"In a minute," Delilah whispered, peering around the Mayor's stuck form. "There's something down there."
She maneuvered past the Mayor's complaints, dropping carefully into the hidden room. Ancient wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with yellowed documents and artifacts. The air thrummed with dormant magic.
"Sam, look at this," she called, lifting a dusty playbill. "It's a program for 'The Collector's Symphony'—dated 1743."
"Coincidence?" Sam asked, somehow squeezing his shark-costumed body around the Mayor to join her.
"Not a chance," Delilah replied, her fingers tingling as she traced the faded print. "According to this, the theater was built on a convergence of ley lines by magical performers. They were creating some kind of ritual amplifier."
"Um, excuse me?" Mayor Grimble's muffled voice interrupted. "While I fully support historical research, I must remind you that my official position currently involves significant discomfort!"
7
Sam ignored Mayor Grimble's pleas, transfixed by the collection of artifacts. His wolf senses detected subtle magical signatures emanating from items throughout the hidden chamber—each one resonating at different frequencies but somehow harmonizing together.
"These documents..." He carefully lifted a brittle parchment map. "They show ley line configurations across the entire county. Look how they converge exactly under this theater."
Delilah appeared at his shoulder, her storm costume still occasionally crackling with static. "And here—construction notes about 'acoustical enhancements for the Symphony.' They weren't building a theater. They were constructing a magical amplifier disguised as one."
"If you two are quite finished with your historical treasure hunt," Mayor Grimble's voice came muffled through the floor, "my circulation is being severely compromised!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "We should probably extract him before his hat suffocates."
With considerable effort and the sacrifice of part of Sam's shark fin, they managed to free the Mayor, who immediately began dusting himself off with exaggerated dignity.
"I'll need to document this discovery through proper channels," Mayor Grimble announced, adjusting his now-lopsided theater hat. "And prepare an appropriate hat for the occasion. Perhaps something with trapdoor functionality."
After the Mayor's departure, Sam and Delilah gathered what evidence they could carry and escaped rehearsal before Fabio could subject them to the shark mating dance.
The theater rooftop offered a perfect vantage point over Assjacket as sunset painted the sky in vivid oranges and pinks. Sam arranged his surveillance equipment with methodical precision—binoculars, night vision goggles, and a thermos of what technically qualified as coffee.
"You actually drink this?" Delilah grimaced after one sip. "It tastes like something died in motor oil."
"It's functional," Sam replied, adjusting his directional microphone. "Like everything else in my kit."
"Well, I brought something more enjoyable." Delilah pulled out a container with a flourish. "Homemade cookies. I made these special for you."
She opened the lid to reveal perfectly baked cookies shaped like dog paws.
"They're doggie treats with extra protein," she added with a mischievous smile.
Sam stared at the cookies, then at her. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."
"Your stomach might disagree. I heard it growl earlier—very wolf-like."
"That was professional disapproval at your storm sound effects."
Delilah bit into a cookie. "My storm effects were brilliant. Even Fabio said so."
"Fabio also wanted me to perform an interpretive shark mating dance."
"Which I'm still disappointed I missed."
The banter halted as Mac's head appeared at the rooftop access ladder.
"Brought real coffee," he announced, climbing up with a cardboard tray. "Figured you'd need it."
Sam accepted the cup gratefully. "Any news?"
