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Friday, October 7th, 2253 – 4:05 pm

The Mystical Menagerie

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The afternoon calm shattered in a rush of voices and the thudding of small feet. Jeremiah looked up from the counter just in time to see the first of the children tumble through the back door, flushed and sweating, eyes bright with the kind of triumph only dirt and mischief could bring. Mani and Stella Grim darted in side by side, jostling each other as if they hadn't just spent the last few hours hauling soil and stones. Alan trailed behind with less energy, but steady and calm as always.

Two small figures followed close behind, faces Jeremiah had come to expect in the shop over the past two weeks. Jack and Jill — the four- and five-year-old children of one of the café's regulars — burst in at a half-run, mud streaking their cheeks and hands, damp curls plastered against their foreheads, and rushed to their mother, who sat in the café area.

Jill clutched a squirming bundle against her chest. Tish's golden fur had gone from honey-bright fur to a patchwork of sticky brown. Her paws flailed helplessly in the air, spattering flecks of dirt across the girl's dress as Jill chattered at her mother, words spilling too quickly to make sense. Beside her, Jack hopped in place with boundless energy, as though his story needed the rhythm of his bouncing to drive home every detail.

Behind them came the Maddock apartment children — a ragtag cluster Jeremiah didn't yet know by name, but their grins needed no introduction. Each looked equally grimy, yet each carried a trace of pride in their posture.

Bringing up the rear came a muddy Tosh, and a thoroughly spent Lewis. Tosh's ears sagged, his tail sweeping back and forth in sluggish, half-hearted arcs. Lewis looked worse — like someone had wrung him out and forgotten to hang him up to dry. His shirt stuck damp to his back, sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and every step dropped a bit of dried mud from his boots to the floor.

Jeremiah let a small smile play across his lips, already walking toward them. "Well now," he drawled, folding his arms across his chest as Lewis stumbled through the doorway. "Looks like you had fun."

He tipped his chin toward the window, where the rough outline of the new communal garden was just barely taking shape. Patches of turned soil, uneven rows, and a half-finished lattice of string and stakes. Messy, imperfect… but alive with promise.

Lewis followed his gaze and nodded, then sighed. "Well," he said slowly, the words sagging under their own weight, "it'll be more work than I was expecting, sir. Even with the help of your Beast Talismans…"

His gaze drifted back toward the cluster of children, drawn as if by instinct.

Alan had planted himself behind the pastry counter like a budding shopkeep, passing out cups of water and day-old buns with the ease of someone who belonged there. Stella hovered at his elbow, occasionally scolding one of the younger children for pushing. The Maddock kids accepted their prizes without hesitation, muddy fingers smearing damp streaks across the cups before they drifted toward an empty table. The café sat quiet at this hour, with only a few customers scattered among the seats, leaving plenty of space for the children.

Uno and Dos, Jeremiah's autobrooms, let out a mechanical screech and whirred into motion, diving at the muddy footprints as though the mess had insulted them personally.

Near the entrance, Jill nearly dropped Tish, the puppy squirming free with a bark and shaking mud across the floor. Jina, their mother, only laughed, brushing Jill's hair back from her sticky forehead while Jack added his own overlapping account. Their words tangled in the air, but Jina nodded along.

Lewis's frown eased, his shoulders loosening, and for the first time since stepping inside, he smiled. The expression sat tired on his face, but genuine. He turned back to Jeremiah, sweat still dripping, mud still streaking his arms.

"But yeah…" His voice carried a note of quiet satisfaction, a small flame beneath the weariness. "It was fun."

Jeremiah's grin widened as Lewis wiped a muddy hand down the front of his shirt, looking like he wasn't sure whether to sit or collapse on the floor.

"I'm glad to hear it," Jeremiah said, voice low and warm. "So, how long do you think it'll take before the garden's properly up and running?"

Lewis blinked at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes tracking the mess of children tumbling around the café. For a long moment, he didn't answer, his lips pursed.

Finally, he nodded once to himself. "I've never worked on anything this big before. Not… not a whole communal plot. But—" He exhaled through his nose, dragging out the word. "If I go at it like I've done in the past, it'll only take about a week to get the basics down. Beds staked, soil turned, all the rows marked out. Should be ready for planting by then."

He paused, hesitation creeping back in. "But… I was thinking, maybe it'd be better to go a bit slower. Two, maybe three weeks. Let the kids do more of the work themselves. Show them how it's done right, instead of just rushing it." His eyes flicked toward Jeremiah and then away just as fast.

Jeremiah studied him in silence, and that was all it took for Lewis's ears to redden. He scratched his jaw, stammering. "I–I mean, if that's too much time, sir, I can speed it up. Just… just tell me how fast you want it."

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Jeremiah shook his head, cutting off the apology. "Take as long as you need. You're the groundskeeper now, Lewis. The garden, the kids — that's your responsibility, not mine."

Lewis froze, caught off guard. The words hung in the air like a weight, and Jeremiah saw them sink in, layer by layer, until something fragile but steady took root behind Lewis's eyes.

Jeremiah leaned back, arms still folded, smirking internally at the sight. From the first day he'd met the man, Lewis had seemed to carry his life on a string pulled taut — every word, every step, careful not to draw attention. Though maybe that was to be expected. Though Lewis wasn't much younger than Jeremiah himself, it was obvious the young man had lived a much harder life than he had.

But where others who grew up in the Outskirts learned to bare their teeth, turning sharp and dangerous to survive. Lewis had gone the other way, closing himself off behind a shell, skittish and small, a shadow slipping through the cracks. That wasn't weakness, Jeremiah knew — no one weak lasted long out here — but it meant he'd never quite seen the real Lewis.

