Mac's phone buzzed. He checked it, his expression darkening. "Zelda says the ley line readings are spiking across the grid. Whatever's happening is gaining momentum."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. "We're still missing something. Why these specific artifacts? Why these locations?"
A loud crash from his coat closet made them all jump. The door burst open, and Elder Thornberry tumbled out, tangled in what appeared to be Sam's winter coats and—inexplicably—a beach umbrella.
"Closet needs organizing," Elder announced, extracting himself from the pile. "Also, portal calibration slightly off. Aimed for kitchen."
Sam growled. "How did you even?—"
"No time for reasonable questions!" Elder Thornberry interrupted, producing ancient scrolls from his voluminous sleeves. "Pattern of destiny waits for no wolf!"
He swept Sam's carefully arranged evidence aside, unfurling yellowed parchment across the table. The scrolls depicted constellations, ley line configurations, and ritual diagrams that matched the theft pattern with uncanny precision.
"The Collector's Symphony requires precise timing," Thornberry explained, suddenly lucid. "Each artifact represents a note. Each pair, an instrument. Together they create harmony that breaks barriers between worlds."
"What barriers?" Delilah asked.
Elder Thornberry's eyes gleamed with unusual clarity. "Between life and death. Between power and vessel." He tapped the center of the map—Assjacket. "The final performance approaches. The Conductor prepares."
"The Silver Witch isn't working alone," Sam realized. "She's just the instrument."
"Every puppet has its master," Elder nodded sagely, then ruined the moment by producing a sandwich from his pocket and taking an enormous bite. "Also, your refrigerator needs cleaning. Suspicious blue container. Possibly sentient now."
Mac looked at Sam. "We need to warn the Council. This goes beyond Assjacket."
Sam's gaze met Delilah's across the table. "We need to set a trap."
Sam crouched on the floor of his cabin, surrounded by the chaos of Elder Thornberry's scrolls. What had started as strategic planning had devolved into archaeological excavation. The ancient parchments—now spread across every inch of available space—looked less like mystical prophecies and more like someone's abandoned shopping lists.
"Fourteen cans of creamed corn," Sam read aloud, squinting at the faded handwriting. "Three jars of marshmallow fluff. Toilet paper—the quilted kind." He looked up at Elder Thornberry with barely contained frustration. "These are grocery lists from 1973."
Elder Thornberry, now wearing Sam's fishing hat backward, wagged a finger. "Ah! But not just any groceries. Magical groceries!"
Mac snorted from his position by the window, where he'd been keeping watch. "Is that why there's 'pickled beets' on every list?"
"Sustenance for the third eye!" Elder declared, spinning in place.
Delilah, cross-legged on the floor, held up another scroll. "This one's just doodles of dancing hamburgers."
"Prophecies come in many forms," Elder insisted, snatching the scroll and holding it upside down. "See? Not hamburgers. Ritual circles viewed from above!"
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache. The lingering effects of his puppy transformation had left his senses even more heightened than usual. The cabin smelled of too many people, too much magic, and oddly, butterscotch.
"We're wasting time," he growled. "The Silver Witch could be completing her ritual while we're analyzing your grocery preferences from the Nixon administration."
Elder Thornberry's expression suddenly shifted, a flash of clarity breaking through his usual chaos. He dove toward a particular scroll, yanking it from beneath Mac's boot.
"Here!" He jabbed a finger at an item on the list. "Pickled moonlight essence. Always get the brand with the silver lid, not the gold. One preserves memories, the other preserves membranes. The difference is crucial when baking time cookies! Collector's favorite tea - NOT FOR DRINKING!"
Delilah and Sam exchanged skeptical glances.
"Elder, we appreciate—" Delilah began diplomatically.
"Wait." Sam interrupted, something clicking in his mind. He grabbed the scroll, studying the item. "Moonlight essence. The Silverback Pack's stolen moonstone."
Delilah leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his. "And 'silver lid' could refer to the Silver Witch."
"Not just containing the magic," Sam continued, excitement building, "but preserving it. Like?—"
