“Aviva Stern, this is Rafael Al-Hadeff, the new negotiator for Snug Harbor.”
Janice introduced them, unaware that they had just eaten God-awful falafel together only moments earlier. That fact alone tickled him.
In the days leading up to his arrival in Cleveland, he had been fully briefed. He had searched online, ‘Aviva Stern - Deputy Director - HAMR - City of Cleveland’, always researching his opposition. He had noted her background, seen her social media profiles, and read several articles praising her community liaison work.
She seemed professional, unassuming, and utterly normal. That was expected with municipal bargaining like this. Competence and boring decorum were assumed. Fairly normal. Fairly ordinary.
But the woman in the restaurant had not felt ordinary.
The moment she turned around, he knew precisely who she was. She, however, had clearly had no idea who he was—or that he would be sitting across from her at City Hall only minutes later. The surprise of it delighted him, but it wasn’t the only thing that caught him off guard.
Surprising her was fun, that, and her scent—intoxicating and utterly unique. A mixture of wildflowers and dripping fruit, of petrichor and ruach sa’ara—harsh winds of holy fire and holy love. It conjured memories of childhood in kal, candles lit, prayers sung, and the Divine somewhere nearby but impossible to grasp.
The moment he had inhaled her as she stood before him in line, his body responded in wildly unruly ways. To his amazement, the fascinating woman before him was the same Aviva Stern he had come to Cleveland to negotiate with.
Knowing he would surprise Aviva in the upcoming meeting left him giggling to himself all the way to City Hall.
But the look on her face when she walked into the conference room, seeing him there, and the waterfall of important documents spilling to the floor truly stretched his restraint. It was everything he could do to keep from bursting into laughter; only his shoulders shook slightly as he stifled it.
He knew he unnerved her; he was used to that. Feminine attention was normal in his world. But this woman? His eyes shifted deviously as she bent to retrieve all the documents. Quiet and reserved, polite and respectful, she was absolutely nothing like the bold, hungry women he was used to. Her cool demeanor and detachment were novel and immediately turned him on.
He didn’t get how she could blend into the background yet smell like something so divine.
He was almost embarrassingly giddy as the meeting began. Was she to be the next thing on his personal menu? He had slept with opposition before. They always caved in the end. Some protested, some resisted. But Emberborn gifts were God-given, and he hoped they would work well for him this week.
Aviva slipped into the conference room and settled into the chair across from Rafael after stooping to collect the files she’d dropped in the doorway. The room was unusually quiet. Floor-to-ceiling plans for the twenty-acre Snug Harbor redevelopment covered one wall facing the large window, layered with six months of handwritten notes, arrows, color-coded revisions, and crossed-out compromises. Every chair around the conference table was occupied.
At the head of the table, Janice ground her jaw around a second bucket of steaming morning sludge. To her right sat Rafi, looking absurdly relaxed for a man walking into a high-stakes municipal negotiation. He caught Aviva eyeing him with the same tight expression she’d carried since their joint falafel venture. His mouth curved upwards.
Beside him perched Emily Curtis from the mayor’s office, twenty-five years old and carrying herself with the absolute certainty of someone whose badge opened important doors. Aviva resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Emily leaned just a little too eagerly toward Al-Hadeff. Honestly, he looked more like someone settling in for coffee than someone about to negotiate a multibillion-dollar redevelopment project.
The remaining seats held familiar faces from departments that had been living and breathing Snug Harbor for months: Xavier Sheehan from Planning, the city’s only Griffin; Miranda Darling, an anal-retentive tiny Meadowborn from Transit; Kevin Johnson from the basement dungeons of Civil Engineering; Joe O’Connor, a Gargoyle representing Mythriq Historic Preservation and the one who initially hired Rafi; Jerry Jefferson representing the amphibian business community; and Mr. Fergus Dobbins, the soft-spoken Mirekin liaison who was already quietly reviewing his notes.
Janice broke the silence with a deliberate clearing of her throat.” Thank you all for coming. You know why we’re here.” She glanced around the table. “Mr. Al-Hadeff is being brought up to speed since Rodney’s, eh, departure. Today we’re discussing the remaining Phase Three issues—specifically occupancy and governance. I trust everyone has reviewed the latest revisions and come prepared with questions.”
Emily was already lifting a manicured hand.
“The mayor would like me to express his sincere appreciation for everyone’s continued dedication,” she said brightly, picking imaginary lint from her blazer. “He hopes today’s meeting will finally allow us to move forward with planning the ribbon-cutting ceremony.”
