Chapter 5
Sam gripped the steering wheel of his Jeep so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The ancient map from Baba Yaga sat between them, occasionally pulsing with a faint golden light as if it were breathing.
His precious vehicle—the one place in Assjacket that remained untouched by anyone else's influence—was being systematically violated by five feet and seven inches of determined clairvoyant.
Delilah reached for the rearview mirror, tilting it slightly.
"What are you doing?" The words came out rougher than intended, his wolf rumbling beneath the surface.
"Adjusting the mirror so I can see." Delilah didn't even look at him, just continued her methodical takeover of his territory.
"It was perfectly adjusted."
"For you, maybe. I'm not interested in staring at the back of your headrest for the entire drive."
Sam inhaled deeply, immediately regretting it as his senses filled with her scent—something floral with hints of cinnamon and old books. It was... distracting.
"Fine. Just leave the rest alone."
Delilah nodded, then promptly reached for the seat adjustment lever.
"Are you kidding me?"
"My legs are cramping." She pulled the lever, sliding the passenger seat back with a metallic screech that made Sam wince. "There. Much better."
The map between them glowed brighter, as if amused by their bickering.
Sam started the engine, the familiar rumble usually soothing his nerves. Not today. Not with her rearranging his carefully calibrated environment.
Delilah's hand drifted toward the radio.
"Don't even think about it."
Her fingers hovered over the preset buttons. "What station is this? It sounds like wolves being strangled with bagpipes."
"That's Howl at the Moon's greatest hits from 1987! Touch my preset stations again and I'll make you walk."
She pressed the button anyway.
The station changed to a peppy pop song about summer love and broken hearts. Sam's eye twitched.
"Much better," Delilah said, settling back in her seat. "That other stuff was giving me a headache."
"You're giving me a headache," he muttered, pulling onto the main road.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The map between them shimmered, edges curling slightly upward.
"Is it supposed to do that?" Sam asked, glancing down.
"How should I know? I'm not an ancient cartography expert."
Sam rolled down his window, trying to clear his head of her overwhelming scent. "Could you maybe... tone down the perfume next time? Wolf nose. It's like being trapped in a botanical garden explosion."
Delilah turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Perfume? I don't wear perfume."
"Then what's that smell? The cinnamon and flowers and—"
"That's just me. My natural scent."
The map suddenly rose between them, hovering in the air. A tiny storm cloud formed above it, no bigger than a softball, dark and swirling with miniature lightning.
"What the—" Sam began.
The cloud burst, raining glitter all over them both. Sparkles landed in Sam's hair, on his dashboard, in his coffee cup.
"Are you kidding me?" he sputtered, brushing glitter from his shoulders.
The radio suddenly changed stations on its own, playing a haunting melody—the same tune Elder Thornberry had been humming in the forest. It played for precisely ten seconds before dissolving into static.
"Did you hear that?" Delilah asked, suddenly alert. "That's the melody I've been hearing everywhere."
Sam nodded, glitter falling from his hair. "Elder Thornberry was humming it too."
They looked at the map, now innocently lying between them again, covered in glitter.
"I think," Delilah said slowly, "the map is trying to tell us something."
"Yeah. Stop arguing or suffer the consequences."
"No." She pointed to a new marking appearing on the parchment. "It's giving us our next destination."
* * *
The map's new marking pointed toward Whisperwind Lane, a rural road that cut through farmland on the outskirts of Assjacket. Sam brushed more glitter from his shoulders, scowling as it settled into the Jeep's upholstery.
"This will never come out," he muttered, flicking a particularly stubborn sparkle from his forearm. "Do you know what glitter is to a werewolf? It's like supernatural dandruff that follows you for life."
Delilah suppressed a smile. "I think it's an improvement. Adds some personality to your whole..." she gestured vaguely at his entire being, "brooding wolf detective aesthetic."
The map wiggled between them, seemingly pleased with itself.
"Don't encourage it," Sam growled.
They turned onto a narrow road bordered by a vast field of emotion-sensing flowers—a local attraction that tourists loved and locals avoided. The blossoms, normally a peaceful blue, shifted to a mottled purple and red as the Jeep passed.
"Those flowers are picking up some serious tension," Delilah observed.
Sam kept his eyes fixed on the road. "They're just flowers."
"Empathic flowers. And right now they're practically screaming 'unresolved sexual tension mixed with stubborn denial.'"
