"That we're wasting time," Delilah interrupted, wrapping the shimmering cloak around her shoulders. "Sam needs us now."
The humming grew stronger as she spoke, and the map in her hand pulsed with warm light. For the first time since Sam's abduction, Delilah felt something beyond fear and anger.
Hope.
Delilah tugged at the cable company uniform that Zelda had conjured from a tablecloth. The logo read "Mystical Connections" with a poorly drawn television beneath it. "This is never going to work," she whispered, adjusting the tool belt that kept sliding down her hips.
"Have some faith," Mac replied, straightening his postal service hat. His mailbag bulged suspiciously, occasionally emitting soft growls that sounded nothing like letters. "People always let in the mailman."
They crouched behind a row of meticulously trimmed hedges, studying the witch's mansion. The modernist monstrosity loomed against the night sky—all sharp angles and gleaming surfaces, surrounded by an immaculate lawn that practically screamed "trespassers will be magically dismembered."
"Remember," Zelda whispered, balancing three pizza boxes that occasionally changed toppings with soft popping sounds, "we're just creating a distraction. The cats will do the real infiltration."
Fat Bastard, Boba Fett, and Jango Fett sat nearby, each wearing miniature tactical vests with pouches containing magical disruptors. Fat Bastard was already chewing on his vest straps.
"I still don't understand why we couldn't just use the invisibility cloaks," Delilah muttered.
"Because," Zelda explained with exaggerated patience, "the mansion has thermal detection spells. We need to appear as if we have legitimate reasons to approach. The cloaks only work once we're inside."
Mac checked his watch. "Positions, everyone. Remember the signal."
Delilah took a deep breath and stepped onto the pristine walkway leading to the front door. Her heart hammered against her ribs as magical sensors swept over her, feeling like static electricity against her skin.
A disembodied voice suddenly boomed from somewhere near the ornamental fountain. "Cable technician approaching. Subscription status: unverified. Identity: scanning."
Delilah froze, forcing a smile. "Just your regular cable check-up! We've had reports of interference in this area. Magical frequencies getting crossed with reality TV. Very messy situation. Mrs. Claybomb down the street was watching The Bachelor and suddenly her living room was full of actual roses."
The security system paused. "Processing."
From the east side of the property, Zelda's voice carried clearly. "Pizza delivery for 666 Shadow Lane! Three specialty pies—one Necromancer's Delight with extra souls, one Shifter Supreme, and one plain cheese!"
"Pizza delivery not recognized," the mansion's security system announced. "Initiating pastry defense system."
"How dare you!" Zelda's indignant voice echoed across the lawn. "My sourdough crust is legendary! I'll have you know I studied under the ghost of Wolfgang Puck!"
A series of small turrets emerged from the landscaping, each one shooting what appeared to be stale breadsticks toward Zelda's position.
Meanwhile, Mac approached from the west, whistling casually with his mailbag. "Special delivery requiring signature," he called out. "Magical items monthly subscription box."
"Mail delivery protocol violation," the system announced. "No deliveries scheduled for Tuesday."
"It's Wednesday," Mac corrected.
"Recalibrating temporal awareness," the system responded. The lights across the mansion flickered. "System error. Day of week unverifiable."
Delilah seized the moment of confusion. "Clearly you're experiencing technical difficulties. That's exactly why I'm here!"
The security system seemed to glitch, its voice fluctuating between different tones and accents. "Identtttity verification faaaaailing. Multiple approaches deteeeeected."
The mansion's windows began to display rapidly changing faces—young, old, male, female, human, non-human—as if the security system was cycling through disguises.
"That's not normal," Delilah whispered, backing away slightly.
"Syssstem overrrrride," the mansion announced, voice distorting. "Initiating emergency protocol."
The lawn suddenly rippled like water, and the three cats seized their opportunity, darting forward across the momentarily confused magical barriers. Fat Bastard moved with surprising grace for his size, leading the feline infiltration team toward a basement window.
"It's working!" Delilah hissed. "Keep it distracted!"
