"??, it was you," Baba Yaga replied. "Magical pairs create resonance. Your kiss broke the pattern of resistance. Very romantic. Very effective. Also very predictable."
Sam felt heat creeping up his neck. "You planned that?"
"I planned nothing. The Universe has its own plans. I just nudge it along."
Before Sam could respond, the front door burst open with a dramatic crash. Mayor Grimble stood framed in the doorway, wearing what appeared to be a tactical helmet adorned with miniature surveillance equipment—tiny cameras, satellite dishes, and what looked suspiciously like a weather vane.
"Emergency municipal intervention!" he announced, striding forward with his clipboard raised like a shield. "I've tracked suspicious magical energy signatures to this location and—good heavens, is that borsch?"
Baba Yaga's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You didn't knock. The house doesn't like uninvited guests."
The chicken legs of the house shifted restlessly beneath them.
"I have official authorization under section 7, paragraph—" Mayor Grimble began, but stopped when a ladle of soup floated toward him.
"Try the soup first, the bureaucracy second," Baba Yaga said, turning back to her pot. She added a pinch of something that sparkled, muttering under her breath, "Puppeteers and collectors think they're so clever. Always same tricks, different century."
Sam's ears perked up at her words, but before he could question her, Mayor Grimble had taken a sip of the floating soup.
"??? ?????? ????, ??????? ? ?????-???? ????????!" he exclaimed, then looked around in confusion at his own words.
Mayor Grimble wiped borsch from his mustache, still looking bewildered by his sudden linguistic abilities. Sam watched as the man's surveillance-equipped hat twitched slightly—all on its own.
"???-?? ?? ??? ? ???? ??????," Sam muttered, the Russian words flowing naturally from his tongue.
Delilah leaned closer. "What did you say?"
"Something's wrong with that hat," he translated, keeping his voice low. His wolf senses detected a faint magical signature emanating from the Mayor's headgear—different from the usual municipal enchantments.
The living room around them shimmered, walls rippling like water. Victorian wallpaper melted into 1960s psychedelic patterns, then morphed into 1980s wood paneling complete with a wall-mounted fish that began singing "Take Me to the River."
"As I was saying," Mayor Grimble announced, pulling out a stack of official-looking forms from a pocket that seemed too small to contain them, "pursuant to Municipal Code 427-B, all magical incidents resulting in property damage, interdimensional breaches, or transformations of town officials must be documented with the proper?—"
Baba Yaga slammed her ladle against the pot. "No paperwork in my house. Bad enough you track bureaucratic energy on my clean floors."
The Mayor's hat cameras swiveled toward her, lenses focusing with tiny mechanical whirs.
"This is official municipal business," Mayor Grimble insisted, his hat now blinking with tiny red lights. "The town charter clearly states?—"
"The town charter was written on a napkin in a bar," Baba Yaga snorted. "I was there. Half of it was drink specials."
Sam caught a flicker of movement atop the Mayor's head. For just a moment, a shadow that didn't belong to the hat seemed to dance across it.
"Mac," Sam whispered, "you see that?"
Mac nodded slightly, his posture shifting to alert.
Mayor Grimble puffed up importantly. "Now see here, Madam Yaga?—"
"It's Baba Yaga to you."
"—I must insist that proper protocols be followed. These incidents are increasing in frequency, and my responsibility as elected official requires thorough documentation of?—"
The hat's tiny satellite dish suddenly rotated a full 360 degrees, emitting a faint ping.
Baba Yaga's eyes narrowed. "In my day, mayors knew better than to bring enchanted headwear to a witch's house. Basic magical etiquette!"
She flicked her fingers, sending a spark of purple light toward the Mayor's head.
