"The Council representative will be here any minute," Mac said, checking his watch. "Fair warning—Councilor Greymane is... traditional."
"Define traditional," Delilah said.
"He once filed a seventeen-page complaint because someone used the wrong fork at the annual Shifter Summit dinner," Mac replied.
Zelda snorted. "Sounds delightful."
The doorbell rang with unusual formality—three precise chimes that somehow managed to sound disapproving.
"That'll be him," Mac sighed.
Councilor Greymane entered the kitchen with the dignified bearing of someone who'd been important for so long he'd forgotten how to be anything else. His silver hair and beard were immaculately groomed, and his tailored suit bore subtle pack symbols woven into the fabric. Despite his apparent age, he moved with surprising grace.
"Alpha MacKenzie," he greeted with a slight bow. "Madame Zelda." His gaze settled on Delilah. "And you must be the clairvoyant."
"Delilah Hart," she supplied, extending her hand.
He shook it with formal precision. "Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Hart. Your assistance in the Grimble Gavel Incident was most... creative."
Behind him, Zelda mouthed "seventeen pages" while mimicking writing.
"Tea, Councilor?" Mac offered, already pouring.
"Thank you." Greymane accepted the cup, sniffed it once, then set it down untouched. "I'll be direct. The situation is more serious than initially assessed. This is precisely why protocol exists. Lone wolves make easy targets. Even strong ones like Wolfe."
"Sam's not exactly—" Delilah began.
"The pattern of magical pair-bonding followed by attacks is happening across the region," Greymane continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Three other incidents in neighboring counties. Always the same: a shifter and a psychically gifted individual form a connection, begin investigating magical disturbances, then are targeted."
Delilah felt her cheeks warm. "We haven't formed any... connection."
Every utensil in the kitchen suddenly rattled in what sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Greymane raised a single eyebrow but continued. "In each case, artifacts were stolen after the attacks. Objects with specific magical signatures that complement each other."
"Like paired magical conduits," Zelda said, exchanging a significant look with Mac.
"Precisely." Greymane produced a folder that somehow matched his suit perfectly. "The Council is officially sanctioning your investigation but insists on adding resources and backup."
"Sam's not going to like that," Mac said.
"Mr. Wolfe's preferences are irrelevant. The Council has spoken." Greymane's tone left no room for argument. "We're assigning two additional shifters to your team. They'll report tomorrow."
"What about the other pairs?" Delilah asked. "The ones who were attacked."
"All recovering, though each suffered significant magical drain." Greymane's expression softened slightly. "The Silver Witch, as you call her, appears to be harvesting the resonance energy created by these magical pairings."
"For what purpose?" Zelda asked.
"Unknown. But the pattern suggests preparation for something larger." Greymane finally took a sip of his tea, grimaced slightly, and set it down again. "The Council believes these thefts are connected to an ancient ritual called The Collector's Symphony."
"That's the name on the theater poster!" Delilah exclaimed. "And the melody Elder Thornberry keeps humming."
"Indeed." Greymane's eyes narrowed. "The Symphony hasn't been attempted in centuries. Not since Baba Yaga herself stopped it last time."
"Well, that's just great," Delilah muttered. "A ritual so dangerous that it takes a chicken-legged house to stop it."
"Which is why," Greymane said, straightening his already perfect tie, "protocol must be followed. Precisely and without deviation."
