"And you're literally shrinking," she retorted, trying not to stare at how the tightening costume accentuated his muscular frame.
"Look inside the pockets!" Elder Thornberry instructed, shuffling toward a rack of feathered boas. "Secrets hide in plain sight, like sequins on a funeral shroud!"
Delilah reached into her costume's pocket and felt something smooth and cool—a small stone carved with the same symbol they'd seen on the theater blueprints.
"Sam, look at—" She turned, but Thornberry had vanished completely. "Where did he go?"
Sam scanned the room. "He was just here."
The only trace of Elder Thornberry's presence was the faint melody they'd heard before, lingering in the air like perfume. The costume racks swayed gently, though there was no breeze.
"I'm starting to think," Delilah said slowly, examining the stone, "that Elder Thornberry is a lot more than just a confused old man."
Sam tugged at his increasingly constricting shark costume. "I need to get out of this thing before it cuts off my circulation."
"At least yours isn't threatening to electrocute you," Delilah replied, tiny sparks still dancing across her storm-cloud dress whenever she moved. She studied the carved stone in her palm. "This symbol matches the markings on the theater blueprints."
They made their way back to the main stage, where chaos had erupted in their absence. The ensemble cast attempted to perform what appeared to be synchronized swimming on dry land, while Fabio—still fully committed to his "Monsieur Fabricé" persona—stalked the stage with wild gesticulations.
"Non, non, NON!" he bellowed through his fake mustache, which had begun listing dangerously to one side. "Ze shark mating dance requires PASSION! AGGRESSION! AQUATIC SENSUALITY!"
He spotted Sam and pounced. "Ah! Our lead predator returns! Come, I must demonstrate ze proper hip thrust for ze shark mating sequence!"
Sam's eyes widened in horror. "I need to check something backstage," he blurted, backing away rapidly. "Very important. For the investigation."
"I'll help," Delilah volunteered instantly, hurrying after him.
Fabio's voice followed them. "Ze art waits for no man, not even ze furry ones! We rehearse ze love scene in ten minutes!"
"Love scene?" Sam choked out as they escaped into the shadowy wings of the stage.
"Focus," Delilah whispered, though she couldn't help the small jolt of electricity that sparked from her costume at the thought. "Let's check the areas that match those symbols on the blueprint."
They navigated through dusty set pieces and forgotten props—a mermaid tail with realistic scales, a cardboard lighthouse that hummed sea shanties when touched, and countless shark fins in various states of disrepair.
"Look at this," Sam called softly, pointing to the floor in a far corner.
Beneath a tattered backdrop of ocean waves, the wooden floorboards formed a subtle pattern—concentric circles with the same symbol Elder Thornberry had shown them carved into the center.
"It's a trapdoor," Delilah realized, kneeling beside it. Her costume crackled with anticipation. "Help me lift it."
Sam gripped the recessed handle and pulled. The trapdoor resisted, then gave way with a groan of ancient hinges. Stale air wafted up from the darkness below, carrying scents of old paper and forgotten magic.
"I knew it!" Mayor Grimble's voice boomed from directly behind them.
Delilah startled so badly that a miniature lightning bolt shot from her fingertips, narrowly missing Sam's dorsal fin.
Mayor Grimble stood triumphantly before them, wearing what appeared to be a theater-themed hat—complete with tiny red velvet curtains that actually opened and closed, revealing microscopic actors frozen mid-performance.
"As official municipal overseer of suspicious findings, I must be first to examine any trapdoors, secret passages, or mysterious discoveries," he announced, straightening his bow tie. "It's in the town charter. Section 7, paragraph 4."
Before either could respond, he pushed between them and began lowering himself into the opening. "This could be the archaeological discovery that puts Assjacket on the map! I've already prepared press statements about subterranean theatrical heritage!"
The Mayor's enthusiasm exceeded the trapdoor's capacity. Halfway through, he became firmly wedged, his legs kicking uselessly in the air while the rest of him disappeared below.
"Help! I'm experiencing an official municipal emergency!" His voice echoed from beneath the floor. "My hat is being crushed!"
"Should we..." Sam gestured vaguely at the Mayor's flailing legs.
