"Four pairs?" Mac frowned. "She's been busy."
"The Collector's building something," Zelda said grimly, pointing to another historical account. "During The Arcadian Incident, four magical pairs were abducted, followed by a ritual that nearly tore the veil between worlds. Baba Yaga stopped it then, but..."
"But now she's turned Sam into a puppy instead of helping," Delilah finished, frustration evident in her voice. "So it's up to us."
The map suddenly folded itself into an origami wolf that stood on the table, howling silently before unfolding again to reveal a countdown clock: 11:43:27 and decreasing.
"I believe," Mac said quietly, "we're on a deadline."
Delilah checked her watch for the third time in five minutes. "We need to go. Now."
"We need a plan first," Mac countered, gathering equipment with military precision.
The cottage door burst open, admitting a gust of cold night air and Ivy, her arms full of potted plants. "Defensive botanicals," she explained, setting them on the table. "They respond to hostile magic by releasing spores that cause temporary blindness and unfortunate rashes in sensitive areas."
"Remind me never to water your garden," Delilah muttered.
They emerged from the cottage into the midnight chill, the moon hanging low and swollen above the trees. Delilah clutched her bag of hastily assembled magical tools, her heart pounding with each passing second. Sam's absence felt like a physical wound.
"We'll take my Jeep," Mac said. "It's warded against?—"
"Actually," came a voice from the shadows, "we have transportation arranged."
Mayor Grimble stepped into the moonlight, his silhouette topped with what appeared to be a hat shaped like a military command center, complete with tiny flashing lights and miniature satellite dishes.
Delilah froze. "Mayor Grimble? What are you doing here?"
"Executing my duties as emergency response coordinator, of course!" He straightened his ridiculous hat. "Town bylaw 347-B clearly states that any rescue mission involving a municipal employee—which Investigator Wolfe technically is through our consultant program—falls under official oversight."
Behind him, the town square had transformed. Dozens of Assjacket citizens milled about, checking equipment and speaking in hushed tones. Tables had been set up with maps, communications gear, and what appeared to be an extensive snack station managed by Fabio.
"What is happening?" Delilah whispered to Zelda.
"Community," Zelda replied simply. "Assjacket protects its own."
Mayor Grimble clapped his hands. "As field commander, I've prepared tactical headgear for everyone." He unveiled a box containing hats with ridiculous 'stealth' accessories—night-vision monocles, silenced whistles, and what appeared to be retractable periscopes.
"These are..." Delilah struggled for diplomacy.
"Completely useless," Zelda finished, not bothering with tact.
"I'll have you know these incorporate the latest in municipal stealth technology!" The Mayor demonstrated by pulling a cord that made his hat emit a soft whirring noise while the tiny satellite dishes rotated. "The periscope extends a full twelve inches!"
Mac pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mayor, with all due respect?—"
"Inappropriate headgear for moonlight operations," came Elder Thornberry's reedy voice as he materialized from between two parked cars. "Moths don't wear hats when they dance with the moon, and neither should you!"
The old man carried a bundle of shimmering fabric that seemed to capture and reflect the moonlight in impossible ways. As he unfurled one, Delilah gasped—it appeared to bend light around it, rendering whatever it covered nearly invisible.
"Elder, where did you get these?" Delilah reached out to touch one, finding it surprisingly warm and light.
"Borrowed them from the moths who weave moonlight," he replied matter-of-factly. "They only ask that you return them before the next full moon. They have a dance recital." He distributed the cloaks with surprising efficiency.
Delilah noticed something strange—throughout the square, townspeople were humming. The same haunting melody Elder Thornberry often hummed, though none seemed aware they were doing it. The combined voices created an eerie harmony that made the air tingle with magical potential.
"The Collector's lullaby," Elder whispered to her, suddenly serious. "They sing it unknowingly, but it strengthens our protections. Music has power, little sparrow. Remember that when darkness falls."
Mayor Grimble cleared his throat. "While these cloaks are not officially sanctioned municipal equipment, I'll allow their use under section 5, paragraph 3 of the Emergency Powers Act." He adjusted his command center hat. "Now, our intelligence suggests?—"
