Stormtown buzzed with early morning energy.
"Look at this! Fresh thunderbird feathers, plucked from the nest less than three hours ago!"
"Thunderbird bones! Perfect for potion-making or alchemy. Grind 'em into powder, mix with water, and bam—you'll feel eighteen again!"
"Thunderbird eyeballs, guaranteed to see through evil…"
Even though most shops hadn't opened yet, vendors were already out, hawking their wares from stalls or pushcarts.
Given the town's proximity to the Thunderbird Reserve, nearly everything for sale was thunderbird-related.
Lucien and Newt had woken early to check out the local market before heading to the reserve. But one glance told Lucien most of the goods were fakes.
Using his Oculus Magus spell, he could trace magical signatures. Most of these so-called thunderbird materials? Not a spark of magic in them.
A few "honest" vendors had items with faint magical traces, but Lucien wasn't fooled. Those were likely just ordinary materials soaked in a potion or enchanted to seem legit. Good enough to scam the unaware.
At least they put in the effort to fake it, Lucien thought with a smirk.
If this much thunderbird material was really being traded, what was the point of the reserve?
He glanced at the shuttered storefronts. Those were probably the real deal—licensed shops with proper permits to sell authentic thunderbird goods.
As for these loud vendors? They were likely preying on out-of-town tourists.
Surprisingly, a few witches and wizards were actually buying—maybe as souvenirs?
"Lucien, don't bother with this stuff," Newt whispered. "If you want anything, I know some folks who sell much better quality."
Lucien nodded. "Got it, Mr. Scamander."
They strolled through the market a bit longer before heading toward the Thunderbird Reserve.
Not far away, a burly blond man stole a few glances at Newt's face before casually wandering to the other side of the market.
After weaving through narrow alleys, he slipped into a rundown tavern, nodded to the barkeep, and entered a back room.
Inside, seven or eight people sat around, each radiating a quiet intensity. Their rugged attire screamed "adventurer."
But the real standout was a black widow spider on the table, its red abdominal markings forming a lip-shaped pattern instead of the usual hourglass.
"Boss, guess who I just saw at the market?" the blond man said, leaning toward the man in the center.
The leader, dressed for outdoor exploration but with meticulously combed brown hair, sipped his brandy without looking up. "Newt Scamander. The famous magical creatures expert."
"Aiden, your intel's late."
Aiden, the blond man, gave an awkward chuckle and plopped into an empty chair. "So, boss, does this mean we're pushing back the plan?"
The brown-haired man took another sip. "Why?"
Aiden cleared his throat. "Well, sure, Newt's old now, but he's been through some stuff. He took on Grindelwald back in the day. His combat experience is no joke. Plus, that suitcase he always carries? It's packed with magical creatures."
"I heard about a decade ago, over in Egypt, Newt faced off against a whole poaching crew at a reserve. Twenty-seven guys, and he and his creatures took them all down. Alone."
A few in the room shifted uncomfortably, some looking shaken.
"But," the leader said, swirling his brandy, "this is also an opportunity. That suitcase of Newt's? It's worth a fortune. Enough to let us all retire and live the good life."
Eyes lit up around the room, though no one spoke up just yet.
Aiden gave a nervous laugh, wanting to say something but holding back.
The leader finally glanced at him. "I know what you're worried about, Aiden. The creatures in that suitcase are more dangerous than Newt himself. But if we take him out before he opens it, problem solved."
"We've been planning this for six months. This thunderbird job? It's worth three years of our usual hauls."
The room fell silent. Everyone knew which way this was going.
Aiden, always quick to read the room, saw the resolve in his boss and the others. He couldn't argue now.
Instead, he started mentally mapping out escape routes, just in case things went south.
Seeing no objections, the leader nodded, satisfied, and drained his glass. He looked at the black widow spider and smirked. "Besides, we've got the perfect assassin. Who'd suspect a common spider around here? Who'd guess it's really a wizard?"
"Right, Shirley?"
The spider lazily lifted a leg, acknowledging her name.
---
At the entrance to the Thunderbird Reserve, a tall man in a short robe approached with a grin. "Mr. Scamander, been waiting for you."
"Stanley, good to see you," Newt replied, then turned to Lucien. "This is Stanley Jones, Head of the Thunderbird House at Ilvermorny and a Potions professor. He's an expert on thunderbirds and our guide for this trip."
"Hey, I wouldn't dare call myself an expert around you," Stanley said with a laugh, then glanced at Lucien. "And this young man is…?"
"Lucien Grafton," Newt said. "My junior at Hogwarts. He's got a real knack for magical creatures, so I brought him along to see the thunderbirds this summer."
Stanley kept his smile, but inside, he was stunned. Newt praising someone's talent in magical creatures? That was rare.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones," Lucien said politely.
"Pleasure's mine!" Stanley replied, shaking Lucien's hand with a hearty laugh. "Hogwarts prodigy, huh? You've got the look of a star!"
Lucien smiled back, keeping things polite. Before they'd left, Newt had given him the rundown on Ilvermorny and Stanley.
Ilvermorny was America's premier wizarding school, much like Hogwarts in Britain. It had four houses: Thunderbird, Horned Serpent, Wampus, and Pukwudgie—each with its own vibe, not unlike Hogwarts' houses.
Stanley Jones, as Thunderbird's Head and a Potions master, was a big deal.
Lucien couldn't help but think: Head of a house, Potions professor… and yet so much more likable than a certain bat-like professor we know.