Sam nearly swerved off the road. "They are not—"
Red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror. A police cruiser appeared behind them, siren whooping once to signal them to pull over.
"Perfect," Sam muttered, easing onto the shoulder. "Just what we need."
The map instantly dove under Delilah's seat.
"Coward," she whispered to it.
Sheriff Moonwater approached, her tall frame casting a long shadow through the driver's window. Her uniform badge caught the sunlight, momentarily blinding Sam.
"License and registration, Wolfe." Her tone was professional but her eyes narrowed at the glitter coating his shoulders. "And an explanation for why you're leaving a trail of sparkles all over my county roads."
Sam handed over his documents. "It's not what it looks like, Sheriff."
"Really? Because it looks like you're transporting illegal fairy dust. We've had three cases this month alone."
"It's just regular glitter," Delilah offered helpfully from the passenger seat. "From a... map tantrum."
Sheriff Moonwater's eyebrow arched so high it nearly reached her hat. "A map tantrum."
"We're on official town business," Sam explained, trying to sound authoritative despite the pink glitter now visibly stuck in his stubble. "Mayor Grimble's special investigation."
The Sheriff leaned down, peering into the vehicle. "Then where's your—"
The map shot out from under the seat, hovering between them. It folded itself rapidly, corners tucking and edges folding until it formed a perfect replica of an official Assjacket badge. The words "EXTREMELY IMPORTANT MAGICAL BUSINESS" appeared in golden letters across its surface.
Sheriff Moonwater stepped back. "I'm going to need you both to step out of the vehicle and explain why there's a semi-sentient map making faces at me through your windshield."
Sure enough, the badge-shaped map had developed a crude face and was now winking at the Sheriff.
"It's new," Sam said weakly.
The map suddenly unfurled itself, expanded to twice its normal size, and displayed a flashing red arrow pointing down the road with the words "URGENT MAGICAL EMERGENCY" pulsing beneath it.
Sheriff Moonwater's hand moved to her radio. "I should call this in—"
"No time!" Delilah cried dramatically. "Lives at stake! Magic in peril!"
Sam seized the opportunity, throwing the Jeep into gear. "We'll explain later, Sheriff!"
They pulled away, the map settling smugly between them once more.
As they accelerated down the road, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. The Sheriff stood watching them, hands on her hips. Behind her, the emotion-sensing flowers had arranged themselves in perfect pairs, each duo leaning toward each other like partners in a dance.
"Did you see that?" he asked.
"The flowers? Yes." Delilah's voice had lost its teasing tone. "They're matching the pattern from the library. Pairs. Everything is happening in pairs."
* * *
Sam pulled the Jeep into the gravel lot of the Moonshine Diner, a squat building with windows that shifted from frosted to clear depending on the privacy needs of its patrons. The neon sign featured a winking moon pouring coffee into a floating cup.
"We need to regroup," he said, cutting the engine. "And I need coffee."
The map, which had been sulking after its performance for the Sheriff, perked up and pointed eagerly at the diner entrance.
"At least someone's enthusiastic," Delilah muttered, gathering her bag.
Inside, the diner hummed with mid-morning activity. Floating serving trays navigated between tables while the jukebox played tunes that matched the collective mood of the customers. Currently, it was something jazzy with an undertone of anxiety.
A waitress with gravity-defying hair approached. "Booth or counter?"
"Booth," Sam and Delilah said simultaneously, then glanced at each other with mutual suspicion.
They slid into opposite sides of a booth near the back. The vinyl seats adjusted their temperature to match their comfort levels—Sam's cooled while Delilah's warmed.
"Welcome to Moonshine," the waitress said, snapping her fingers to summon a floating tray of water glasses. "Today's special is mood-matching pancakes with emotion-sensitive syrup. I'm Doris, and yes, my hair has been this way since the incident with the levitation potion in '87."
Sam ordered coffee and pancakes. Delilah requested tea and a fruit plate.
"The pancakes here are amazing," Sam said after Doris floated away. "They adjust to what you're craving."
"Is that a professional recommendation, Detective Wolf? Do you bring all your investigation partners here?"
Before Sam could retort, Mac slid into the booth beside Delilah, his broad shoulders taking up more than his fair share of space.
"Good, you two haven't killed each other yet." Mac grinned, his sapphire blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's progress."
"Mac," Sam acknowledged, relief evident in his voice. "Tell me you have something."