"The Collector seeks pairs," Fat Bastard announced ominously, finally sliding off the orb. "Always two's by two's."
My fingers tingled as I watched the orb pulse with golden light. Something about its rhythm felt familiar, like a half-remembered melody.
"What exactly is magical resonance?" I asked, trying to ignore the way Sam shifted closer to me, his presence warm and solid at my side.
Zelda opened her mouth to answer when the cottage door swung open again. Ivy Cross swept in, her dark hair flowing around her shoulders, carrying a basket covered with a cloth that emitted faint blue sparks. Behind her, Rafe followed with an ancient leather-bound book tucked under his arm.
"We came as soon as the plants started screaming," Ivy announced, setting her basket on a table far from the orb. "And before you ask—yes, plants can scream. Just not in a frequency humans can hear."
"Except for Ivy," Rafe added with a fond smile. "My wife, the plant whisperer."
Ivy rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "The entire greenhouse went haywire about an hour ago. Every paired species started growing toward each other, breaking their pots."
"Like they were being pulled together by an invisible force," Rafe finished, his eyes landing on the orb. "Well, well. That explains it."
The orb's golden light shifted to deep emerald as Ivy approached, then flared crimson when Rafe stepped closer.
"It's responding to your magical signatures," Zelda explained, guiding us toward her library nook where ancient texts were stacked in precarious towers. "Different reactions for different magical types."
Fat Bastard yawned dramatically from his new perch atop a bookshelf. "Orb knows who's is who's."
"This isn't just any orb," Rafe said, carefully opening his book on Zelda's reading table. "Based on the description in my family grimoire, I believe you've found the Eye of Cassandra."
Sam leaned forward, brow furrowed. "The what now?"
"An artifact created to reveal true futures rather than mere possibilities," Rafe explained, turning pages until he found an illustration that matched our orb perfectly. "My ancestor's journals mention it specifically. The Twilight Coven modified it to harvest fear energy from those experiencing its visions."
The name struck a chord. "The Twilight Coven—we saw their sigil in the chamber beneath the theater."
Ivy began unpacking her basket, revealing an assortment of charms on leather cords. "These should provide some protection against magical influence. The resonance pattern affecting my plants is similar to what happened when Rafe and I first connected, but much more intense."
"Like someone's amplifying the effect deliberately," Rafe added, his fingers tracing the illustration in his book.
I slipped one of Ivy's amulets over my head, feeling a gentle warmth spread through my chest. "Why would someone want to amplify magical resonance between pairs?"
"Power," Rafe said grimly. "According to my family records, my ancestor helped stop someone called 'The Collector' from completing a ritual centuries ago. These artifacts are connected to that ritual."
"The Collector," Sam repeated, his voice dropping to a growl. "Elder Thornberry mentioned that name. Hell, everyone's been mentioning that name."
Rafe nodded. "The historical accounts describe someone who harvested magical energy from paired practitioners—witches, shifters, psychics—anyone with complementary abilities. The ritual required specific artifacts, including the Eye of Cassandra."
"But what was the ritual for?" I asked, a chill running down my spine despite the amulet's warmth.
"That's the troubling part," Rafe said, turning another page in his grimoire. "The ritual was never completed, so no one knows its ultimate purpose. But my ancestor's final warning was clear: 'The Collector always returns, wearing a different face but seeking the same power.'"
The orb pulsed once, violently, as if in response to Rafe's words.
"Well, we're all probably doomed, but at least we have a name for our enemy," Zelda announced, marching into the room with a large crystal decanter floating behind her. "And in my book, that calls for a celebration!"
With a dramatic flourish of her hands, Zelda's dining room transformed. Candles sprouted from nothing, their flames shifting through rainbow colors. The worn wooden table expanded, edges rippling like water until it comfortably seated everyone. Mismatched chairs scuttled across the floor, arranging themselves around the table.
"Is a celebration wise when we're dealing with an ancient evil collector?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.
"Absolutely essential," Zelda countered, tapping the decanter with her fingernail. It chimed like a bell before pouring itself into an assortment of glasses that materialized before each of us. "Magical mead, brewed during the last blue moon. It shows your happiest memory as you drink—excellent for morale and, more importantly, excellent for my entertainment."
I picked up my glass cautiously. The amber liquid inside shimmered with tiny sparks. "Any side effects we should know about?"
"Only the good kind," Zelda promised with a wink that wasn't entirely reassuring.
