Their fingers brushed as he handed it back. A spark of static electricity jumped between them, making them both recoil.
"Oh! Visitors in our hour of crisis!" Mrs. Shufflewick emerged from behind the circulation desk, her silver bun askew and reading glasses dangling precariously from their chain. Her normally pristine cardigan had transformed into a severe high-necked Victorian blouse. "How fortuitous you've arrived, though I must confess the situation has quite overwhelmed my sensibilities."
Delilah recognized the shift immediately. "Mrs. Shufflewick, we're here to help. Can you tell us what happened?"
Sam stepped forward. "I'll need to see the security logs and?—"
"A proper investigation requires methodical observation!" Mrs. Shufflewick's posture straightened dramatically, her accent shifting to crisp British. Her outfit subtly transformed, the Victorian blouse morphing into a tweed jacket with a deerstalker cap materializing on her head. "The theft occurred precisely between 2:17 and 2:42 AM, as evidenced by the dust pattern disruption on the third display case!"
"She's channeling Sherlock Holmes," Delilah whispered to Sam. "Literary stress response."
"I'm aware of her condition," Sam replied. "Mrs. Shufflewick, which artifacts were taken?"
The librarian paced dramatically, magnifying glass appearing in her hand. "The Cartographer's Compass and the Wayfinder's Whistle! A matched set, separated for decades until our recent exhibition reunited them. Yet the thief took only the Whistle, leaving its companion behind!"
Delilah approached the display case, careful not to contaminate the scene. "They're taking halves of magical pairs." She pointed to other empty spaces. "Look—the Scribe's Quill but not the Enchanted Inkwell. The Diviner's Mirror but not its Silver Stand."
"VENGEANCE UPON THE WHITE WHALE OF THEFT!" Mrs. Shufflewick suddenly bellowed, her cardigan transforming into a sea captain's coat. She grabbed a nearby umbrella and brandished it like a harpoon. "I'll pursue this literary leviathan to the ends of the stacks!"
The library doors swung open as Mac entered, his powerful presence immediately drawing Mrs. Shufflewick's attention.
"Your security consultant has arrived," he announced calmly, flashing a badge that seemed to materialize from nowhere.
Mrs. Shufflewick's outfit flickered between Captain Ahab's coat and her normal cardigan. "Oh thank goodness. The water sprites in the ventilation system have been absolutely useless as witnesses."
Delilah caught Sam's eye. "I can try to get a reading from the empty spaces—see where the missing artifacts might have gone."
Sam hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "And I can track any scents the security system missed."
"They're taking only one half of each pair," Delilah mused. "Like they're collecting... complementary magical signatures."
"Just like us," Sam muttered, then looked startled at his own words.
Mrs. Shufflewick, momentarily herself again, peered at them over her glasses. "How interesting. The map sent you both, didn't it? Perhaps it knows something we don't."
4
Sam circled the empty display cases, his nostrils flaring. The scents were a jumbled mess—hundreds of library patrons, cleaning supplies, the water sprites' algae smell from the ventilation system, and beneath it all, something... wrong.
"Do you have to sniff everything like that?" Delilah knelt beside the case that had held the Wayfinder's Whistle, her fingers hovering just above the velvet lining.
"Could you stop criticizing my methods for five minutes? Your constant chatter is disrupting my concentration." Sam closed his eyes, filtering through the olfactory chaos. There—a hint of something metallic and cold, like liquid mercury but with an undertone of... ash?
Delilah's eyes rolled skyward. "Could you stop sniffing everything for five minutes? Your wolf nose is disrupting my psychic impressions!"
Mac leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed. "Children, play nice."
Mrs. Shufflewick's outfit flickered again, transforming into a tweed suit with elbow patches. "The symbiotic relationship between differing investigative methodologies can yield exponentially superior results when properly harmonized," she intoned in a professorial voice.
Sam ignored them all, crouching lower to examine a nearly invisible footprint in the dust. His vision sharpened as he let his wolf senses surface just enough to enhance his perception without triggering a shift. The magical residue around the empty cases formed miniature whirlpools of light, visible only to his enhanced sight.
"There are three distinct magical signatures here," he murmured, tracing the air above one swirling pattern. "One's definitely shifter-based, but... wrong somehow. Corrupted. The second is cold, ancient. The third is?—"
"Human, but enhanced artificially," Delilah finished, her eyes closed in concentration. "I'm seeing the same thing."
Sam's head snapped up. "How did you?—"
"I don't need to smell it. I can see it." Her fingers traced patterns in the air that matched the swirls Sam was tracking. "There's something else too. A symbol."
