Delilah flipped her notepad over. "Stop reading my notes upside down."
"Stop writing in purple glitter pen that reflects in the crystal paperweight."
Margaret cleared her throat. "So you'll take the case?"
"Yes," they answered in perfect unison.
After finalizing details and accepting their standard retainer fee (which Sam had calculated to the penny while Delilah offered a "psychic discount"), Margaret headed for the door, clutching Sam's meticulously typed receipt.
"Oh," she paused, "I almost forgot. The collector said something odd last night. He said he's 'building a symphony of souls' and Assjacket has the perfect 'resonance.'"
After she left, Delilah's map materialized on the counter, folding itself into an elegant business card before expanding to show Moonstone Lane. Little commentary bubbles appeared around the B&B: "Dream collection in progress!" and "Magical signature matches theater residue!"
"The Collector's Symphony," Delilah whispered. "It wasn't just a play title."
Sam stared at the map. "He's still here. And he's not working through the witch anymore."
Jinxie leaped onto the counter, batting at the map until it showed a tiny musical note floating above the Mayor's office.
"Well," Delilah said, grabbing her coat, "at least we're not bored on our first day of business."
The mid-morning sun beat down on Assjacket's main street, warming Sam's shoulders as they walked toward Moonstone Lane. He sipped his black coffee—properly brewed, not the flavored abomination Delilah clutched in her hands.
"That's not coffee," he said, eyeing her cup with suspicion. "It's dessert masquerading as a beverage."
"Says the man who puts protein powder in his morning eggs." Delilah's purple off-shoulder dress caught the sunlight as she sidestepped a crack in the sidewalk. "Some of us enjoy flavor with our caffeine."
Sam's wolf senses caught the scent of Mayor Grimble before he appeared around the corner. Today's hat featured a miniature dream catcher with actual feathers that swayed as he walked. For a moment—just the briefest flash—Sam thought he saw the Mayor's shadow flicker into something larger, more ominous.
"Investigators!" Mayor Grimble called out. "Excellent timing! I was just drafting the official municipal dream documentation forms. Section 3, paragraph 2 of the emergency magical ordinances clearly states?—"
"That we're authorized to handle this without paperwork," Sam interrupted smoothly. "Your emergency powers resolution from last month, remember?"
The Mayor's face fell. "Oh. Right. Carry on then." He wandered off, muttering about wasted photocopying.
Sam turned back to Delilah, who was studying him with an amused expression. "What?"
"Nothing." She took a sip of her caramel monstrosity. "So, about our approach to the B&B?—"
"I think we should interview each guest separately," Sam said. "Get baseline readings on their emotional states before?—"
"We should gather them together," Delilah countered. "The shared dream energy will amplify any psychic impressions and?—"
"That's inefficient. Individual interviews prevent cross-contamination of memories and?—"
"But collective dreamscape experiences create resonance patterns that?—"
"We'll have an argument in 3...2...1..." Delilah smirked, counting down on her fingers.
Right on cue, Sam found himself saying, "That's not procedure, Delilah. We need to establish a controlled environment for?—"
"Procedure is boring," she interrupted. "We need to feel the emotional undercurrents. Dreams are fluid, not fixed data points."
Sam stopped walking. "How do you always know when?—"
"Psychic, remember?" She tapped her temple. "Also, you're incredibly predictable."
"I am not predictable," he grumbled, resuming their pace. "I'm methodical."