Janice opened her mouth to continue.
Miranda beat her to it.
“We’ll have a ribbon-cutting,” the Meadowborn said crisply, chewing the end of her pencil, “when Transit signs off.”
Janice inhaled slowly through her nose.
“As I was saying…” She shot Emily a pointed look. “We now have six unresolved agreements.”
“Correct.” Emily smiled as though she’d been asked to confirm it. “The mayor feels it’s essential that each one be addressed before—”
“Emily,” Janice interjected. “Mr. Al-Hadeff has been read in, right Joe?”
The elder Gargoyle facing Janice nodded slowly, his enormous granite gray wings folded behind him. Janice nodded at him, then Rafael. “Good. So, I don’t think you need to recite them for the class.”
Emily’s mouth snapped shut. Miranda, the shortest woman in the room with the biggest mouth leapt at item one. “AMAA Compliance is still pending, people! Have we actually confirmed that every public space actually meets multi-species accessibility standards? I refuse to sit on hold with the feds’ phone line again.” When she spoke, her head bobbed just slightly above the table.
“I thought that was answered in the email yesterday,” Emily replied.
Miranda sharply shook her head, thumbing through a mammoth yellow legal pad, covered front and back with voracious scribbled notes. “No… I haven’t gotten answers back on the,” she thumbed the papers. “Amphibian hydration stations, Meadowborn ramps and rails, as well as the Minotaur clearances.” She stabbed one finger against the legal pad. “I cannot keep buses and trains moving on schedule if Ratkin are slipping into platform gaps and Minotaurs are taking the roofs off bus shelters. Again.”
Emily blanched. Janice raised an eyebrow. “Aviva, didn’t you get something about this?”
Aviva nodded. “Yes, it was sent yesterday afternoon, I apologize folks. I didn’t forward it on. I was at the dentist this morning. The height for all entryways has now been confirmed at twelve feet, per AMAA regulations, the hydration stations are being tagged by the field team tomorrow, so they can run plumbing next week,”
The Griffin mumbled to himself. “Hope those markings are waterproof. It smelled like rain when I flew in this morning. I caught what looked to be a storm system over the lake when I landed.” Xavier was humble bragging—the city had finally installed his own roof-top entrance after years of petitions. He was so proud.
Aviva did not miss a beat. “Yes, the dig team ground markings are waterproof except for snow, so whatever they hit tomorrow, should still be visible—by ground and sky—by next week so the stations can be installed.” She scrolled her tablet. “Six in all. And, the ramps were approved this morning, so every ramp and railing will address people of three-foot stature as well as nine-foot. Emily, please thank Dana for passing the email on to Mayor Stewart to approve so quickly. Kevin’s team should have it now, right?”
The engineer was mid coffee slurp and nodded briskly. Miranda, surprisingly, relaxed a fraction and sat back in the oversized chair, feet dangling.
Kevin finished his sip and spoke. “Yep, we sure do. Mr. Jefferson, I understood you had questions about the ownership and maintenance of everything below grade? I could have sworn we answered this.”
He trailed off, everyone in the room sighing in the same way. They had indeed answered it, but Jerry was always in the midst of some kind of trip, either baked or fried, active or left over from his Grateful Dead touring days. No one was ever sure if the President of Mythriq Restauranteurs was fully conscious or not.
Jerry nodded and smiled. “We did? I don’t remember. What did we decide?”
Kevin looked in his file. “We discussed the Ratkin warrens, the Mirekin waterways, remember? Any inhabitance below thirty feet. Also, all the utilities that are running to them, back to the hubs on Whiskey Island. We covered the foundation access and easement rights, Jerry. It’s all covered by the ABC Law. The clans are all retaining ownership, remember?”
Jerry squinted, as though that would revise his long-gone brain matter. Emily blurted, her voice a mixture of pity and superiority. “Mr. Jefferson, if you recall, the Above and Below Covenant Law was passed nearly fifteen years ago. It doesn’t typically apply to water dwellings, but it does cover all dwellings below thirty and above thirty feet for American Mythriqs.”
The room collectively rolled its eyes. They had heard this recitation a thousand times for the ancient Lizardman. “Well,” he said slowly. “If you’re sure, just send me an email, okay, Kev?”
Kevin nodded, looking at Aviva as to say, ‘hurry up before he asks another question.’
