Chapter 15
Sam's patience thinned with each dramatic shadow Vic cast across his office wall.
The vampire PI had positioned his desk lamp at the perfect angle to project his silhouette like some budget film noir detective.
The effect might have been impressive if Sam couldn't smell the three-day-old blood smoothie congealing in a cup behind the desk.
His zombie secretary shambled past, somehow managing to balance a coffee mug that read "Blood Type: Caffeine" without spilling a drop.
"As you can see," Vic gestured around his office with vampiric flair, "I've created an ambiance that inspires confidence in my detective abilities." He adjusted his perfectly styled hair, which caught the light with a subtle sparkle—his custom sunscreen giving him that signature vampire glow.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Your secretary is decomposing on the filing cabinet."
"Meredith is in a transitional state of being. She's very sensitive about it."
Meredith groaned what might have been agreement while a finger fell off and landed in her typewriter.
"Let me get this straight," Sam said, arms crossed tightly to prevent himself from throttling their potential ally. "You want to charge us for information about your client, who is likely working with the witch who's trying to destroy the town?"
Vic reclined in his leather chair, feet propped on his desk. "Business is business, Wolfe. Even apocalypses have overhead costs.
Behind them, Vic's zombie secretary shuffled papers with glacial slowness, occasionally mumbling "Taking a message" despite the phone never ringing.
Delilah stepped forward. "We're not asking you to betray client confidentiality. We just need to know if you noticed anything unusual about them."
"Unusual?" Vic's perfectly manicured eyebrow arched. "Besides hiring me to track magical artifacts while specifically excluding—" he made air quotes, "'no dogs or fortune cookies on this case'?"
Mac suppressed a laugh as Sam's jaw tightened.
"My services aren't cheap." Vic steepled his fingers, his fangs glinting." "I require one of Fabio's blood-flavored macarons, two tickets to Sharknado 2: The Musical Revival's opening night, and Sam has to publicly admit vampires are cooler than werewolves."
Sam's growl vibrated through the floorboards. "Not happening."
"The macarons I can provide," Delilah offered.
"And I can get tickets," Mac added.
"But Sam will never—" Delilah began.
A tremendous crash interrupted as the window shattered inward. Glass fragments sparkled in the air as a familiar figure swung into the room on what appeared to be a bakery rolling pin attached to climbing rope.
"Never fear, darlings! Fabio has arrived!"
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where did you even zipline from? We're on the fifth floor."
"A dramatic entrance requires planning, not logistics," Fabio declared, brushing glass from his impeccably tailored shirt. Somehow, despite swinging through a window, not a hair on his head was out of place. "I've been eavesdropping the entire time."
"Of course you have," Sam muttered.
"And I accept these terms!" Fabio flourished a pink bakery box. "I brought blood-orange macarons, infused with just a hint of O-negative. They're all the rage with the vampire book club."
Vic's eyes widened with undisguised hunger. "The premium stuff?"
"Only the best for my supernatural clientele," Fabio winked.
Sam stepped forward. "Before we agree to anything, especially me saying ridiculous things about vampires—"
"True things," Vic corrected.
"—we need to know what you know," Sam finished through gritted teeth.
Vic sighed dramatically, swiveling his chair to face the wall before turning back. "My client was... off. Like someone wearing a badly fitting suit, or a mask that keeps slipping."
Delilah and Sam exchanged glances.
"What do you mean?" Delilah pressed.
"Sometimes they'd speak with different accents mid-sentence. Their eyes would... shift color. And they kept referring to themselves in third person, then correcting it." Vic leaned forward. "Once, they forgot what they looked like. Asked me if their hair had always been that color."
"The Collector," Sam whispered.
"Wearing faces like masks," Delilah added, recalling her vision.
Fabio dramatically gasped, spilling flour from his pockets. "The plot thickens like my award-winning sourdough!"
Vic's zombie secretary suddenly spoke with unexpected clarity. "The Collector called again. Said the symphony begins at midnight."
Everyone turned to stare at her.
"What?" she blinked slowly. "I take very good messages. Eventually."
* * *
The forest closed around them like a fist. Moonlight spilled through gaps in the canopy, creating dappled patterns that shifted with every breeze. Sam's senses heightened as they approached the Cursed Hollow, his nostrils flaring at the scent of decay mixed with something sharper—magic gone sour.
