"You'll handle it," Mac clapped him on the shoulder. "Because that's what you do. You adapt."
Sam's expression remained stoic, but his shadow on the wall briefly resembled a wolf with its ears perked forward—alert, interested, and despite itself, eager for the hunt.
Sam strode down the community center hallway, his boots striking the linoleum with military precision. Mac matched his pace, occasionally nodding to passing shifters who regarded the King with reverent head-bows.
"We need to consider the possibility that these thefts are connected to something bigger," Sam said, mentally calculating the fastest route to the library. "The pattern suggests?—"
A cacophony of animal sounds erupted from the open double doors ahead. Sam's enhanced hearing picked up the distinctive squawks, growls, and—was that a trumpet?
"Harmony through transformation!" sang out a melodic voice. "Feel your animal essence flow through your human vessel!"
Sam skidded to a halt. The entire hallway was blocked by twenty shifters in various stages of transformation, balanced precariously on yoga mats. Arms elongated into wings, necks stretched impossibly tall, and in one unfortunate case, a partial trunk dangled over a downward dog position.
"You've got to be kidding me," Sam muttered.
At the front of the class stood Madame Plumeria, her human arms gracefully extended while her legs had already transformed into the spindly pink limbs of a flamingo. She balanced perfectly on one leg, her yoga pants bunched awkwardly around her transformed knees.
"Samuel Wolfe!" she called out, her voice carrying the theatrical lilt that made her both the most popular and most irritating yoga instructor in Assjacket. "Your aura is positively turbulent today!"
Mac coughed into his hand, poorly disguising his amusement.
"We need to get through," Sam said, attempting to navigate around a beaver-shifter whose tail kept slapping the floor with anxious energy.
Madame Plumeria hopped forward, blocking their path. "You cannot chase evil with such disrupted chakras! Join us for just one calming pose." She demonstrated by lifting her human arms while balancing on her flamingo leg. "The Serene Stork brings balance to the conflicted heart!"
Sam's patience snapped. A growl rumbled from his chest, his eyes flashing amber as his canines elongated. "Move. Now."
The yoga class collectively gasped. Madame Plumeria squawked in alarm, her wings fluttering out as she hopped backward, creating a domino effect of stumbling, partially-transformed shifters.
"Control issues!" she called after them as Sam pushed through the gap. "The Collector's Symphony requires harmony, not discord!"
Sam froze, turning back. "What did you say?"
Madame Plumeria blinked rapidly, her feathered head tilting. "I... I don't know why I said that." She looked genuinely confused. "How strange. Must be the new kombucha I tried this morning."
Mac's hand landed on Sam's shoulder. "Library first. Mysterious flamingo prophecies later."
Sam nodded, but filed away the odd phrase. The Collector's Symphony. Why did those words send a chill down his spine?
Delilah sprinted up the stone steps of Assjacket Memorial Library, nearly tripping as her vision blurred with flashes of magical energy—bright blue tendrils stretching across her sight like lightning. The vision had struck with such force that she'd abandoned her morning coffee and rushed out with mismatched shoes—one purple ballet flat and one black boot.
The gargoyles flanking the entrance swiveled their stone heads as she passed, their eyes tracking her with unusual alertness. One even sniffed the air, its granite nostrils flaring.
"Not now," she muttered, pushing through the heavy oak doors.
The library's main room was eerily quiet. Too quiet. The normal whispers and page-turning sounds were absent, replaced by a strange humming that vibrated through the floor. Delilah's clairvoyance tingled, drawing her toward the Magical Artifacts Section in the east wing.
She rounded the final bookshelf at full speed—and slammed directly into a solid wall of flannel and muscle.
"Oof!" Delilah bounced backward, her bag spilling divination tools across the polished floor.
Sam Wolfe stood before her, equally startled but infinitely more balanced. His nostrils flared slightly—a wolf catching her scent.
"You," they said in unison.
Delilah scrambled to collect her scattered tarot cards. "I suppose the universe has a terrible sense of humor, making us both show up at exactly the wrong moment."
"At least we agree on something," Sam replied, crouching to help retrieve a crystal ball that had rolled against his boot.