He'd always been… deferential to Jeremiah. Maybe too much so. As if there was more to Jeremiah than just being the man's boss.

But every so often, Jeremiah would catch a glimpse of the man inside the shell.

A smile tugged at Jeremiah's lips before he could stop it. "Maybe I'll pop in during your lessons," he said, half-teasing. "Could use a refresher on Minor Floramancy myself. Haven't managed to make the talisman behave the way I want yet."

Lewis's eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the rag he'd been twisting between his hands. "What? No, sir, that's — no. You don't need me for that." His voice pitched higher, stumbling over itself. "You're the one making the talismans. I doubt there's anything I could teach you. I just started, it's not like I can use them better than Ulrick's apprentice."

Jeremiah's brow knit. "Apprentice?" he echoed.

Lewis blinked at him, confusion flickering across his face. "Well… yeah," he started, only to stop when a sudden shriek split the air.

Jeremiah turned his head as two of the Maddock kids shoved each other near the counter, a cup of water spilling across the floorboards. Jack's voice rose in protest, Jill squealed, and Tish barked, darting after the splash like it was a game.

Lewis sighed, already moving. "Not again—" He pushed past Jeremiah with surprising speed for how tired he looked, wading straight into the knot of flailing arms and raised voices.

Jeremiah stayed where he was, arms folded, eyes narrowing in thought.

Apprentice…?

The word circled in his mind, catching on something he couldn't quite place.

He leaned against the counter, watching Lewis bark orders and corral the children back into some semblance of calm. A thoughtful hum slipped from Jeremiah's throat, low enough that no one heard it but himself.

Jeremiah leaned an elbow on the counter, eyes fixed on Lewis wrangling the Maddock kids back into their seats. He hardly noticed the low hum slipping from his own throat, lost in the half-formed question that had snagged in his mind, when a voice cut across it, low and sardonic.

"What are ya overthinkin' about now, kid?"

Jeremiah flinched hard enough to bump his elbow against the counter. He turned, already scowling, and found Mero perched right on the edge of the wood like he'd been there all along. The fairy's potbelly pushed against the hem of his faded white tee, wings folded away and invisible, his jeans cuffed like he'd just walked out of some corner bodega instead of whatever realm he'd actually crawled out of.

"Seriously?" Jeremiah scrubbed a hand over his face. "How is it you always manage to show up at the most annoying times?"

Mero grinned, crooked and shameless. "You might have Skills, kid, but some of us have skill."

Jeremiah let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he turned back toward the café. Lewis had corralled the Maddock kids into wiping up the spilled water, Stella snapping instructions like a drill sergeant while Alan handed out fresh towels. The sight might have been enough to make Jeremiah smile on any other day, but what Lewis had called him still gnawed at him like grit between his teeth.

He muttered it aloud before he could stop himself.

Mero cocked a brow. "What's that?"

Jeremiah glanced sideways at him, then asked, louder, "Tell me something, Mero. Do people really think I'm Ulrick's apprentice?"

It wasn't that he disliked Ulrick. The man had done a lot for him, and it was hard to dislike the mountain of a baker with forearms thicker than Jeremiah's thighs — who also happened to be Market Street's most capable mage. But Jeremiah? His apprentice? That was a stretch.

The fairy leaned back on his palms, eyes twinkling. "Huh. So ya caught that, eh?" He scratched at his patchy stubble, expression shifting into something closer to thought than mischief. "Well… let's just say folks in the Crossroads like their stories. And when it comes to the mysterious new shopkeeper on Market Street? There's a whole lot of stories goin' around. But sure, one of 'em happens to be that yer the fresh apprentice of one of the most respected — and feared — names on Market Street." Mero grinned widely.

Jeremiah frowned. "Why would they think that?"

Mero chuckled, the sound dry as gravel. "Why wouldn't they?" Mero chuckled. He ticked points off on stubby fingers. "You pop up out of nowhere. Set up a whole shop like magic, stocked to the rafters with fancy pet toys and magical doodads no one's seen before. You act like that ain't suspicious? Folks are always gonna try to make sense of what they don't understand, and attaching you to Ulrick gives them a nice, neat box to stuff you in. Safer that way, in their heads."

Jeremiah shook his head, stubborn heat rising under his collar. "Well, I'll just have to correct that misunderstanding."

"Why?" Mero tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Rumors are rumors. Ain't hurtin' anyone. In fact, it's likely keepin' people polite. There's a kind of safety in that image, y'know? Half the riffraff in the Crossroads won't even look your way if they think Ulrick's got a hand on your shoulder. And if Ulrick really gave a damn, don't you think he'd clear it up himself?"

Jeremiah tightened his arms across his chest. "Because it's not true. I'm not going to let people think I'm hiding behind someone else's name just to make them leave me alone."

For a moment, Mero just looked at him. Then a smirk split across his face, sharp and sly. "If it bothers you that much, why not just make it true?"

Jeremiah blinked. "…What?"

"Ask him to teach you." Mero leaned back on his palms, looking far too comfortable perched on the counter like some smug gargoyle. "You want the record straight? Fine. Walk up to the man and say, 'Hey, teach me something.' Then it's not a rumor anymore. It's fact."

Jeremiah stared, mouth half-open, trying to picture it — marching up to Ulrick, flour-dusted hands and all, and asking to be his student. The image sat so absurdly in his mind that he almost laughed. Instead, all he managed was a muttered, "You can't be serious."

"Dead serious." Mero tapped a finger against his nose. "Sometimes the easiest way to shut people up is to lean into the story they've already written for you."

Mero's smirk widened further. "Besides. You've been sitting on that fancy Ocean-affinity for a while now. Don't you think it's time to put it to use?"

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