The next hour unfolded much the same way. One by one, the remaining provisions were raised, argued, amended, and reluctantly checked off. O’Connor insisted on additional language protecting historic roosts—not only the old Gargoyle perches built into church towers and municipal facades, but the enclosed rooftop colonies used by Mothkin and the seasonal nesting sites claimed by Werebirds along the lake. Some had been occupied for generations; others existed only because nobody had yet found a profitable reason to evict them. Dobbins quietly pushed for continuity guarantees rather than temporary concessions, reminding the room that accessible entrances, transit routes, and habitat protections had a habit of disappearing the moment construction crews packed up.
Emily repeatedly attempted to move the discussion toward ribbon cuttings, only to be redirected by Janice before anyone threw a stapler. By the time the final agenda item was reached, coffee had gone cold, tempers had warmed, and Aviva had added three pages of notes to a file that was already threatening to grow legs.
At long last, the HAMR Director stretched both arms over her head and rolled her shoulders. It was the silent signal Aviva knew well. Time to wrap it up before someone started arguing about punctuation.
“Alright,” Janice sighed. “Seems like we’re all caught up.”
Mr. Dobbins, however, spoke before anyone could move.
“Ms. Stern, I appreciate your dedication, but something still feels unfinished.”
Aviva turned toward him, concern tightening her expression.
“How do you mean, Mr. Dobbins? Is there something more you feel we need to address?” She set her tablet flat on the table. “I want to make sure everyone walks away from here satisfied that their concerns have been heard.”
Dobbins slowly shook his head. Instead of answering, he looked imploringly toward Al-Hadeff.
Rafi cocked his head at the iridescent Mirekin, dressed in a faded hoodie and rain galoshes, his hands wringing together on the table.
“We’ve been arguing about the wrong things here,” Dobbins said.
Janice lowered her arms. “Then what are we arguing about?”
The room turned toward Dobbins, but his attention remained fixed on Rafi.
Rafi inclined his head. “May I?”
Dobbins, O’Connor, and Jefferson all nodded. Janice’s eyes narrowed with curiosity.
“I’ve been wondering,” Rafi said. “Would you all agree that the questions raised today been answered?”
Miranda nodded, already sharpening a fresh pencil. Xavier gave a small ruffle of his feathers in agreement. Kevin and Emily nodded emphatically.
“Yes,” Janice replied. “As far as I can tell, every outstanding item has been addressed.”
Rafi smiled and rose from his chair. Crossing slowly to the wall of plans, he rested one hand lightly against the sprawling map of Snug Harbor.
“Then why,” he asked quietly, “are we still here?”
Silence settled over the conference room. Miranda stopped chewing. Emily stopped fidgeting. Aviva’s focus sharpened. He felt her watching him as he moved and smiled inwardly.
“These issues are not really about buildings,” he continued. “They aren’t even about neighborhoods. They’re about the people who live here—the families who have called this waterfront home for generations.”
He looked toward Dobbins.
“I learned a lot about Cleveland before arriving. The Mythriq history here is rich. Ratkin families have called the warrens under Ore Docks home for over a century. It was Elves, Fae, and Dwarves who built Irishtown, created the first of the Emeralds in the Necklace, wasn’t it? Gargoyle families, like Joe’s, were the original guardians, no? They’ve watched over and guarded the city since before the Civil War. Despite the glamours, despite hiding, it’s been Mythriq families helping form the foundation of the city, forming trust that humans simply took for granted.”
He let his words land for a moment, then looked at Dobbins. “You’re no longer negotiating accessibility. You’re negotiating trust.”
Dobbins lowered his eyes and gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
“Is that what feels unfinished?” Rafi asked.
“Yes,” the Mirekin answered softly.
Rafi looked around the table.
“The contracts are thorough. I reviewed them on my flight here. If this were simply a legal dispute, I believe we would already be finished.”
He paused, regarding the room.
“But contracts only answer legal questions. They cannot answer the question I believe the clans are actually asking.”
His gaze moved from Emily to Janice and finally to Aviva.
“How do they know the city will still choose them when choosing them becomes inconvenient? Not next year. Five generations from now.”
No one spoke.
“The law can preserve agreements,” Rafi said quietly. “Only institutions preserve trust.”
He turned back toward the plans.
“I don’t believe my coalition needs another concession. I believe they need to know they will still have a seat at this table long after every person in this room has retired.”
Aviva placed her stylus carefully beside her tablet.
“Mr. Al-Hadeff,” she said, “I think you’re right.”
Rafi turned toward her, one eyebrow rising.
