The tactical helmet quivered, sprouted two long ears, and transformed into a large gray rabbit—still wearing all the miniature surveillance equipment.
"My official hat of office!" Mayor Grimble shrieked, grabbing for it as the rabbit leaped from his head and bounded across the room.
"??? ????? ??????? ??? ?????????!" Sam exclaimed, jumping to his feet. The rabbit was no ordinary transformation—he could smell the shadow magic clinging to it.
The rabbit darted through a doorway that hadn't existed moments before. Mayor Grimble lunged after it, disappearing into what looked like a 1950s diner. By the time Sam reached the doorway, it had transformed into a disco-era nightclub.
"The doors keep changing!" Delilah called, rushing to another doorway that now showed a medieval great hall.
"Split up!" Sam directed. "Mac, with me!"
He dashed through the nearest portal, finding himself in what appeared to be a 1920s speakeasy. The rabbit's surveillance equipment blinked from beneath a table.
As Sam dove for it, he caught a glimpse of something disturbing—a thin thread of shadow extending from the rabbit, stretching through the doorway and beyond, like a puppet's string.
"It's being controlled," he called to Mac, who had followed him through. "Someone's been watching through that hat!"
The rabbit bounded away again, leading them through a sequence of time-displaced rooms. Sam caught a flash of purple light as Baba Yaga appeared in a doorway ahead, arms crossed.
"Shadow manipulation," she said grimly as the rabbit hopped toward her. "Very old magic. Very dangerous puppet master."
With a decisive gesture, she trapped the rabbit in a bubble of light. As it floated before them, the shadow thread attached to it became visible to everyone—stretching away through dimensions unknown, pulsing with malevolent purpose.
"The Collector sees through many eyes," Baba Yaga murmured. "Even those closest to you."
The bubble containing the transformed hat-rabbit floated eerily before them, its surveillance equipment still blinking feebly. Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the shadowy thread that pulsed with malevolent energy.
"We need answers," he said, his voice rough with tension.
Baba Yaga nodded once. "Follow."
She led them through a door that hadn't been there seconds before. The portal opened into a vast library that defied the physical dimensions of her house—shelves stretched impossibly high, some books floating in midair, others chained to their places with glowing magical restraints.
"My collection," Baba Yaga said, gesturing dismissively as if the centuries of arcane knowledge were nothing special. "Some light reading."
Sam's nose twitched at the scent of ancient parchment, magical ink, and something else—a faint whiff of fear embedded in the pages themselves, as if some of these books had witnessed terrors beyond imagining.
Delilah trailed her fingers reverently along the spines of nearby volumes. "These must contain centuries of magical knowledge."
"Millennia," Baba Yaga corrected, snapping her fingers. Several books flew from different sections, arranging themselves on a massive oak table that appeared to have been grown rather than built. "The Twilight Coven. Ambitious fools."
She flipped open the first book, revealing illustrations of robed figures performing rituals around artifacts they recognized—the orb, the compass, and several others still missing.
"The silver witch who attacked you—she follows old patterns," Baba Yaga explained, her syntax shifting as it often did when discussing serious matters. "Not original thinking. Copying rituals from 1743."
Sam leaned closer, examining the detailed illustrations. "What were they trying to accomplish?"
"Power, obviously," Baba Yaga snorted. "Always about power. But they were tools themselves." She tapped a shadowy figure illustrated in the background of one image. "They thought they were masters, but they were pawns. Someone older, more patient, used them. The same someone watching Assjacket now."
Delilah frowned. "Can you just give us a straight answer for once? Who is behind this?"
Baba Yaga's eyes flashed dangerously. "You think ancient evils come with business cards? Name tags? Is not so simple."
"Try us," Sam growled, his patience wearing thin.
Baba Yaga sighed dramatically and opened another tome. This one showed pairs of magical practitioners standing at points around a massive ritual circle.
"These artifacts were created for the Magical Convergence in 1743," she explained. "A rare celestial alignment that creates magical power surges through ley line networks. Happens every few centuries."
