Sam studied the illustration. Each pair consisted of two distinct types of practitioners, standing at specific points around an intricate pattern.
"Look familiar?" Baba Yaga asked.
Mac leaned forward. "It's the same pattern as the theft locations."
"Not just theft locations," Baba Yaga corrected. "Bonding locations. Where magical pairs form."
Sam's gaze met Delilah's across the table. Something electric passed between them.
"Each pair has a sensitive practitioner," Baba Yaga continued, pointing to figures in the illustration, "and power channeler. One sees magic, one directs it. Like your witch friend Ivy and her warlock. Like you two."
"Resonance anchors," Delilah whispered, reading the ancient text. "They're using magical pairs as... conduits?"
"The artifacts create a circuit," Baba Yaga confirmed. "Channeling power from multiple ley lines. Amplified by emotional bonds between pairs."
Sam's mind raced, connecting the pieces. "That's why the map responded to us working together. That's why the Collector wants magical pairs."
"But for what purpose?" Delilah asked.
Baba Yaga's expression darkened. "Nothing good comes from harvesting others' power." She turned the page, revealing a horrifying illustration of empty-eyed magical practitioners, their life force being drained away while a shadowy figure absorbed their power.
"The Collector wears many faces," she said grimly. "But always wants the same thing—power through others' connections. The strongest magic comes from bonds between complementary forces."
Sam felt a chill run through him as he looked at Delilah. They weren't just investigators anymore.
They were targets.
Sam unrolled the map across his dining table, now serving as their impromptu war room. Three coffee mugs formed a triangle on its surface, weighing down the corners that kept trying to roll back up. His cabin, normally his sanctuary from the world, had transformed into their command center—papers covering every surface, magical artifacts carefully catalogued and labeled, and the walls plastered with evidence photos and timelines.
He caught Delilah studying his handcrafted bookshelves with appreciation. Her gaze lingered on his collection of rare magical theory texts, many with his own notes tucked between pages.
"Never took you for a magical theory enthusiast," she said, trailing her fingers along leather-bound spines.
Sam shrugged, oddly self-conscious. "Know your enemy. Know your allies."
"And which am I?" A hint of challenge in her voice.
Before he could answer, Mac burst through the door, a stack of papers clutched in his hands, scattering raindrops across the wooden floor.
"Got the reports from the other packs," he announced, shaking water from his hair in a distinctly canine manner. "It's worse than we thought."
Sam's shoulders tensed. "How much worse?"
"The Silverback Pack in Tennessee lost their moonstone three days ago. Same magical signature, same hooded figure. They're calling her the 'Silver Witch' now." Mac spread photographs across the table, each showing similar crime scenes. "Artifacts stolen from seven different supernatural communities across three states."
Delilah leaned over the photos, her hair brushing Sam's shoulder. He caught her scent—lavender and something uniquely her—and forced himself to focus.
"They're all paired items," she observed. "Just like here."
Sam nodded, arranging the photos in chronological order. "The thefts are accelerating."
Mac pointed to the map. "I've marked each location. The pattern's unmistakable now."
As they placed markers for each theft, Sam felt his blood run cold. The points formed a perfect ritual circle when viewed on the larger scale, with Assjacket positioned precisely at its center.
"It's a channeling circuit," Delilah whispered. "Just like Baba Yaga showed us."
"But larger than we imagined," Sam added. "This isn't just about Assjacket. It's regional."
