"Baba Yaga!" The mayor's mustache twitched violently. A tiny book on his hat slammed shut in apparent sympathy.
"Yes, sir. We need to consult with her immediately, but someone needs to coordinate civilian safety protocols. Someone with authority. Someone who understands municipal emergency procedures."
The mayor's chest inflated further. "Say no more, Wolfe. I'll establish a command center immediately." He turned to address the library patrons. "Citizens! Please report any suspicious magical activity to the hotline I'm establishing this very moment!"
As Grimble hustled toward the exit, Sam noticed something odd. Three patrons in different corners of the library were humming the same haunting melody—the same tune Elder Thornberry had been humming earlier. Their eyes had a glazed, distant look.
"Do you hear that?" Sam whispered to Delilah.
She nodded, her face suddenly pale. "That's the melody I heard this morning. I thought I was imagining it."
Mac frowned. "I don't hear anything."
"It's there," Sam insisted, his wolf senses picking up the subtle harmonization between the humming patrons. "And it's spreading."
As if to confirm his observation, Mrs. Shufflewick began to hum the same tune, her fingers arranging books in a pattern that matched the melody's rhythm.
"We need to see Baba Yaga. Now." Sam headed for the exit, not waiting to see if the others followed.
"For once," Delilah said, hurrying to catch up, "we're in complete agreement."
Behind them, the humming grew louder as two more patrons joined the eerie chorus, their movements becoming synchronized as they turned book pages in perfect unison.
Sam's nose twitched as they entered the forest, a hundred scents hitting him at once—pine sap, decaying leaves, animal trails, and something else. Something magical that made his skin prickle.
"The map says Baba Yaga's house should be two miles northeast," Delilah said, holding the enchanted parchment that kept rippling like water.
"Should be," Sam muttered, eyeing the darkening woods. "But with Baba Yaga, nothing's ever where it should be."
Mac nodded, his massive frame dwarfing a nearby sapling. "The forest rearranges itself around her house. Best not to think of directions too literally."
Sam watched Delilah's slender fingers trace the map's surface. Despite himself, he noticed how the afternoon light caught in her hair, turning it to liquid copper. He quickly looked away.
"It changed again," she huffed. "Now it's showing west."
"Then west it is." Sam stepped forward, only to freeze mid-stride.
"Going somewhere interesting?" Elder Thornberry sat cross-legged on a stump that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago, whittling what appeared to be a tiny chicken leg.
"How do you—" Sam began.
"When seeking the witch with chicken feet, always bring butter!" Elder Thornberry announced, his wispy white beard fluttering despite the absence of wind. "Or was it margarine? The house knows the difference even if your taste buds don't! The Collector watches through borrowed eyes!"
Delilah stepped forward. "Elder Thornberry, we need to find Baba Yaga. The library was?—"
"This way to the dancing pines!" The old man pointed left with his whittling knife, then vanished with a pop that smelled faintly of butterscotch.
Mac sighed. "I suppose we go left?"
The path twisted through increasingly bizarre vegetation—mushrooms that hummed the same melody they'd heard in the library, flowers that turned to follow them like suspicious eyes. Sam noticed something odd about the trees.
"They're growing in pairs," he said, pointing to identical pines standing side by side, their branches intertwined. "Perfect symmetry."
"Like the stolen artifacts," Delilah murmured. "Always pairs."
They followed the path for twenty minutes before Sam realized they'd passed the same moss-covered boulder three times.
"We're walking in circles," he growled.
