Soma, a towel slung over his shoulder, expertly flipped a pancake in a sizzling pan. The sweet, buttery aroma filled the morning air of Café LeBlanc, a comforting promise to the regulars who were already settling into their usual spots.
"You know, Soma," one of the human customers called out from his table, "sooner or later, this whole place is going to have a fixed menu, right? No more surprises."
"Well, by the end of the year, we'll have six more spots filled," Soma replied with a grin, sliding a perfect, golden-brown pancake onto a plate. "So enjoy the fleeting magic of the daily menu while you can!"
"I still can't believe I missed the congee my friend was raving about," the customer lamented.
"Too bad!" Soma laughed. "That was, like, from the first month. At least you guys got the most-voted-on fixed menu and one daily special. My old self could never have managed that, hahaha."
The atmosphere in the café was easy, a comfortable sense of family having settled among the regulars. The bell above the door chimed, and a young demon student, a familiar face, walked in and took a seat at his usual corner table.
"Order when you're ready," Zero called out from behind the bar.
The student pulled out a thick textbook and several scrolls of schoolwork, arranging them neatly. "The usual parfait, please," he said without looking up.
Zero chuckled as he started preparing the dessert. "Careful with the sweets, okay? Don't want all your teeth to fall out."
Henry, the dwarf keymaker, grunted from his table. "Kids these days. Wasting their allowance on sugar."
"Oh?" Zero said, a playful tone in his voice as he layered fruit and cream. "And what did you use your allowance money for when you were a kid, Henry?"
"I stored it," Henry said gruffly. "Kept it in a safe. For emergencies."
"Tell the truth, Henry," his wife, Linda, said with a gentle, teasing smile.
Henry looked at his wife, an incredulous, betrayed expression on his face.
"He was obsessed with the legends of the old dragons," Linda explained to the entire café. "He kept all his money because he wanted to have a hoard of gold, just in case he ever met one and needed to impress it."
The whole café erupted in laughter. Henry's face turned a shade of sour crimson. Linda just hugged him from the side. "He's always been a dreamer," she said affectionately. "That's what brought us together in the first place."
"Hahahaha! You're more childish than I thought, Henry!" Soma's voice boomed from the kitchen.
"I can't imagine you ever being a child, though," Zero added, placing the finished parfait in front of the student.
"What!" Henry roared, his pride wounded. "Do you think I was born old?!"
The café burst into another round of laughter, a wholesome camaraderie filling the room as they all took turns roasting Henry and imagining him as a small, bearded, gold-hoarding child.
Time passed. The afternoon crowd came and went, and as evening approached, the only customer left was the demon student, still poring over his books. Soma began his closing routine, sweeping the floor.
"Almost dark, kid," Soma said gently. "Don't forget, we're closed tomorrow for Silent Night preparations."
"Ahh, yes. Thanks, Soma," the student replied, though he didn't start packing up.
As Soma swept near his table, he noticed the student kept looking at him, a nervous, hesitant expression on his face. Soma paused. "Do you have something to say to me?"
The student stammered, his cheeks flushing. "I, uh... if I gave you a list of ingredients... do you think you could make a meal out of it?"
Soma's interest was immediately piqued. "Sure, I can. Though, is it a specific meal?"
The student nodded. "Yes."
Soma put his hand on his chin, a thoughtful look on his face. "Hmmm, that's more complicated, but sure. I love a food challenge."
"Oh no," Zero's voice called from behind the bar. "What challenge?"
The sudden attention seemed to spook the student. He began frantically packing his belongings. "Never mind! It was a stupid idea! Thank you for the meal!" he said, and then he ran out the door, the bell chiming his hasty exit.
Zero immediately threw a cleaning rag, which hit Soma square in the face. He pointed an accusatory finger. "Did you kick the kid out?! He was still a customer, you moron!"
Soma, ripping the rag from his face, threw the broom he was holding in Zero's direction. "It's because of you, you idiot!"
…
The sky had darkened to a deep, bruised purple. A non-descript rune-car was parked across the street from a quiet tailor's shop—a known front for the Honey Badgers. Inside, Morhan and Celvise were on a stakeout, eating takeout food that Monet had brought them earlier.
"Umm," Celvise said around a mouthful of noodles. "This is actually really good."
"We should ask the rookie where she got this from," Morhan agreed.
"You ask," Celvise countered.
"Why not you?"
"It's your day," Celvise said with a smirk.
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. "You know what my husband said this morning?" Celvise asked, breaking the quiet.
"What?"
