“… Et deux chocolats chauds,” says René Akereggi, placing some of his less delicate mugs reserved for Melitown’s youngsters onto the table in front of the two girls, next to the dinner plate-sized chocolate chip cookies he’d presented with a grand flourish moments before. Tucking the brass filigree tray up to his chest, he beams down at them. “If you need anything else, my sweets, do ring for my attention,” he says, motioning to the green and golden tassel on a chain leading up to the ceiling, where it disappears into a decorative collar to connect to a series of service bells throughout the building that would light up a panel of numbers in key employee areas to signal for assistance.

Their eyes widening to rival the cookies in size, the girls thanked him with as much eye contact as they could muster, with their focus drawn to the warm, gooey ginger and orange-scented bounty he had bestowed upon them. René rather enjoyed the awestruck expressions and inattention to good manners that his goods inspired in his customers. People traveled from distant towns and cities outside Melitown to buy his latest baked masterpieces and often were left speechless in near trances after a bite.

The girls had waffled for a while at the counter, noses nearly pressed to the glass, debating their options, hardly narrowed in a useful way, until René had asked if they wanted him to divine their desires. “Paws up, darling girls, and I will give you a read,” he cooed, reaching palms up for them to give him their hands. “Aha! A fine choice. I will bring you your wishes, most expeditiously young lovelies. Please take a seat wherever you’d like.”

Giggling, they nodded, gave their thanks, and selected a quiet booth with a good view of the main room and the counter. In their ten-year-old eyes, the place looked ancient—far older than any structure standing on their side of the world could be—and while it was one of the oldest buildings in Melitown, there were much older things around them.

Le Café de la Chèvre was originally a house and then Le Chèvre, a hotel that, later, would become a clandestine meeting spot for revolutionary rumblings and many movements throughout all of its current nation’s stages of strife and change until the proprietor settled into his most recent occupation. The gentlemen baker and barman found the more peaceful times still provided sustenance for one of his kind—everyone desires a treat. And a devil as old as he can work with any amount of desire, teasing it awake and helping it bloom.

 He didn’t often make snacks of children, but plying them with enticing morsels ensures long-term returning customers and more time to cultivate the tastiest wishes. And these two were interesting: an awakening diviner and … a mystery. Chuckling to himself, he leaves them to their important fifth-grade conversations and youthful plots. These two are up to some trouble.

Michelle, nursing her hot chocolate reverently as if there’d never be another in the world, notices the numbers on the panel next to the counter lighting up and glances at their tasseled bell pull to see if Ellie had pulled it. Eleanor was too busy marveling at her cookie to notice much of anything else. Looking around the room, she was sure they had been the only customers when they arrived. Had someone come in while she was cookie-dazed, she wonders. The tables seem empty until she looks back at her cup. In her periphery, she senses movement and maybe hears low voices. When she concentrates, the room is silent.

She looks up again to see the café owner, a young man? Or was he older than her parents? He feels older than he looked. Is this what they mean by an “old soul?” He is average height, with a shock of black and white hair dipping over his right eye. No, his heeled boots have a bit of a platform, so he is smaller than she’d thought. She does her best to memorize his features for a drawing later: white dress shirt, under a black brocade vest, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Soft-seeming hair, mostly black with sections of white she couldn’t figure out the pattern of. Kind of crimped like when she takes hers out of braids, but if these were done intentionally, the braids would be terribly thin. Thin lines of inked symbols she couldn’t discern traveled down his pale, almost blue arms. She hadn’t noticed the tattoos before and feels childish remembering how occupied by the display case she’d been. He walks over to an archway she hadn’t noticed and disappears up a staircase she is pretty certain she would’ve seen when they were choosing their seat.

“Ellie, did you know they had an upstairs? Next time, let’s check it out,” she asks, nodding toward it.

Ellie turns to look, “Huh, no, I completely missed that. I wonder what it’s like.” She gives the café a better look. “Oh, I thought we were alone.”

Michelle turns to peek in the direction she was looking and startles, seeing a couple at the table she knew was empty just moments ago. They glance over at the girls and smile when they notice them staring. They return it, embarrassed, and look away.

“Man, these are some cookies. I feel like I’ve lost time just thinking about them,” Eleanor sighs. She only has three bites left, but she will do her best to make it at least six.

“So, what’s your plan for tomorrow night?” Michelle asks quietly, leaning in and looking around to make sure no one is listening. Momentarily distracted by double-taking a small table she hadn’t noticed on the top of a marble-topped bookcase. The toad, sitting behind it, looks up from its low bowl and returns her look.

“Ellie, are you seeing this?”

 Eleanor pauses to ask, “Seeing what?” looking in the direction Michelle’s eyes were trying to direct her with the tiniest of head tilts.

“Oh, yeah, they’ve got a lot of books and some board games. We should definitely come back! So about tomorrow night…”