(WLTK) B2 - Chapter 45: "An Offer You Can't Refuse."

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Saturday, October 15th, 2253 — 7:20 AM

The Mystical Menagerie

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The bell above the front door gave a tired little jingle as Jeremiah pushed his way inside, stifling a yawn behind the back of his hand. The early light slanted through the dew-streaked windows, painting pale gold lines across the counter and the polished tile. The air still held the cool, damp of yesterday’s rain, tinged faintly with the scent of coffee grounds and cedar oil.

Before the door could swing shut behind him, a blur of motion shot through the gap with a soft whump.

“Billy — wait—!”

Too late.

The little kraken burst into the room like a cannonball, bubble armor shimmering around him in a halo of rippling blue. He zipped a tight circle around Jeremiah’s head, leaving a thin trail of condensation in his wake before veering off toward the café tables.

The crash of sudden barking followed an instant later.

Jeremiah winced, but he was already laughing as he turned toward the commotion.

Tish was fully awake now, bouncing against the gate of the puppy pen, all floppy ears and indignant yips. Tosh darted frantic circles around her, the smaller pup’s tail wagging hard enough to blur. Billy hovered just above their reach, rotating lazily upside down, three limbs crossed behind his back in smug amusement.

“Show-off,” Jeremiah muttered under his breath.

Billy wobbled slightly in midair, the emotional flicker through their bond translating as something close to innocence. Jeremiah snorted.

“Uh-huh. Don’t give me that look.” He set his bag on the counter and stretched the stiffness from his shoulders. “Alright, alright — let me get things started before you rile up the whole shop.”

He crossed to the windows first, drawing back the curtains to let the soft morning light spill through. Dust motes glittered in the air, turning the shop’s warm tones richer: the honeyed glow of the wooden tables, the dark sheen of polished terrariums, the faint green shimmer from the wall planters by the café.

The Menagerie woke slowly around him — small noises coming alive in sequence. The rustle of straw from the corner cages. The chirr of insects beneath their lamps. The faint click of mechanical brushes as the autobrooms roused themselves from their overnight charge.

Jeremiah paused mid-step.

Something brushed against the edge of his budding mana sense — faint but distinct, like a whisper just out of earshot. The hairs on his arms prickled. He was certain whatever he was sensing hadn’t been there yesterday. He turned slowly, scanning the shop, listening to the soft tick of pipes and the steady rain beyond the windows. Nothing moved.

His brow furrowed as unease coiled tight in his gut. “Strange…”

It wasn’t wrong, exactly. If anything, it felt like something had just clicked into place, like a lock finding its key. But that didn’t make it any less strange. The warmth lingered for a heartbeat, humming quietly beneath his ribs — and then it was gone. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sensation vanished — snuffed out like a breath of air through a candle flame.

Jeremiah stood still a moment longer, scanning the shop one more time before exhaling through his nose. “...Weird,” he muttered under his breath.

He rubbed the back of his neck, the frown still carved between his brows. “Definitely telling Ulrick about that.”

Only once the hum in his chest faded completely did he move again, resuming his morning rounds with an extra glance toward every corner, every shadow between the lamps.

Jeremiah moved with the rhythm of habit, scooping feed, checking temperatures, noting the flicker of runes on the heating plates. He passed a hand over the control panel to Sissy’s enclosure; the kittens were starting to get old enough that he didn’t have to worry, but it was always better safe than sorry.

When he finally reached the eastern wall, the newest section of the shop gleamed under its rows of heat lamps. The beetle enclosures lined the wall in perfect order — glass tanks inlaid with small brass plates etched with rune channels, each one marked by a delicate script tag identifying the resident species.

He crouched before the last in the row.

The Matron’s enclosure occupied nearly twice the space of the others — an elaborate habitat of sculpted wood, dark soil, and curling moss framed by a gentle mist cycle that kept the air thick and humid. A thick mahogany log lay across the center, its bark speckled with flecks of amber resin.

As Jeremiah approached, a faint ripple brushed across the edge of his senses — not a voice, not exactly, more a simple, sleepy awareness stirring in greeting. Warm contentment bloomed in the back of his mind.

“Morning, m’lady,” he murmured, smiling.

The Ferrospark Matron shifted her weight along the log, golden plates glinting faintly where the light caught them. Her mandibles clicked once, the faintest hum of static trailing through the glass.

