Mac began an elaborate explanation about postal regulations while Zelda loudly criticized the mansion's architectural choices. Delilah continued backing toward the hedge line, ready to don her invisibility cloak once the cats disabled the thermal sensors.
The security system's voice stabilized briefly, but in a tone completely different from before—deeper, older somehow. "Interesting approach. The Collector appreciates creativity."
A chill ran down Delilah's spine. That wasn't the security system speaking anymore.
"The Collector appreciates creativity." The words hung in the air like frost.
Delilah felt her skin prickle with goosebumps. The security system's voice had changed—becoming something ancient and hungry. Before she could process this, the mansion's pristine white walls began to ripple and transform.
"What the hell?" she whispered, backing away as the modern architecture melted like wax under a flame.
The sleek lines softened, walls bulging outward. The stark white exterior darkened to a rich brown, textured surface appearing with geometric patterns. The scent of cinnamon, ginger, and molasses filled the air.
"Is that... gingerbread?" Mac asked, his mailbag forgotten at his feet.
The mansion was transforming before their eyes into an elaborate gingerbread house—complete with candy cane columns, gumdrop trim, and frosting windows. The lawn morphed into fields of cotton candy, and the once-threatening security turrets became chocolate fountains.
"This is not part of the plan," Zelda hissed, dropping her pizza boxes as the walkway beneath her feet turned to peppermint tiles.
Delilah touched the nearest wall cautiously. It was warm and smelled delicious. "It's real gingerbread. The whole mansion is transforming into food."
"Marvelous architectural innovation!" a familiar voice declared from behind a marzipan shrub. Elder Thornberry emerged, wearing what appeared to be a chef's hat over his usual disheveled attire. "Edible infrastructure! The wave of the future! Also quite delicious."
He promptly broke off a piece of windowsill and stuffed it in his mouth.
"Elder! What are you doing here?" Delilah whispered urgently. "And stop eating the evidence!"
"Evidence? No, no, my dear. Strategic demolition!" He took another enormous bite from the wall. "When life gives you gingerbread walls, check for load-bearing candy canes first! Structural integrity is key to proper magical demolition by digestion!"
Mac grabbed Elder's arm as he reached for a gumdrop doorknob. "This isn't helping us find Sam."
"Isn't it though?" Elder raised his eyebrows meaningfully, crumbs cascading from his beard. "The house is in flux. Magic rewriting itself. Perfect time for rescue operations when the witch's spells are reconfiguring!"
Delilah's eyes widened with understanding. "The security system is distracted with the transformation."
"Precisely!" Elder beamed, breaking off another piece of gingerbread. "I'm simply accelerating the process of architectural instability. From the inside out!"
The mansion continued its bizarre metamorphosis around them. Doors melted into pools of chocolate before reforming as gingerbread archways. Staircases twisted into spiral candy canes.
"The cats!" Zelda suddenly remembered. "They'll be disoriented by the changes."
As if summoned by her concern, Fat Bastard appeared at a second-story window, batting at a string of licorice that had once been security wiring. He meowed triumphantly.
"He's disabled something," Mac observed. "Let's move."
They slipped inside through a doorway dripping with icing. The interior was in even greater chaos—rooms melting into one another, hallways extending and contracting like taffy being pulled.
"Look," Delilah whispered, pointing to a display case that had transformed into a gingerbread cabinet with clear sugar-glass doors. Inside were paired magical artifacts—crystal balls that orbited each other, twin daggers with connecting energy streams, matching amulets that pulsed in synchronized rhythm.
"They're all arranged in the same pattern," she realized, recognizing the design they'd been tracking across town. "It's like a miniature version of the larger magical working."
"The Collector's Symphony in sugar and spice," Elder mumbled through a mouthful of gingerbread. "Always pairs. Always connections. The melody requires harmony to reach its crescendo."
A distant howl echoed from somewhere deep in the transforming mansion—a sound Delilah would recognize anywhere, despite its higher pitch.
"Sam," she breathed. "He's here. And he's still a puppy."
Elder Thornberry nodded sagely, breaking off another piece of wall. "Better hurry. Even gingerbread has an expiration date. And so might your furry friend if we dawdle."
