The map, which had been floating patiently beside us, suddenly inflated itself to twice its size and made an explosive "SHHHHHH!" sound that reverberated off the surrounding buildings.
We froze, staring at the map in disbelief.
"Did our map just shush us?" I asked.
"SHHHHHHH!" The map repeated, even louder.
Sam winced, his sensitive ears clearly suffering. "Great. Now we've annoyed magical parchment."
The map continued shushing rhythmically, creating a pattern that sounded eerily familiar—the same melody Elder Thornberry had been humming.
"Is it... singing?" I whispered.
"No," Sam said slowly, tilting his head. "I think it's trying to tell us something."
The map folded itself into an arrow, pointing not at the broken door but around the side of the building.
"Follow the bouncing paper?" Vic suggested, suddenly appearing beside us.
"I thought you were guarding the tree," I said.
"Even vampires have their limits for theatrical tension." He shrugged. "Besides, the real entrance is probably around back anyway."
The map led us through a rusted side door that swung open at my touch, no lock-picking required. The theater's emergency lights cast an anemic glow across the auditorium, transforming familiar rows of velvet seats into a sea of shadowy humps.
"This place is significantly creepier after midnight," I whispered, my voice carrying despite my efforts. "I'm getting strong 'Phantom of the Opera' vibes."
Sam moved with predatory grace beside me, his footsteps silent despite his size. "I'm not detecting any recent scents besides ours from earlier. And Fabio's. That man uses enough cologne to choke a?—"
"Wolf with enhanced senses?" I finished, a smile tugging at my lips.
"I was going to say 'small nation,' but yes."
The map hovered between us, glowing faintly as it guided us down the center aisle toward the stage. The curtains hung like massive dark wings, partially open to reveal the set pieces from Fabio's "Sharknado" production—foam sharks suspended from wires, a miniature tornado mechanism, and a half-painted backdrop of a stormy sky.
"Center stage, just like the map indicated," I murmured. "Where the past sleeps beneath applause."
Without warning, a spotlight blazed to life, blinding us with its intensity. Then another. And another. Beams of light crisscrossed the auditorium, dancing wildly like drunken fireflies.
"What the—" Sam threw an arm over his eyes.
"Places, places!" Elder Thornberry's voice boomed through the PA system, crackling with static. "The stage awaits its players! The lights reveal what darkness conceals!"
I squinted up toward the lighting booth, where Elder Thornberry's silhouette danced between control panels.
"How did he get up there?" Sam growled. "And how does he keep appearing everywhere we go?"
"Don't mind me!" Elder called cheerfully. "The best performances have no audience... except when they do. I'm both here and not here, like quantum Schrödinger's elder!"
The spotlights continued their frantic dance, occasionally converging on specific points around the stage. I watched the pattern, something nagging at my intuition.
"Sam," I grabbed his arm. "Look at where the lights are landing."
The beams touched down in a sequence, illuminating spots across the stage floor. With each flash, a faint symbol glowed briefly before fading.
"It's a pattern," Sam said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The same pattern as the theft locations."
I pulled out the map, which quivered excitedly. "Not just the thefts in Assjacket—look, it matches the pattern across the entire county."