"He said he's ready for a kid."
Morhan scoffed in disbelief. "And he's still alive?"
"Unfortunately, we're already married," Celvise deadpanned. "I'd be the first suspect if I killed him."
"I mean," Morhan said thoughtfully, "it's not that bad."
Celvise gave her partner a look that said, 'Really?' "Remember when you couldn't even go upstairs to the records room after the... you know... the case?"
Morhan took a slow bite of her food, her expression clouding over for a second. "Yeah... it's not great," she admitted quietly. "They are cute, though. It's like having a personal energy charger when I get back home."
"Yeah, no thanks," Celvise said, shaking her head. "I still have a long life to enjoy."
In another car, parked on the opposite side of the street to cover the alley, Wolfe had already finished his meal.
"You're eating so fast, sir," Monet observed from the passenger seat.
"You better learn to," Wolfe grunted. "It's a stakeout. We don't know if the tip is for an early drop or a late one. You eat when you can."
Monet just shrugged, about to take a blissful bite of the delicious food she'd gotten from Café LeBlanc. But then, a convoy of four black rune-cars, their engines humming quietly, pulled into the tailor's lot.
Wolfe was instantly on the crystal radio. "That's them," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Prepare for a hand-off."
Monet froze, a piece of chicken halfway to her mouth.
"Put that down, boot," Wolfe commanded without looking at her.
Sadly, Monet put her food container down.
From their vantage point, Morhan and Celvise watched as the drivers got out of the cars. Then, the front door of the tailor shop opened, and sure enough, Damocle himself emerged, carrying a large, heavy briefcase.
"That's him," Celvise said. "Let's move."
In a coordinated motion, all four Watchers burst out of their cars, their rune-guns drawn and leveled. "Watcher!" Celvise's voice rang out, sharp and clear. "Show me your hands! NOW!"
Damocle and his drivers froze, their faces a mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated anger at being caught. They all raised their hands.
"Face the car!" Morhan commanded.
"Good?" Wolfe's voice came over the radio.
Morhan holstered her weapon and pulled out a pair of cuffs. "Yeah," she muttered.
"Check the cars," Celvise ordered.
Wolfe and Monet approached one of the black rune-cars, opening the trunk. Monet shone her flashlight inside. It was filled with large rolls of expensive-looking fabric. Wolfe pulled out a tactical knife and, without a word, sliced one of the rolls open. A cascade of small, tightly wrapped packets of white powder spilled out. It was the spice.
"Score," Monet whispered.
"Drugs confirmed inside," Wolfe reported into his radio.
Morhan, slapping the last cuff onto a furious Damocle, leaned in. "Ah, congrats," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You're all under arrest."
…
Monet finished securing the last of the arrested gangsters in the back of a transport vehicle. She walked over to Wolfe. "They're all ready to be transported, sir."
"Good," Wolfe grunted. "I'll finish up here with Celvise and Morhan."
Monet nodded and walked back to the car where she'd left her half-eaten dinner, looking forward to finally finishing it. She opened the door. The container was empty. She looked into the back of the car. One of the cuffed gangsters, a smirk on his face, was licking the last of the noodles from his lips.
"What..." Monet's eye twitched. She turned and yelled across the crime scene. "Sergeant Wolfe! Can we add resisting arrest and destruction of property charges to this guy?! HE ATE MY FOOD!"
Wolfe just chuckled. But then, his head snapped up. He heard the high-pitched whine of a rune-car engine, moving too fast. A black car, different from the ones they'd seized, came speeding around the corner. A figure leaned out of the passenger-side window, a heavy runic repeater rifle in his hands.
"GET DOWN!" Wolfe roared, already in motion.
He launched himself towards Monet, tackling her and bringing them both down behind the relative safety of the car's engine block just as the world erupted in a storm of gunfire. Morhan and Celvise, their reactions just as fast, took cover behind their own vehicle.
The speeding car passed them, its gunner spraying bullets at the transport vehicle holding Damocle and his men. Celvise and Morhan popped up from cover and returned fire. Their shots were precise. They saw one of the gunners clutch his chest and fall backward from the window of the moving car, his body tumbling onto the asphalt.
The black car didn't stop. It sped away into the night. Morhan, standing, took careful aim and fired two more shots at the fleeing vehicle. One sparked harmlessly off the reinforced frame. The other shattered the back window. "Damn it!" she swore.
Celvise ran over to check on Wolfe and Monet. Thankfully, they were both okay, just shaken. "Sir!" Monet said, pointing from her position on the ground towards the transport vehicle. Its sides were riddled with fresh bullet holes. Their target had clearly been the Badgers.
