The hairbrush trembled in her hand, the bristles elongating, the handle reshaping until she held a miniature wooden wolf, head thrown back in a silent howl.
"I am a professional psychic with fifteen years of experience," she hissed at it. "I do not get flustered over some... some... werewolf with trust issues and perfect stubble!"
The wolf hairbrush shimmered and reverted to normal form.
A strange melody drifted through her apartment—haunting, ancient, oddly familiar. The same tune Elder Thornberry had hummed while examining the compass. Delilah tilted her head, trying to place it, but the notes slipped away like water through her fingers.
Jinxie padded into the bathroom, meowing at the moisturizer dripping from the ceiling.
"Don't judge me. It's just a temporary magical hiccup." Delilah dabbed at the cream with a tissue. "By tonight, I'll have solved this case, saved the library, and never have to work with Sam Wolfe again."
Her reflection's lips twitched into something suspiciously like a smirk.
"Oh, shut up," Delilah told herself, and slammed the bathroom door.
Sam pinned another photograph to his evidence board, aligning it with mathematical precision. The converted broom closet barely accommodated his six-foot frame, but the confined space suited him. Controllable. Predictable.
"The jade amulet from Mrs. Finklestein's collection. The silver whistle from Moonlit Brews. The enchanted compass." Sam drew red thread between the images, his movements methodical. "All with unique magical signatures, all vanishing within days of each other."
Mac leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. "And what do you notice about those signatures?"
Sam tapped the red marker against his palm. "They're complementary. Each theft targeted items that would amplify each other if used together."
"Exactly. Which is why you need Delilah."
Sam's jaw tightened. "I need facts, not fortune cookies."
"She's the best clairvoyant in three counties, Sam. Your pride isn't worth more than stopping these thefts."
"It's not pride, it's practicality. She's unpredictable."
Mac snorted. "Unlike the rest of us perfectly rational supernatural creatures?"
Sam gestured to his immaculate evidence board. "I have a system. She has... chaos."
"Maybe chaos is exactly what this case needs." Mac pushed off the doorframe. "The map responded to both of you. Together. That's not a coincidence."
Sam focused on adjusting a photograph that was already perfectly straight. "The map is a magical object, not a matchmaker."
"Interesting you jumped straight to 'matchmaker.'" Mac's eyes twinkled. "I just meant 'investigative partners.'"
Sam's phone buzzed on his desk. As he reached for it, the device shuddered, its sleek black case warping and softening. In seconds, a fat green toad sat where his phone had been.
"LIBRARY EMERGENCY!" The toad croaked in Zelda's voice. "GET YOUR FURRY BEHIND THERE NOW!"
"What the?—"
"BRING DELILAH OR I'LL TURN YOUR FAVORITE JACKET INTO A HAMSTER!"
The toad belched, then transformed back into a phone.
"Subtle," Sam muttered.
Mac laughed. "My wife has many qualities. Subtlety isn't one of them."
Sam's gaze drifted back to the pattern he'd noticed but hadn't fully processed—a series of paired thefts, each targeting items with complementary magical signatures. Just like he and Delilah had complementary investigative approaches.
"Fine." Sam grabbed his jacket. "But when this goes sideways?—"
