Chapter 9
I clutched the orb against my chest as we entered Zelda's cottage, the scarf doing little to dampen its pulsing energy.
Dawn light filtered through bundles of hanging herbs, casting dappled shadows across the cluttered main room.
The cottage smelled of cinnamon and something vaguely electrical—like ozone after a lightning strike.
"Zelda?" I called, stepping carefully around a stack of ancient books that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.
"In the workroom!" Her voice carried from the back of the cottage. "Bring whatever's making my wards vibrate before they shatter completely!"
Sam moved ahead of me, his shoulders tense. "How did she know we brought something?"
"The same way she knows everything," I muttered. "Terrifying witch intuition."
We found Zelda bent over a massive tome, her auburn curls wild around her face. She looked up, eyes immediately fixing on my scarf-wrapped bundle.
"Well, don't just stand there looking like you brought home a dead bird. Let's see it."
I unwrapped the orb and placed it on her examination table. The swirling mist inside glowed faintly purple, then crimson, then settled into an uneasy amber.
"Fascinating," Zelda murmured, leaning closer. "It's responding to the magical signatures in the room."
A gray blur leapt onto the table, followed by two more colorful streaks. Fat Bastard, Boba Fett, and Jango Fett circled the orb, tails twitching with suspicion.
"We's not liking this thing," Boba Fett announced, his white and gray fur standing on end. "It smells like bad magic."
"Bad magic and fish," Jango added, his calico pattern rippling as he arched his back.
Before Zelda could respond, Fat Bastard planted his considerable bulk directly atop the orb, covering it completely.
"Mine's now," he declared.
"Get your furry ass off the ancient artifact, you oversized dustmop!" Zelda snapped, hands on hips. "This is a priceless magical relic, not a warming stone for your gluteus maximus!"
Fat Bastard blinked slowly, the perfect picture of feline defiance. "Is warm. Is mine's."
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh despite the seriousness of the situation. Sam looked less amused, his jaw tightening.
"The orb's connected to the thefts," he explained. "We found it beneath the theater in a hidden chamber."
Zelda nodded, still glaring at her familiar. "I suspected as much. The energy signature is unusual—it's not just storing power, it's... resonating."
Boba Fett darted forward, batting at Fat Bastard's tail until the larger cat hissed and shifted—just enough for Boba to swipe at the orb's swirling contents through the crystal.
"Boba!" Zelda scolded.
The orb pulsed brightly in response to the cat's touch, sending a wave of magic across the room that knocked over several bottles on a nearby shelf.
The cottage door burst open as Mac strode in, bringing the scent of forest and morning dew. His imposing frame filled the doorway, but his expression softened when he saw Zelda.
"There's something you all need to see," he said, nodding to Sam and me. "Magical energy spikes all over town—started about an hour ago. The pattern matches..." He trailed off, staring at the orb. "That. Exactly that signature."
Jango Fett chose that moment to leap onto another shelf, sending a small blue potion bottle crashing to the floor. The liquid splashed against the table leg and immediately began to steam.
The orb pulsed violently, its amber glow shifting to brilliant gold.
"It recognized the potion," Zelda whispered, her eyes widening. "That's... that's the same mixture I made when Ivy and Rafe first came to me. A resonance enhancer."
"Resonance?" I asked, remembering the strange connection I'd felt with Sam in the theater.
"Magical pairs," Zelda explained, her gaze flicking between Sam and me. "The energy pattern is identical to what I recorded when Ivy and Rafe's magic first harmonized. But stronger." She frowned. "Much stronger."
"The Collector seeks pairs," Fat Bastard announced ominously, finally sliding off the orb. "Always two's by two's."
* * *
My fingers tingled as I watched the orb pulse with golden light. Something about its rhythm felt familiar, like a half-remembered melody.
"What exactly is magical resonance?" I asked, trying to ignore the way Sam shifted closer to me, his presence warm and solid at my side.
Zelda opened her mouth to answer when the cottage door swung open again. Ivy Cross swept in, her dark hair flowing around her shoulders, carrying a basket covered with a cloth that emitted faint blue sparks. Behind her, Rafe followed with an ancient leather-bound book tucked under his arm.
