Delilah placed the compass on the reading table. "Information about magical artifacts being collected in patterns, particularly by someone called 'The Collector.' Also anything about paired magical users throughout history."
Sam barked once in agreement, then padded toward a dusty shelf in the corner, nose twitching.
"Interesting choice of research," Mrs. Shufflewick murmured, pulling out a stepladder. "Section 17-B deals with historical magical collectors. Though I must warn you, the grimoire on the third shelf has a tendency to bite."
As if on cue, a low growl emanated from the bookshelf. Sam growled back, his tiny puppy snarl somehow more intimidating than it should have been.
"The books recognize another predator," Mrs. Shufflewick observed, suddenly speaking with a German accent, her outfit now resembling a professor's. "Fascinating psychological response from normally inanimate objects."
For the next hour, they settled into a strange but effective research rhythm. Delilah pored over ancient texts while Sam trotted between shelves, his nose leading them to volumes that seemed to pulse with magical energy. Occasionally he'd bark at a particular page, placing his paw precisely on relevant passages.
"This is... actually working," Delilah muttered, amazed at their progress. She'd compiled a substantial list of historical references to a mysterious figure who appeared throughout centuries under different names—The Collector, The Gatherer, The Curator, The Keeper of Pairs.
Sam returned from another shelf-hunting expedition, dragging a thin leather journal that seemed to be fighting him every inch of the way.
"What have you found?" Delilah took the reluctant journal, which immediately stopped struggling in her hands. The pages fell open to an illustration of two figures standing within a ritual circle, magical energy flowing between them while a shadowy form loomed behind.
"Listen to this," she whispered, excitement building. "'The Collector seeks not the artifacts themselves, but the resonance between paired practitioners. The objects merely serve as conduits for a greater working—the Symphony of Souls that requires magical pairs as its instruments.'"
Sam's ears perked up, his yellow eyes fixed on the text.
Mrs. Shufflewick peered over Delilah's shoulder, her appearance now resembling Sherlock Holmes complete with deerstalker cap. "The pattern suggests a ritual requiring multiple magical pairs positioned at specific points. Most concerning."
Delilah turned the page to find a partial map that looked disturbingly similar to the pattern they'd been tracking. "The paired thefts, the magical users coming together in neighboring towns... it's all connected."
Sam barked urgently, pawing at another journal that had fallen open nearby. The page showed an illustration of a silver-haired woman standing before a shadowy master, the caption reading: "The Silver Witch serves as the Collector's hands, gathering what her master cannot touch directly."
"It's not just about the artifacts," Delilah realized, a chill running down her spine. "It's about us. Magical pairs like us. Like Ivy and Rafe."
Sam pressed against her leg, his small body vibrating with tension.
Mrs. Shufflewick's expression darkened. "Elementary, my dear Hart. We are not hunting the thief—the thief is hunting us."
Delilah clutched the journals to her chest as they exited the archives, her mind racing with connections. The evening air hit her face, cool and damp with the promise of rain.
"We need to get back to Zelda's immediately," she whispered to Sam, who trotted vigilantly at her side, his fluffy white ears alert despite his ridiculous appearance. "If the Collector is targeting magical pairs specifically, then?—"
The air before them rippled like heat waves over asphalt. Sam's hackles rose as he planted himself in front of Delilah, a growl building in his tiny chest.
"How adorable," came a silky voice as the silver-haired witch materialized from the distortion. Her mercury-like hair flowed around her face, defying gravity. "The fortune-teller and her... pocket-sized protector."
Delilah backed away, one hand dropping to scoop Sam up. "Run," she hissed, but he squirmed free, landing in a defensive stance.
"I wouldn't bother," the witch said, violet eyes gleaming with silver flecks. "My shadow friends have the perimeter secured."
True to her words, inky black forms oozed from between buildings and beneath benches, their half-formed features rippling like disturbed water.
"What do you want?" Delilah demanded, desperately trying to focus her clairvoyance, but her visions remained frustratingly blank.
The witch's flowing silver garments rustled without wind. "I should think that's obvious, given your recent... research activities." Her gaze dropped to the journals. "My master is quite interested in your unique partnership."
Sam lunged forward with surprising speed for his tiny form, teeth bared.
The witch laughed, the sound like breaking crystal. "How convenient—a travel-sized werewolf. He'll make an excellent addition to my collection of curiosities. Much easier to transport this way."
A shadow tendril shot forward, wrapping around Sam before he could reach her. He yelped, struggling against the dark bonds.
"Let him go!" Delilah flung her hand forward, her panic triggering a burst of clairvoyant energy that momentarily disrupted the shadow.
