A book suddenly launched itself from a nearby shelf, pages fluttering wildly before hovering between them. Other books followed, creating a slowly rotating circle of floating tomes.
"That's... not supposed to happen," Mac observed dryly.
Sam reached for the first book, but Delilah grabbed his wrist.
"Wait. Look at what they're doing."
The books had arranged themselves to form a tunnel of sorts, their pages glowing with faint blue light. Through this literary kaleidoscope, Sam could see patterns connecting the empty display cases—threads of magical resonance he'd missed before.
"They're showing us the connection pattern," Delilah whispered.
Sam reluctantly placed his palm next to Delilah's above the empty Wayfinder's Whistle case. The moment their magical energies aligned, the library around them seemed to blur.
A vision snapped into focus—a hooded figure standing where they now stood, drawing a complex symbol in the air with gloved fingers. The symbol glowed purple before dissolving into the stolen artifacts.
"That's Baba Yaga's mark," Sam growled. "But twisted somehow."
The vision expanded outward, showing lines of power stretching beyond the library, beyond Assjacket itself—connecting to distant points that pulsed with matching energy.
"They're building something," Delilah whispered. "A network of paired magical objects."
Mrs. Shufflewick gasped, suddenly herself again. "The Collector's Symphony! It's not just a myth!"
The vision collapsed as Sam and Delilah broke contact, the books crashing to the floor around them.
"What's the Collector's Symphony?" Sam demanded.
Mrs. Shufflewick's eyes widened in confusion. "I... I don't know why I said that."
Sam's ears twitched at the sound of approaching footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and accompanied by the faint jingle of what could only be decorative municipal pins. He groaned internally.
"Incoming," he muttered to Delilah. "Three o'clock."
The double doors of the main library room burst open with theatrical force. Mayor Grimble strode in, chest puffed out like a peacock's, wearing what appeared to be a fully functioning miniature library as a hat. Tiny books on the hat's shelves opened and closed as he walked, emitting soft whispers of their first lines.
"'Call me Ishmael,'" squeaked one book.
"'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,'" chirped another.
The mayor cleared his throat with the volume of a small explosion. "Citizens of Assjacket! Remain calm!"
Every patron in the library—all seven of them—looked up from their previously undisturbed reading.
"Perfect," Sam growled under his breath. "Just what we need—a public announcement."
Delilah's eyebrows performed an impressive dance of exasperation. "Does his hat have its own card catalog?"
Mac stepped forward, attempting to intercept. "Mayor Grimble, we're handling the situation?—"
"As mayor," Grimble announced, sidestepping Mac with surprising agility for a man of his stature, "I must ensure this investigation proceeds with proper municipal oversight. I've prepared press statements for seven different apocalyptic scenarios!" He patted his breast pocket, which bulged with color-coded papers.
Sam caught the scent of magical ink—the kind that rewrote itself based on the reader's fears. Those press releases would cause more panic than whatever was actually happening.
"Mr. Mayor," Sam said, stepping forward and lowering his voice to a respectful rumble. "Your leadership in this crisis is exactly what we need."
Delilah shot him a confused look, which he ignored.
"But the situation requires your unique talents elsewhere," Sam continued smoothly. "We've identified a potential connection to Baba Yaga?—"
