Delilah settled at her small desk, opening her client journal. "I need to organize these files before I forget the details. Mrs. Shufflewick's ring had residual energy from her garden. Mr. Thornwood's missing spectacles were in his?—"
A sharp pain stabbed behind her left eye. Delilah dropped her pen, recognizing the familiar pressure building in her temples.
"Not now," she whispered, but the vision was already pulling her under like a riptide.
A weathered brass compass resting on dark wood, its needle spinning wildly. The background resolves into Moonlit Brews' back room. The compass glows with an inner light, pulsing in time with something unseen. Two shadows stretch across the table, merging at the edges, though their owners remain just out of sight. The compass needle suddenly stops, pointing not north but directly at the joined shadows. A crack appears across the glass, spreading like a spiderweb. Danger. Protection. Loss. Connection.
The vision released her with a gasp. Delilah found herself on the floor, Jinxie patting her face with gentle paws. The pain behind her eyes throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
"That's new," she muttered, crawling to the kitchen for her migraine medication. "I can see everyone's path but my own, which is probably why I keep tripping over Jinxie's toys."
The cat made an offended noise.
"Sorry, not your fault." Delilah swallowed the pills dry. "But that compass... it's important. And those shadows..."
Jinxie hopped onto the counter and pawed at Delilah's phone.
"You think I should call someone? Who? Zelda? Mac?"
The cat stared at her with mismatched eyes that somehow managed to convey extreme judgment.
"Fine. I'll go to Moonlit Brews myself." Delilah massaged her temples. "But if this turns into another 'Delilah gets involved in magical trouble' situation, I'm blaming you."
Jinxie purred, looking entirely too pleased with herself, and knocked a business card off the counter. It landed face up, revealing the embossed logo of the Shifter Security Agency.
"Subtle, Jinx. Real subtle." Delilah picked up the card, studying it with a frown. "Since when are you Team Werewolf anyway?"
The back room of Moonlit Brews hummed with tension. Five shifters hunched around a circular table, their faces illuminated by enchanted lamps that cast an eerie blue glow across the cards. The lamps weren't just for atmosphere—they revealed marked cards to those who knew how to look, a fact Sam Wolfe was counting on tonight.
Sam kept his expression neutral as he studied his cards. Three kings. Not bad, but his real focus was on the brass compass sitting innocuously beside the pot. The artifact had been reported stolen last week, and now here it was, being used as collateral in a high-stakes game.
"I'll raise," he said, sliding chips forward. His enhanced senses picked up the elevated heartbeats around the table, the subtle scents of anxiety and excitement.
Mac, positioned at the bar as backup, wiped a glass with exaggerated care. Their eyes met briefly—everything was proceeding according to plan.
"Too rich for my blood," muttered a lanky shifter with patchy facial hair, folding his cards.
The bulky man across from Sam—Decker, their primary suspect—grinned, revealing canines slightly too sharp for human comfort. "Call. And I'll throw in something special." He placed a small velvet pouch beside the compass. "Family heirloom. Worth more than money to the right buyer."
Sam's pulse quickened. If that pouch contained what he suspected?—
The door burst open with a bang that made every shifter at the table flinch.
Delilah Hart stood in the doorway, her hair wild as if she'd run the whole way, eyes locked on the compass. Without hesitation, she strode to the table and snatched it up.
"Sorry, gentlemen. This isn't yours to play with."
For three heartbeats, nobody moved. Then chaos erupted.
Decker lunged across the table. "What the?—"
Sam intercepted him with a growl, while the other players scattered, chips flying. Mac abandoned his bartender pose and moved to block the exit.
"Who sent you?" Decker snarled at Delilah, eyes flashing amber.
Sam grabbed Delilah's arm, his fingers firm but careful not to bruise. "Outside. Now."
He marched her through the bar, past wide-eyed patrons, and into the alley behind Moonlit Brews. The night air carried the scent of rain and garbage, with undertones of Delilah's lavender perfume that his wolf found irritatingly distracting.
