"I didn't—" Delilah stopped. Had she spoken his name aloud without realizing?
A nearby vine suddenly twisted into what looked suspiciously like the letter S, then quickly unraveled when Delilah glared at it.
"Your plants need to mind their own business," she grumbled.
"Says the woman who reads other people's futures for a living." Zelda moved to a workbench and began grinding herbs with practiced efficiency. "What did you see when the Silver Witch attacked?"
The memory sent a chill through Delilah. Around her, the plants shivered in response, their leaves trembling. "Nothing. That's what terrified me. When I looked at Sam, I couldn't see anything."
Zelda's hands stilled. "No possible futures at all?"
"Just... darkness." Delilah wrapped her arms around herself. "I've never experienced that before."
The entire garden seemed to wilt slightly, colors dimming as the plants responded to her fear. Only the stubborn pink flowers remained vibrant, almost defiantly so.
"The Silver Witch mentioned a master," Zelda said quietly. "And something about an emotional catalyst."
"She said our 'little love story' provided exactly what they needed." Delilah shook her head. "But that makes no sense. We're not?—"
The pink flowers suddenly doubled in size, their color intensifying to an almost neon brightness.
"Oh, shut up," Delilah told them.
Zelda laughed, the sound breaking the tension. "They're just reflecting what they sense. Emotional energy between compatible magical signatures creates powerful resonance. The kind that can fuel big magic."
"Like what Ivy and Rafe experienced?"
"Similar, but different signature types." Zelda looked thoughtful. "Clairvoyance and shifting create a unique harmonic pattern."
The garden gate swung open, and Mac entered, his expression grim. His presence caused an immediate reaction—the plants nearest him straightened as if standing at attention.
"The Shifter Council is officially involved," he announced. "They're not happy about one of their own being attacked."
"How's Sam?" Delilah asked before she could stop herself. The pink flowers practically vibrated with color.
Mac's eyes flicked to the flowers, then back to Delilah, his mouth twitching slightly. "Stubborn. Grumpy. Alive."
Zelda snorted. "So, normal then."
"Have you noticed," Mac said, walking further into the garden, "how plants everywhere are arranging themselves lately?"
Delilah followed his gaze. Throughout the garden, plants had organized themselves into distinct pairs—each set mirroring the other in perfect symmetry.
"It's the same pattern we saw in that field," she said softly. "And in the forest near Baba Yaga's."
"Nature's trying to tell us something," Mac agreed. "About pairs, connections, and balance."
The pink flowers stretched toward Delilah again, as if making their point.
"Fine," she muttered to them. "I'll go talk to him. But I'm not apologizing. He's the jerk."
The flowers bobbed as if laughing at her.
Delilah followed Mac and Zelda into the kitchen where magical implements danced through their cleaning routines. A whisk spun itself dry while knives aligned in perfect formation on a magnetic strip. The kettle whistled a tune that sounded suspiciously like "Who Let the Dogs Out."
"Very funny," Mac muttered at the kettle, which immediately switched to an innocent classical melody.
Zelda's kitchen seemed to have a personality of its own—much like everything else in this witch's domain. Delilah leaned against the counter, trying to ignore the spoons that kept arranging themselves into heart shapes whenever she glanced at them.
