from the shop’s wards.

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. Whatever he was describing, it clearly involved explosions; Stella’s eyes were wide with excitement, Alan’s with terror.

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 chosen to make an appearance, lounging on the top shelf near the pastry case with a croissant nearly the size of his torso, crumbs dusting the air 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 new faces.

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

Amani hovered near the corner of the terrarium wall, half-shadowed by the soft glow of the lamps. Her hood was up, the edge casting a faint shadow across her pale, almost luminescent skin. One pair of arms was folded tight across her chest, the other stuffed deep into her hoodie pockets. Her halo-like horns caught the light just enough to outline them in gold, despite her attempt to hide them.

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 moved to his side, the man’s mug was nearly empty. The scent of roasted chicory clung to him, blending with the faint smell of rain that still lingered in his coat.

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

Ulrick nodded slowly, setting his 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, so I figured she could use somethin’ to stir her blood again. Nothing dangerous. Just… involved.”

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

Ulrick shrugged, a small, matter-of-fact roll of the shoulders. “Girl’s got no one else close by. Her focus gets stolen, and half the folk she knew either pity her or avoid her outta fear. Not right, that. A young lady like her needs to get out and meet new people.” He took another sip, voice low but firm.

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

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

Jeremiah followed his gaze across the room. Amani was pretending to scroll through her phone, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed how aware she was of being noticed. When Mani’s laughter carried a little too loud, her head turned sharply, one horn glinting in the light.

Jeremiah smirked despite himself. “Fair point.”

“Besides,” Ulrick went on, voice softening, “sometimes a person just needs to be reminded they’re still part of the world. Doesn’t matter how strong they are — if they stop reaching out, the world forgets to reach back.”

The words lingered. Jeremiah said nothing for a moment, only nodded.

Ulrick gave Jeremiah a quick clap on the shoulder, the kind that left warmth and weight behind, then rose from his stool. He took the empty mug with him as he crossed the room, muttering something about a refill.

Jeremiah exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, letting his gaze wander back toward the crowd. The air buzzed with low chatter, the smell of coffee thick enough to taste. He barely had time to collect his thoughts before 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-tie 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. He tried for a smile, but it came out sheepish. “I just figured you’d be too busy. Shelter, contracts, all that. Didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm, the sound sharp against his sleeve. “You didn’t ask. Even someone like me gets a day off once in a while.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing,” she said, smirking. “You don’t get to do something this big without at least pretending to let me help. I can’t be here every day, but I can cheer you on.”

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 background hum — just two old friends standing in the shop they’d both, in their own way, helped build.

Then Sam’s smile dimmed. Her gaze flicked past Jeremiah’s shoulder, her expression cooling by degrees. The shift was so sudden he almost missed it.

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

Jeremiah followed her gaze and sighed.

Near Sissy’s enclosure, half-illuminated by the lamp glow, stood another unexpected face.

Nic.

The woman looked like she’d stepped out of a boardroom rather than the drizzle of Market Street — sharp blue suit, polished shoes, not a wrinkle out of place. 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. Even Mero’s lazy crunching stopped.

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

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

Jeremiah’s brows drew together. He glanced 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 — anger, embarrassment, 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 thought caught up. He slipped between them, palms raised, but his voice firm.

“Alright,” he said, tone calm but unyielding. “That’s enough. This is my shop — and there’ll be no fighting here.”

He drew a slow breath, the kind Ulrick had drilled into him a dozen times, and let the rhythm of it anchor his focus. The pulse that followed wasn’t loud or visible, just a soft vibration that spread outward from his core. A quiet ripple through the air, a subtle pressure that brushed skin and bone like the deep pull of a changing 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.

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 of look that promised a future conversation he wasn’t going to enjoy. She stepped back all the same.

Nic tilted her head, an appraising smile curving her lips. “Interesting,” she murmured, then gave a lazy wave toward her bodyguards. Both men exchanged a look and eased back into position.

The low buzz of conversation began to pick up again around them, hesitant at first, like people testing the air after lightning.

Jeremiah turned back to Nic. “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.

“Relax, lad,” Ulrick rumbled as he stepped up beside him. “She’s not here to cause trouble. At least not that kind.”

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 said, addressing both Jeremiah and the room with the ease of a man used to speaking over ovens and apprentices. “Usually as security. That’s how they make their coin — 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 gangs. If you’ve got their blessing, others will think twice before pokin’ at you. Especially if there’s any kind of betting involved in this tournament of yours. Otherwise…”

His eyes flicked toward Nic’s men before returning to Jeremiah. “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, 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 don’t get lost.”

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, 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 pawprints and spilled coffee.