Early that morning, rich coffee aromas filled an elegant café less than a hundred meters from the Woolworth Building, headquarters of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, while soft jazz drifted through the air.
Jerry and Catherine sat by the window, watching the towering building intently.
"Catherine, you might not know this, but the last time I went to France, I also sat in a café near their Ministry of Magic, quietly watching people come and go." Jerry took a small sip of coffee, then leaned comfortably back in his chair and said with a smile, "Unfortunately, I spent several days there without finding anything and came back empty-handed."
Catherine smiled in response. "Yes, André mentioned it. He said you had exceptional insight and patience."
"Heh, he certainly knows what to say!" Jerry shook his head with a chuckle, then said casually, "Well, this trip is different from the one to France. We've been in New York for so long, and we still haven't properly explored the city."
As they spoke, a sudden bang came from the next table, and a glass rolled to Jerry's feet.
Jerry frowned slightly and looked toward the sound. Four young men in outlandish outfits sat at the next table. Their leader was a Native American man in his twenties, wearing smoky eye makeup and a nose stud. The other three were Black men dressed much the same way. All four were wildly excited, as though they were high.
With a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the leader gave Jerry a sidelong look and spat a thick glob of phlegm beside his feet, shouting arrogantly, "Hey, brat! Pick up that glass!"
Catherine's expression darkened, her delicate brows drawing tightly together as she glared at the next table. She had finally gotten to