Fat Bastard leapt onto the table, tail swishing dangerously close to Sam's glass. "Memory juice makes big bubbles."
"Get your furry ass off my ritual-grade tablecloth," Zelda scolded, though she slipped the cat a treat when she thought no one was looking.
Mac raised his glass. "To finding our first real lead!"
"And to surviving theatrical props with murderous tendencies," I added.
"To the Eye of Cassandra," Rafe contributed.
"May it show us what we need to see and not what The Collector wants us to see," Ivy finished.
We clinked glasses and drank. The mead tasted like honey and sunshine, with a hint of something wild and ancient. Warmth spread through my chest as a shimmering bubble formed above my glass, expanding until it was the size of a dinner plate.
Inside my bubble, a scene played out—my shop on its opening day, the moment I'd cut the ribbon and knew, finally, that I belonged somewhere.
Around the table, everyone's bubbles displayed different scenes. Ivy's showed her greenhouse, plants dancing around her in a swirl of green. Rafe's revealed the moment he'd proposed to Ivy, surrounded by fireflies. Mac's bubble contained a fishing trip with his father from decades ago.
"Look at Sam's," Zelda stage-whispered, pointing shamelessly.
Sam's bubble showed a midnight forest clearing bathed in silver moonlight. Wolf-Sam ran joyfully with his pack, weaving between trees with perfect coordination. The memory radiated peace and belonging.
Sam shifted uncomfortably as everyone watched. "It was a good run," he muttered, ears reddening.
"It's beautiful," I said softly.
He met my eyes, something vulnerable in his gaze. "Your shop looks nice. Opening day?"
I nodded, surprised he'd recognized it. "The first time I felt like I belonged somewhere."
As our eyes held, something strange happened. My bubble drifted toward Sam's, their edges touching, then merging. The combined bubble grew larger, its contents shifting.
"That's not supposed to happen," Zelda whispered, leaning forward.
Inside the merged bubble, a new scene formed—not a memory, but something else. Sam and I stood back-to-back in a clearing, hands joined. Light spiraled around us as we faced a shadowy figure.
"Is that—" I began.
"A possibility," Sam finished, looking as stunned as I felt.
The bubble popped suddenly, showering us with harmless sparks.
"Fascinating," Zelda murmured, scribbling notes on a napkin. "The magical pair dynamics are stronger than I thought."
Through the window behind her, I noticed the sky darkening. Purple clouds gathered with unnatural speed, swirling directly above the cottage.
"Uh, guys?" I pointed toward the window. "I don't think those are rain clouds."
Everyone turned as lightning flashed—not white, but deep violet—illuminating the strange formation centered perfectly over Zelda's home.
"Well," Mac said dryly, "I guess The Collector got our party invitation."
Sam's wolf senses detected the danger before the others. The hair on his arms stood up, skin prickling with static electricity as the scent of ozone and something darker—ancient magic with a metallic tang—filled the air.
"Everyone down!" he shouted, lunging across the table.
The windows exploded inward, sending crystalline shards flying through the room like deadly confetti. Sam tackled Delilah to the floor as Fat Bastard yowled and disappeared under the couch. The other cats vanished in blurs of fur.
A woman floated through the shattered window frame, silver hair whipping around her face in a wind that affected nothing else. Her feet never touched the ground as she surveyed the room with eyes that shifted between violet and black.