"We came as soon as the plants started screaming," Ivy announced, setting her basket on a table far from the orb. "And before you ask—yes, plants can scream. Just not in a frequency humans can hear."
"Except for Ivy," Rafe added with a fond smile. "My wife, the plant whisperer."
Ivy rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "The entire greenhouse went haywire about an hour ago. Every paired species started growing toward each other, breaking their pots."
"Like they were being pulled together by an invisible force," Rafe finished, his eyes landing on the orb. "Well, well. That explains it."
The orb's golden light shifted to deep emerald as Ivy approached, then flared crimson when Rafe stepped closer.
"It's responding to your magical signatures," Zelda explained, guiding us toward her library nook where ancient texts were stacked in precarious towers. "Different reactions for different magical types."
Fat Bastard yawned dramatically from his new perch atop a bookshelf. "Orb knows who's is who's."
"This isn't just any orb," Rafe said, carefully opening his book on Zelda's reading table. "Based on the description in my family grimoire, I believe you've found the Eye of Cassandra."
Sam leaned forward, brow furrowed. "The what now?"
"An artifact created to reveal true futures rather than mere possibilities," Rafe explained, turning pages until he found an illustration that matched our orb perfectly.
"My ancestor's journals mention it specifically.
The Twilight Coven modified it to harvest fear energy from those experiencing its visions. "
The name struck a chord. "The Twilight Coven—we saw their sigil in the chamber beneath the theater."
Ivy began unpacking her basket, revealing an assortment of charms on leather cords. "These should provide some protection against magical influence. The resonance pattern affecting my plants is similar to what happened when Rafe and I first connected, but much more intense."
"Like someone's amplifying the effect deliberately," Rafe added, his fingers tracing the illustration in his book.
I slipped one of Ivy's amulets over my head, feeling a gentle warmth spread through my chest. "Why would someone want to amplify magical resonance between pairs?"
"Power," Rafe said grimly. "According to my family records, my ancestor helped stop someone called 'The Collector' from completing a ritual centuries ago. These artifacts are connected to that ritual."
"The Collector," Sam repeated, his voice dropping to a growl. "Elder Thornberry mentioned that name. Hell, everyone's been mentioning that name."
Rafe nodded. "The historical accounts describe someone who harvested magical energy from paired practitioners—witches, shifters, psychics—anyone with complementary abilities. The ritual required specific artifacts, including the Eye of Cassandra."
"But what was the ritual for?" I asked, a chill running down my spine despite the amulet's warmth.
"That's the troubling part," Rafe said, turning another page in his grimoire. "The ritual was never completed, so no one knows its ultimate purpose. But my ancestor's final warning was clear: 'The Collector always returns, wearing a different face but seeking the same power.'"
The orb pulsed once, violently, as if in response to Rafe's words.
* * *
"Well, we're all probably doomed, but at least we have a name for our enemy," Zelda announced, marching into the room with a large crystal decanter floating behind her. "And in my book, that calls for a celebration!"
With a dramatic flourish of her hands, Zelda's dining room transformed.
Candles sprouted from nothing, their flames shifting through rainbow colors.
The worn wooden table expanded, edges rippling like water until it comfortably seated everyone.
Mismatched chairs scuttled across the floor, arranging themselves around the table.
"Is a celebration wise when we're dealing with an ancient evil collector?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.
"Absolutely essential," Zelda countered, tapping the decanter with her fingernail.
It chimed like a bell before pouring itself into an assortment of glasses that materialized before each of us.
"Magical mead, brewed during the last blue moon.
It shows your happiest memory as you drink—excellent for morale and, more importantly, excellent for my entertainment. "
I picked up my glass cautiously. The amber liquid inside shimmered with tiny sparks. "Any side effects we should know about?"
"Only the good kind," Zelda promised with a wink that wasn't entirely reassuring.
Fat Bastard leapt onto the table, tail swishing dangerously close to Sam's glass. "Memory juice makes big bubbles."
"Get your furry ass off my ritual-grade tablecloth," Zelda scolded, though she slipped the cat a treat when she thought no one was looking.
Mac raised his glass. "To finding our first real lead!"
"And to surviving theatrical props with murderous tendencies," I added.
"To the Eye of Cassandra," Rafe contributed.
"May it show us what we need to see and not what The Collector wants us to see," Ivy finished.