Jeremiah leaned in, scanning the soft ash bedding inside the log. Dozens of tiny, translucent orbs lay nestled in the dark soil — each one the size of a bead, catching the light like drops of colored glass.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “You’ve been busy.”

The sense of quiet pride that answered him made him grin wider.

He straightened and scribbled a quick note on the clipboard hooked to the enclosure’s side. “Healthy, responsive… good density in the clutch.” He capped the pen, then added, softer, “Worth every credit, you are.”

The Matron flicked her antennae, the motion oddly regal, before resettling against the log.

Behind him, the sound of splashing water and muffled barks broke the quiet again.

Jeremiah turned just in time to see Billy circling the puppy enclosure a second time, bubble armor shedding a faint mist as he skimmed the surface of the water bowl. Tish leapt, nearly catching a tentacle, and Tosh immediately dove in from the other side, sending the bowl clattering over.

Water splashed across the tile in a glittering arc.

“Billy!” Jeremiah barked, though his voice carried more amusement than reprimand.

The kraken chirped in what could only be described as laughter before darting straight upward, the sudden gust from his lift scattering droplets across the ceiling. Jeremiah sighed, half a chuckle caught in his throat.

“Alright, alright — playtime’s coming, but you’re on mop duty later.”

Billy’s bubble pulsed once in mock agreement.

By the time Jeremiah finished refilling the spilled bowl, the worst of the morning chaos had settled into a companionable rhythm. The café lights hummed on, the scent of brewing coffee drifting from the corner machine.

He gathered Milo’s leash and the puppy harnesses from the peg by the door, giving them each a quick check.

“C’mon, crew,” he called, clipping the last strap into place. “Courtyard time.”

Billy zipped a triumphant circle overhead while Tish and Tosh barked in unison, tails whipping back and forth like metronomes. Milo ambled out from the back room at his own pace, stretching each leg in turn before trotting toward the door, the very picture of canine patience.

Jeremiah held the door open, letting the cool morning air rush in, and smiled as the lot of them spilled into the courtyard — Billy darting ahead in bright spirals, the puppies bounding through puddles after him, and Milo trailing with the slow dignity of someone who’d seen it all before.

The Menagerie’s day had begun.

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Jeremiah pushed the door open with his shoulder, one hand gripping Milo’s leash while the other caught the edge before it could slam. Billy hovered close behind him, his bubble armor faintly misting the air. Tish and Tosh trailed last, both unrecognizable beneath a thick coating of mud. Their tails wagged like banners, scattering droplets across the freshly swept floor.

“Perfect,” Jeremiah muttered, staring at the trail of paw prints they’d already left. “Brand new tile, and you two decide to bring the yard inside.”

Tosh barked once, tongue lolling, utterly unrepentant. Tish answered with a low whine that might have been an apology—if not for the muddy paw that promptly landed on Jeremiah’s boot.

He sighed and guided them toward the back, looping their leashes through the ring beside the Gentlebond’s Morphic Grooming Table. The enchanted wood rippled faintly beneath his touch, adjusting its shape and height as he activated the control panel. The basin’s built-in reservoir began to hum, steam curling from the spouts as warm water filled the shallow trough.

“Alright, you two,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “Hold still, and we’ll make this quick.”

The moment his hand brushed the water, the Caretaker’s Vestments shimmered, forming a thin, transparent film that covered his clothes from wrist to collar. Not a drop of water or speck of mud would reach him.

Tosh didn’t seem impressed by the miracle of modern grooming enchantment. He twisted and yipped as the first handful of soap foam landed on his back, trying to shake it off. Tish squirmed in sympathy, giving a plaintive howl that sounded far too dramatic for a simple bath.

“Yeah, yeah. Tragic,” Jeremiah said dryly, scrubbing the suds into Tosh’s fur. “You’d think I was boiling you alive instead of washing your belly.”

Billy hovered close, emitting an occasional amused trill as he watched the pups flail. Milo had long since claimed a spot by the heater, head resting on his paws, watching the chaos with quiet judgment.

The soft jingle of the bell above the front door broke the rhythm of water and whining. Jeremiah didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the weekend!” he called, raising his voice over a sharp splash. “We open Monday at eight!”

“What? We can’t even visit?” a familiar, youthful voice shouted back.

Jeremiah’s shoulders sagged. He turned his head just enough to confirm what his ears already told him.