"Perimeter check," Mac whispered into a communication crystal that pulsed with soft blue light.
Sam kept his eyes forward, scanning for movement while his ears tracked the soft footfalls of shifters moving through the underbrush.
Delilah walked beside him, her usual confident stride now measured and careful.
The memory of her in his arms after the gingerbread mansion battle flashed unbidden through his mind, making his pulse quicken.
"Focus," he muttered to himself.
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Delilah whispered, her shoulder brushing his. "Or so my third eye tells me."
"Your third eye needs glasses."
A shifter materialized from the shadows, nodding respectfully to Mac.
"North quadrant secure. Southwest showing magical fluctuations.
" His gaze shifted behind them, where a bobbing light approached through the trees.
"And someone tell the Mayor his camouflage hat with actual working headlights is defeating the purpose. "
Sam turned to see Mayor Grimble stumbling through the underbrush. The man's hat—a monstrous creation of leaves, twigs, and what appeared to be actual functioning headlamps—illuminated their position like a lighthouse.
"Municipal stealth protocols require proper illumination for official oversight personnel!" Mayor Grimble announced in what he clearly thought was a whisper but carried like a bullhorn through the quiet forest.
"Does he think 'stealth' means 'announce your presence to every magical creature within five miles'?" Sam growled.
Mac sighed. "I'll handle it."
Before Mac could move, Zelda stepped forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "That's it. I've had enough." She flicked her fingers, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "shrink that ridiculous monstrosity before I feed it to Fat Bastard."
The Mayor's hat immediately contracted to normal size, the headlamps fizzling out with a sad little pop. Darkness enveloped them once more.
"My official mayoral illumination!" Mayor Grimble gasped, reaching up to touch his now-ordinary hat. "This is a violation of municipal code 7.3, paragraph—"
His indignation was cut short as he walked straight into a pine tree.
"Ouch! Who put that there?" He stumbled backward, directly into another tree. "Assault! Tree assault!"
Sam caught Delilah's eye, and despite the tension of the moment, they shared a brief smile.
"The forest is changing," Zelda whispered, suddenly serious. "Look."
Sam followed her gaze. The trees around them had begun to arrange themselves in perfect pairs—two oaks growing side by side with identical bends in their trunks, twin pines with branches that mirrored each other precisely, dual willows with matching patterns in their bark.
"Like the artifacts," Delilah murmured. "Always in pairs."
"The Collector's influence is spreading," Mac confirmed, his expression grim. "The ritual must be nearing completion."
As they pressed deeper into the forest, branches reached down like grasping fingers. One scraped across Sam's shoulder, leaving a thin line of blood. He caught it in his fist, snapping it with a quick twist.
"The forest is trying to stop us," he said quietly.
"Or slow us down," Delilah added, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Which means we're heading in exactly the right direction."
Mayor Grimble stumbled into yet another tree, letting out a muffled curse. "As your duly elected official, I demand these trees respect municipal right-of-way regulations!"
Sam exchanged glances with Mac. "We need to move faster. The Hollow is just beyond that ridge."
In the distance, a silver light pulsed, growing stronger with each beat—like a heart awakening after centuries of slumber.
* * *
The ridge offered a perfect vantage point over the hollow below. Sam crouched behind a fallen log, his enhanced vision cutting through the darkness. What he saw made his blood run cold.
The silver witch stood at the center of a perfect circle of stolen artifacts, each pulsing with sickly purple light. The objects—ranging from ancient amulets to modern magical tools—had been arranged in precise pairs, creating a pattern that matched the one they'd been tracking for weeks.
"Everyone in position," Sam whispered into his communication crystal. "Mac, take the northern approach with your team. Zelda, set up the containment wards to the east. Delilah—"
"Right beside you," she answered, settling next to him behind the log. Her shoulder pressed against his, warm and reassuring. "As planned."
Vic materialized from the shadows, moving with the unnatural silence of the undead. His perfectly tailored suit somehow remained immaculate despite their trek through the forest—until he took one step too far and sank ankle-deep into mud.
"Madre di Dio!" he hissed, lifting his foot with a wet sucking sound. He stared at his ruined Italian leather shoe with an expression of pure horror. "These were custom-made in Milan by a cobbler who's been dead for fifty years!"
"Keep your voice down," Sam growled.