“And I think I may have a solution.” She glanced around the table. “As a matter of fact, I’m glad you’ve joined us. Sometimes a fresh set of eyes changes the way everyone else sees the problem.”
Janice nodded once. “What are you suggesting, Aviva?”
“Based on what Mr. Al-Hadeff is saying, and what I know of our friends on Whiskey Island, the solution needs to extend beyond this project and beyond the people currently sitting in this room.”
She rose and moved closer to the plans.
“What if we establish a permanent Snug Harbor Council under the governance covenant?”
Miranda stopped chewing her pencil.
Aviva continued, a hopeful smile emerging.
“The council would include permanent representation from the Snug Harbor communities, along with a designated city liaison. They would meet regularly, oversee matters affecting occupancy and community continuity, and report directly to City Council whenever zoning, infrastructure, accessibility, or ownership changes were proposed.”
Rafi brightened. She had understood him immediately—not merely the sentiment, but the structure hidden underneath it. She had picked up precisely what he was putting down.
“If the council is written into the covenant,” Aviva continued, “then it doesn’t disappear when an administration changes or when this project moves into a new phase. There will always be people who live in Snug Harbor and care about its continuity participating directly in its leadership. The city retains oversight, but the community retains a voice.”
Emily began nodding. Kevin closed his notebook with a quiet, satisfied thump. Miranda lowered her pencil completely.
Joe O’Connor’s stony mouth cracked into a smile.
“That is an excellent idea, Aviva,” the Gargoyle said. “I had considered some form of council, but I couldn’t see how it might be structured. This gives us permanence without separating us from the city.”
He glanced toward Rafi.
“I think the two of you could work out the details very well.”
Rafi nodded, still regarding Aviva with open interest.
“I agree. Aviva clearly knows what she’s doing. Permanent council seats for Snug Harbor make sense in the long term. They would provide both accountability and continuity.”
He looked around the table.
“Trust and transparency need to move together. One will not survive for long without the other.”
Something in Aviva’s expression pleasantly shifted, as though two stubborn pieces had finally locked into place.
Janice leaned back in her chair and looked toward Emily. “Now that,” she said, “is something we can take to the mayor.”
Emily nodded without argument.
Across the table, Dobbins’s hands finally stilled. Jefferson smiled broadly, and O’Connor folded his hands with visible satisfaction. One by one, the Mythriq representatives relaxed, the tension that had held the room for hours slowly draining away.
Brains, beauty, and willingness to work with me. I like it.
He had expected bureaucracy. He had hoped for competence. He hadn’t expected honesty, insight, and actual effort. Aviva Stern hadn’t simply understood his points. She had taken them and run with them to create something long lasting.
She did, indeed, have a backbone. The fact that her curvy figure kept pulling his attention certainly didn’t hurt, either. Her discomfort at his presence and her otherworldly perfume were unexpected bonuses.
Slowly, Janice nodded, looking to Emily. “I think we can state with confidence, that the mayor’s office wants nothing more than to partner with all the clans on Whiskey Island for generations to come. If you’ll give us what—a day or two, we can circle back and confirm all the concessions.”
Slowly, the Mythriq representatives nodded and visibly shifted into greater ease.
“Rafi, I think we’re done here,” said Joe, shaking out his wings as he stood. “Aviva has things she needs to work on before we can meet again. Can you stay?”
The other leaders, all elders of their respective Mythriq tribes, looked at him imploringly. He smiled warmly.
“Of course I’ll stay. That’s why I’m here.” Of course you need me. That’s why I cost so much.
Turning toward Aviva, noticing her fidget with her stylus, he chuckled. “I’ll be here all day and night, as long as it takes. Ms. Stern and I,” he remarked, letting his gaze drift from the elders to the smaller dark woman across the table. “Right? We’ll get some things figured out before the end of the day, yes?”
Gripping her stylus with a slightly pained expression, she managed a small smile and nodded. Oh yes. He was enjoying this immensely.
“Absolutely,” she said as her boss Janice nodded in relief and walked out the door. “We’re going to figure this out and get everything on track.”
For the first time that afternoon, the agreement no longer felt finished only on paper. It felt possible.
As the remaining city employees and enclave members exited, the two unexpected collaborators found themselves completely alone. The deputy director was already scribbling notes in preparation for further projects. Onward, apparently. He smiled. Clearly, she was not the type to celebrate victories; she was already working on tomorrow.
Now, he might finally have a chance to talk to her without interruption. That was far more interesting.