Sam pushed the plate away. "I'm not feeling raw meat."
"Your subconscious disagrees." Mac flagged down Doris for his own order. "Your wolf is agitated."
Sam took a deep breath and tried again. The pancakes reformed, but when he mentioned the case, they immediately reverted to steak.
"This is ridiculous," he growled.
The map, which had been quietly sitting on the table between them, began to fold itself into increasingly complex origami shapes, each one more agitated than the last.
"It's getting upset," Delilah observed.
Mac sighed. "If you two don't get it together, this map will lead us straight to the town dump. It navigates by emotional harmony, remember? Try finding something you agree on besides how annoying I am."
"We both want to solve this case," Delilah offered.
Sam nodded reluctantly. "We do."
"And we both know these thefts are connected to something bigger," Sam added, focusing on their shared purpose rather than his irritation.
His pancakes slowly reformed, staying solid this time.
The map unfolded itself, smoothing out across the table. A clear path illuminated from their current location to Bread of Heaven.
"Fabio's bakery?" Delilah leaned forward.
"Makes sense," Mac said, accepting a floating mug of coffee from Doris. "I've been tracking the pattern—these disturbances always affect paired objects simultaneously. One object gets taken, its magical counterpart gets disrupted."
Sam's pancakes had fully transformed into a perfect stack, topped with maple syrup that formed a tiny arrow pointing toward the door.
"Even the syrup agrees," he said, taking a bite. It tasted like determination and possibility—and something else he couldn't quite identify.
Something that intensified when he caught Delilah's eye across the table.
Sam's nose detected Bread of Heaven before they even turned the corner. The competing aromas of cinnamon, chocolate, yeast, and something distinctly magical assaulted his senses like an olfactory hurricane.
"You okay?" Mac asked as Sam winced. "Your nose doing that thing again?"
"I'm fine," Sam muttered, adjusting his breathing technique to filter the overwhelming scents. Enhanced werewolf senses were a blessing for tracking suspects and a curse in places like Fabio's bakery.
The bell chimed a personalized greeting as they entered—literally singing their names in three-part harmony. Inside, pastries floated in elegant patterns while dough balls performed synchronized swimming routines in mixing bowls.
Fabio stood center stage behind the counter, his auburn hair somehow immaculately styled despite the flour dusting his cheeks. His green eyes widened dramatically when he spotted them.
"Darlings!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. A shower of edible glitter cascaded from his fingertips. "What an unexpected delight! Though nothing is truly unexpected to a fortune-teller, is it, Delilah sweetness?"
Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"We need to talk, Fabio," Delilah said, approaching the counter.
Fabio's expression shifted instantly from theatrical joy to conspiratorial intensity. He snapped his fingers, and the "Open" sign flipped to "Closed for Impromptu Musical Number (Back in 30)."
"The last customers are in the self-service section," he whispered, leaning so far over the counter that Sam worried he might topple. "These walls have ears, darlings—literally. I installed them last week for better acoustics during my pastry opera performances."
Sam glanced at the walls, which indeed had decorative ears molded into the plaster. One of them twitched.
"Perhaps we should speak in the kitchen," Mac suggested diplomatically.
Fabio ushered them through a beaded curtain that played "Phantom of the Opera" as they passed. In the kitchen, dough rose and fell in rhythmic patterns while spices danced in mid-air.
