"Something's happening," Fabio said, grabbing a ball of dough and kneading it forcefully. The dough changed colors with each squeeze—pink, blue, alarming red. "Strange people in town. Asking questions about magical pairings."
Sam's attention sharpened. "What kind of questions?"
"Which items work in tandem, which witches share magical frequencies." Fabio's kneading intensified. "I've been around long enough to know when someone's shopping for more than sourdough starter."
The dough in Fabio's hands suddenly formed itself into a miniature wolf. Beside it, another piece shaped itself into a crystal ball.
"Well, that's subtle," Mac murmured.
Fabio stared at his creation with surprise. "My dough has never been this... literal before."
"What else can you tell us?" Delilah asked, pointedly ignoring the doughy representations.
"The theater," Fabio whispered, eyes darting around as if the floating whisks might be eavesdropping. "I'm directing 'Sharknado 2: The Musical Revival' there—it's going to be magnificent, darlings, you simply must attend opening night—but strange things keep happening."
"Strange how?" Sam pressed, trying to stay focused despite a cinnamon roll doing pirouettes near his head.
"Props rearranging themselves. Lighting cues changing. And the poster..." Fabio pulled a flyer from his apron pocket and spread it on the counter.
The garish poster featured a cartoonish shark in a tornado, but beneath the main title was a subtitle in elegant script: "The Collector's Symphony."
"I never approved that tagline," Fabio said, flour-dusted fingers trembling slightly. "No one on the production team remembers adding it. It just... appeared."
Sam and Delilah exchanged glances. For once, they were thinking exactly the same thing.
The map between them unfolded itself completely and pointed decisively toward the Assjacket Community Theater.
The back door of Fabio's bakery opened into an alley that smelled of sugar, garbage, and something metallic that made Sam's nose twitch. The morning sun cast long shadows between the buildings, but one shadow moved differently than the others.
"Well, well. The wolf detective and the crystal-gazer." The voice came from behind a dumpster, smooth as aged whiskey with just a hint of fang on the consonants.
Sam's shoulders tensed. He knew that voice.
Vic the Vampire PI stepped into view, his tailored charcoal suit immaculate despite the alley surroundings. His pale skin caught the sunlight and reflected it back with a subtle sparkle—the result of his custom-made UV-protective sunscreen that let him operate during daylight hours.
"Vic," Sam acknowledged with a curt nod. "Didn't realize you were slumming in Assjacket these days."
Vic adjusted his vintage cufflinks. "I go where the interesting cases are, Wolfe. And lately, all the interesting cases seem to be here." His gaze slid to Delilah, lingering a beat too long. "Ms. Hart. Your reputation precedes you."
"Funny," Delilah replied, "yours follows you like cheap cologne."
Vic laughed, a sound like velvet over gravel. "I do love a woman who can see the future and still chooses to speak her mind."
"What are you doing here, Vic?" Mac asked, his tone friendly but firm.
"Same as you, I imagine." Vic strolled closer, his Italian leather shoes somehow avoiding every puddle. "Following a trail of magical breadcrumbs. Though my client prefers I work alone." He winked at Delilah. "Or I could make an exception for the right partnership."
A low growl rumbled in Sam's chest before he could stop it. The sound surprised him as much as everyone else.
Vic's eyebrow arched elegantly. "My, my. Territorial already, Wolfe? And here I thought you were all business."
"We're investigating the thefts," Sam said, ignoring the comment and the questioning look Delilah shot him. "Official town business."
"Ah yes, the mayor and his magical hat collection." Vic leaned against the brick wall. "I'd offer to join forces, but my client specifically requested 'no dogs or fortune cookies on this case.' His words, not mine. Though I might have embellished the fortune cookie part."
The map in Delilah's hands suddenly folded itself into an origami bat that flapped aggressively toward Vic.
"Your map has opinions," Vic observed, dodging the paper assault. "Interesting. My client would find that fascinating—he has a particular interest in collecting interesting pairs."
