She plopped herself into Sam's reading chair and propped her feet—clad in rhinestone-covered platform sneakers—on his coffee table.
"Now," she said, examining her perfect manicure, "let's talk about your little Collector problem and why magical pairs are suddenly very trendy in the supernatural dating scene. Although why Fabio and I aren't a target is beyond me. We are the epitome of magical pairs. "
12
Delilah stared at Baba Yaga, struggling to process her sudden appearance through the fireplace. The ancient witch lounged in Sam's chair like she owned it, examining her nails with casual disregard for the tension she'd interrupted.
"The Collector," Delilah said, finding her voice. "You know who they are."
Baba Yaga waved dismissively. "Know is a strong word. Encountered, yes. Defeated temporarily, also yes. Vanquished permanently? Unfortunately, no."
Sam crossed his arms, wincing slightly from his still-healing injuries. "And you're just mentioning this now?"
"I mention many things at many times. Not my fault if people don't listen." Baba Yaga stood with fluid grace, surveying the cabin. "Need space. Move furniture."
Mac returned, freezing in the doorway at the sight of the legendary witch. "Um, did I miss something?"
"Only the most dramatic entrance since Fabio's revival of 'Cats' at the community theater," Delilah muttered.
Baba Yaga snapped her fingers, and the furniture slid toward the walls with a screech of protest. Sam's meticulously organized case files scattered like startled birds.
"Hey!" Sam lunged to catch a falling lamp.
"No time for tidiness," Baba Yaga declared, pulling various pouches from seemingly nowhere. "Collector uses paired magic—finds magical resonance between compatible practitioners, amplifies it, then harvests it. Very nasty. Very efficient."
Delilah felt her cheeks warm. "We're not—I mean, Sam and I aren't?—"
"Spare me the denial dance," Baba Yaga interrupted, sprinkling purple powder in a circle. "Map responds to your harmony. Plants bloom when you argue. Classic resonance phenomenon. Ancient texts call it 'emotional catalysts.' Boring name for interesting magic."
Mac leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Like what happened with Ivy and Rafe?"
"Similar, but stronger." Baba Yaga's eyes flickered to Delilah. "Your visions, his enhanced senses—complementary abilities. Greater than sum of parts."
Sam's living room was rapidly transforming into a magical workshop. Herbs hung from invisible strings, bottles arranged themselves in precise patterns, and something that looked suspiciously like a chicken foot stirred a cauldron that definitely hadn't been there five minutes ago.
"What exactly are you doing?" Sam asked, eyeing the expanding ritual with growing alarm.
"Protection spell. Disrupt Collector's ability to track magical pairs." Baba Yaga tossed something that smelled like cinnamon and wet dog into her mixture. "Stand in circle. Both of you."
Delilah exchanged a glance with Sam. His yellow eyes reflected the same wariness she felt, but he nodded slightly.
"If it helps stop that vision from coming true," he said quietly.
They stepped into the circle together. Mac watched from a safe distance, phone suspiciously ready in his hand.
"Now, breathe deeply," Baba Yaga instructed, waving aromatic herbs that filled the room with a pungent, earthy scent.
Sam's nose twitched. His eyes widened in alarm.
"I'm allergic to—" He didn't finish before an explosive sneeze erupted.
The spell ingredients swirled violently. Baba Yaga ducked as her cauldron contents shot upward, forming a sparkling cloud that descended directly onto Sam.
A blinding flash filled the room.
When Delilah could see again, Sam was gone. In his place sat a fluffy white puppy with familiar yellow eyes and an unmistakably grumpy expression.
"Sam?" she gasped.