Mani Grim stood in the doorway, rain-damp hair half-falling into his eyes and a grin too wide for its own good. Stella darted around him, laughing as she dropped to her knees beside the basin to give the soapy puppies eager scratches. Tosh yipped, delighted, while Tish tried to lick the foam from her wrist.

“Mani,” Jeremiah said flatly. “This isn’t a clubhouse.”

Mani spread his hands in mock innocence. “Yet.”

Behind them, Alan lingered by the door, his posture apologetic, shoulders hunched like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Sorry, Mr. Bridge,” he mumbled. “They wouldn’t listen.”

Jeremiah sighed and turned back to his work, running a hand down Tish’s soapy flank. “I noticed.”

Unbothered, Mani wandered to one of the café tables and dropped into a chair, leaning back on two legs with an easy grin. “Is that any way to treat a future business partner?”

Jeremiah froze mid-scrub and shot him a look over his shoulder.

He stared for a long, heavy moment. “I’m telling your mother.”

Mani’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. He rocked forward, letting the chair legs thud against the floor, and slapped a weatherproof folder onto the table. “Too late! I already got her approval!”

“This time,” Stella muttered, rolling her eyes as she helped rinse Tosh.

Jeremiah’s deadpan didn’t crack. “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

“Because you don’t appreciate genius when you see it,” Mani said, clasping his hands behind his head.

“Because you’re twelve,” Jeremiah countered.

Stella snorted a laugh, nearly earning another splash from Tosh’s enthusiastic shaking. Alan rubbed the back of his neck.

Jeremiah gave the last rinse, turned off the water, and grabbed a towel from the rack. “Fine,” he said finally, drying the pups with brisk, efficient movements. “You can tell me whatever brilliant idea you’ve cooked up —” He met Mani’s grin with a flat look. “After I’m done here.”

Mani groaned, slumping dramatically into his chair. “You’re killing me, Jerry!”

“Good,” Jeremiah said, unbothered. “Then you’ll sit still for five minutes.”

Mani sulked, but he stayed put. Stella hummed to herself, towel-drying Tish’s ears. Billy trilled approvingly from above, the morning sun finally catching his armor in a soft gleam.

The shop settled back into motion — warm light, the sound of running water, and the faint, damp smell of clean fur filling the air.

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The shop had settled into one of those rare, peaceful lulls. The puppies, freshly washed and fed, were passed out on the café rug, a tangle of soft fur and slow, twitching paws. Every so often, one of them let out a muffled yip in its sleep. Milo lay nearby, head on his paws, keeping lazy watch.

Sissy had claimed Jeremiah’s lap as her throne, her tail curled neatly around her paws as she purred with steady satisfaction. Jeremiah absently stroked her back with one hand while flipping through a thick folder with the other. The papers inside were crisp and unnervingly organized — diagrams, mockups, even what looked like sponsorship proposals.

He turned another page, brow creasing as he took in the dense paragraphs and colorful charts.

By the fifth, he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or terrified.

Finally, he shut the folder with a quiet thump and looked up at the grinning boy across from him. “Are you telling me you put all of this together in only a week?”

Mani leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, grin smug enough to power the lights. “Of course not! I’m not that slow! … Half a week. It took me a couple of days to get Mom to agree to let me pitch it!”

Stella, sitting sideways in the next chair, coughed pointedly.

Mani’s grin faltered. He scratched his cheek and added quickly, “—Stella and Alan helped too.”

Alan looked up from his cocoa, startled. “Mostly the budget part,” he meekly said. His eyes took on a glassy, far-off look that looked odd on such a youthful face. “And damage control,” he muttered under his breath.

Jeremiah sighed, rubbing his temple with the hand not currently pinned under Sissy. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” he said finally. “I’ll even go as far as to say I’m interested.” His brow furrowed, “But I don’t see why this couldn’t have waited until Monday.”

Mani’s grin returned full force. “Oh, that’s easy.” He reached into his bag and slapped a glossy flyer onto the table with a flourish. “We need a few days for the word to spread!!”

Jeremiah blinked. “You what?”

Mani slid the sheet of paper across the table.

Jeremiah hesitated, then picked it up.

The flyer’s bright neon colors nearly blinded him. A massive beetle dominated the center, half mechanical, half alien, its shell flaring open like wings mid-charge.

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Announcing the Crossroads’ First Ever Interstellar Coleoptera Battle League Tournament! (District Ranking)

Sponsored by The Mystical Menagerie!

Signup begins Monday, October 17th.

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Jeremiah’s eye twitched.