Morhan was already kneeling over the body of the gunner they'd taken down. She rolled him over, her flashlight beam falling on a red beak tattoo on his neck. "Celvise! Come here!"
Celvise ran over. "It's a Crimson Vultures crew member," Morhan said, her voice grim.
Wolfe and Monet followed. Monet's face was a mask of confusion. "But... why would Caros send us a tip, but then send his men to kill the targets?"
Celvise, breathing hard, looked at the dead Vulture, then at the bullet-riddled transport car, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying certainty. "Unless..." she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper, "the tip wasn't from Caros."
Morhan's head snapped toward Wolfe. "Contact your CI," she commanded. "Now. We need to clarify exactly where he got this tip from."
Unseen by them all, on a nearby rooftop, Sebas stood, a veiled silhouette against the moon. He watched the chaos below, the ignition of a war he had so carefully orchestrated.
"I will give the clean-up to you, Young Master Erwin," he muttered to the empty night air. "Happy early graduation."
He then turned and leaped, melting into the shadows as he bounded from roof to roof. He arrived back at the Hao Pavilion, slipping in through the window of his office on the 31st floor. Misela was waiting, kneeling respectfully.
"Wolfe's bug has been handled, Master," she reported. "The trail is cut."
Sebas nodded, looking out at the city lights. "Good," he said. "Let the Silent Night wash away our trails."
…
Amanzio sat huddled on the expensive leather sofa in Guilon's backroom, his knees tucked to his chin, hugging himself like a frightened child. Guilon paced the room like a caged wolf, the smoke from his cigar a thick, acrid cloud.
The door burst open and Difos, his lieutenant, rushed in, out of breath. "It's true, boss! The territories are going crazy! The Vultures and the Badgers... it's a mess out there!"
Guilon rounded on him. "What happened?! Elaborate, you idiot!"
From the sofa, Amanzio began to rock back and forth, his voice a traumatized, broken whisper. "Damocle is dead... he's dead... It was that fucker advisor's plan all along..."
Guilon's head snapped from Amanzio to Difos, a silent demand for confirmation in his eyes. Difos nodded grimly. "That's the word, boss. Damocle was hit in the back of a Watcher transport car not an hour ago."
Guilon froze, the cigar falling from his lips. The plan. The precision. The sheer audacity of it. He took a deep breath, his mind racing. "Alright," he said to Difos. "Thank you. Go back to your post. The Silent Night is coming. I want our people off the streets and on high alert."
Difos bowed and left, closing the door behind him. Guilon walked to a polished wooden cabinet, took out an expensive bottle of whiskey and two crystal glasses, and poured. He handed one to Amanzio.
"What do you say," Guilon said, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble, "about taking back your red-light district?"
Amanzio's eyes glinted for a fraction of a second, a spark of the old ambition, but it was instantly extinguished by a wave of pure, convincing terror. His acting was flawless. "No... noo..." he whimpered, shaking his head frantically. "The advisor cunt... he'll find out. He'll chop me up and throw me to the sea."
"Then be my eyes and ears on the inside," Guilon pressed, sitting down beside him, his voice now a comforting, brotherly tone. "That bastard... he broke you, didn't he? I can see it. He plays games with people's lives, Amanzio. With our lives. We're just pawns to him and that dark elf bitch."
Amanzio stared into his whiskey, his hands trembling.
"You're not a pawn," Guilon continued, his voice persuasive. "You're a king without a kingdom. Help me understand them. Help me find their weakness. Together, we can burn their little Pavilion to the ground. You'll get your revenge. And your territory back."
Amanzio looked up, his eyes filled with a perfect blend of fear and a desperate, flickering hope. He seemed to wrestle with the decision, the terror of the advisor warring with the promise of vengeance. He finally took a shaky sip of the whiskey, the strong liquor seeming to fortify his resolve.
"He... he told her..." Amanzio whispered, "that the Badgers and the Vultures were just the first two dominos. He called it the 'double-prong plan'."
Guilon's eyes lit up. An insider's term. This was real.
Amanzio looked at Guilon, his face a mask of a defeated man choosing the lesser of two evils. "What," he asked, his voice barely a whisper, "do you want me to do?"
Guilon clapped him on the shoulder, a triumphant, predatory grin spreading across his face. He thought he was playing the puppeteer, never realizing he was just another puppet, dancing on strings held by a master far greater than he could ever imagine.
*A/N*
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*A/N*