Sam unfolded the map, which now glowed with the same purple light as the artifacts below. "Zelda, are the wards ready?"
Through the crystal came Zelda's voice: "Almost. These magical fluctuations are making precision difficult. It's like trying to knit during an earthquake."
Mac's team of shifters moved like shadows around the perimeter, placing enchanted markers at strategic points. Each marker contained a counterspell designed to disrupt the witch's ritual—if they could activate them simultaneously.
"The timing has to be perfect," Sam said, checking his watch. "We'll have a three-second window when the resonance pattern peaks."
Vic sighed dramatically. "Marvelous. I could be at home watching my recorded soap operas, but instead I'm timing magical explosions with a werewolf and a fortune teller."
The tension in the air thickened as the witch began chanting, her voice carrying unnaturally through the clearing. Behind her, for just a moment, Sam caught a glimpse of a larger shadow—one that didn't match her form.
"There it is again," Delilah whispered. "The puppet master."
A twig snapped directly behind them. Sam whirled, claws extending instinctively—only to find Elder Thornberry standing there, holding a plate of oddly glowing sandwiches cut into triangles.
"Victory sandwiches!" he announced cheerfully, as if they were at a picnic rather than the edge of magical catastrophe. "Can't fight ancient evil on an empty stomach! The mustard is my own recipe—pickled moonbeams and thyme!"
"Thornberry," Sam hissed, "this isn't exactly?—"
"Shh!" Elder Thornberry pressed a finger to his lips. "The sandwiches are listening." He began humming his familiar melody, the sound weaving through the air like golden thread.
Strangely, as the tune continued, the magical markers around the perimeter brightened, their protective energy strengthening. The map in Sam's hands steadied, its glow turning from purple to a clear, steady blue.
"Keep humming," Delilah whispered, her eyes wide with realization. "Your melody—it's counteracting the ritual's frequency."
Elder Thornberry winked, continuing to hum while offering sandwiches with exaggerated gestures.
"Well," Vic said, accepting a triangle with two fingers, "at least dinner is served before we die horribly."
Sam crouched lower as the Silver Witch raised her arms toward the moonlight. The magical circle beneath her feet ignited with sickly purple flames that cast no heat but sent shivers down his spine. His wolf instincts screamed danger, every hair on his body standing on end.
"The artifacts are moving," he whispered, watching as each stolen item rose from its position.
Delilah pressed against his side, her breath catching. "Just like my vision."
The witch—Morgana Blackthorn, they now knew—stood at the circle's center, her silver hair flowing upward as if underwater. The stolen items hovered around her, pulsing with energy before arranging themselves in a complex three-dimensional pattern. Beams of light connected each artifact to its pair, creating a web of magical energy that hummed with increasing intensity.
"Once the Twilight Convergence is complete," Morgana called out, her voice carrying unnaturally through the clearing, "the powers of old will bow to me, Morgana Blackthorn! The fear of generations will fuel my ascension!"
Sam exchanged a glance with Delilah. "Villain monologuing. Always helpful."
"She doesn't know we're here," Delilah whispered. "Her focus is completely on the ritual."
Elder Thornberry continued humming his melody, which seemed to create a bubble of protection around them. The shadow creatures patrolling the perimeter moved past their position without noticing them, their eyeless forms sliding through the underbrush.
"The timing has to be perfect," Sam murmured into his communication crystal. "Mac, is your team ready?"
"In position," came the reply. "Just say when."
Sam signaled to Zelda's position across the clearing. She nodded, her hands already weaving the counterspell they'd prepared.
Behind Morgana, something shifted in the darkness—a presence larger and more ominous than the witch herself. It moved like smoke, occasionally solidifying into a vaguely humanoid shape before dissolving again. When it drifted closer to Morgana, her movements became jerky, as if she were a marionette.
"There," Delilah whispered. "The Collector. It's controlling her."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "She doesn't even realize it."
The pattern of hovering artifacts began to spin, gathering speed as Morgana's chanting intensified. The beams connecting them brightened, forming a cage of light around her.
