Chapter 203: 203 Expecting The Collector

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203: Expecting The Collector 203: Expecting The Collector The wolf’s eyes filled with very human tears, confirming Emma’s reading.

Duncan’s expression had gone from shocked to coldly furious—the look of an investigator who’d just found the missing piece that made a horrible case make sense.

“The missing persons reports,” he said, pulling up files on his phone.

“Over the past three years, forty-seven teenagers with no family connections disappeared from cities across North America.

No bodies, no leads, cases went cold.

I thought they were runaways or trafficking victims, but—”

“They were supernatural teenagers,” Bruce finished, his voice rough with barely contained rage.

“The Collector has been systematically kidnapping shapeshifters, witches, and other supernatural youth before their communities could protect them.”

Mrs.

Pemberton’s hands trembled as she continued her spell work.

“Forty-seven children.

Dear gods.

And we had no idea.

The Covenant had no idea.

“Because he was careful,” Mishka said, pieces falling into place.

“He took ones without strong family ties, from different communities, spread out over time and distance so no one would see the pattern.

Until now.

Until he got ambitious and started planning to take an entire community at once.”

The young wolf made another desperate sound, and Mishka leaned closer, interpreting.

Her face went pale.

“What?” Bruce demanded.

“What are they saying?”

“Friday isn’t just about taking Eldergrove,” Mishka translated, her voice hollow with horror.

“It’s a demonstration.

The Collector plans to use Jean’s weapon to control everyone here, then broadcast it live to supernatural communities worldwide.

He wants to prove that he can capture and control any supernatural being, anywhere, at any time.

He’s going to auction us off to the highest bidders—foreign governments, crime syndicates, anyone willing to pay for supernatural soldiers and slaves.”

The room fell silent except for the soft humming of Mrs.

Pemberton’s containment spell.

Thomas Henderson chose that moment to arrive home, bursting through the front door with the urgency of a father who’d received a cryptic text about “situation at home, everyone safe but complicated.” He stopped in the doorway of the guest room, taking in the scene: his daughter maintaining a complex magical dampening field, a wounded werewolf on his guest bed, his wife calmly accepting the presence of what appeared to be Toronto’s supernatural resistance movement in their home.

“I think,” he said carefully, “I need someone to explain what I’ve missed.”

“How do you feel about helping to take down a international supernatural trafficking ring?” Duncan asked.

“Because your house just became command center for a rescue operation, and we need an investment banker’s expertise in following money trails.”

Thomas looked at his wife.

Patricia gave him a tired smile.

“Our daughter is a powerful witch called a Resonant.

Werewolves and magic are real.

There’s a villain called The Collector who wants to enslave the supernatural community.

And apparently, we’re now part of the resistance.

Welcome home, dear.”

To everyone’s surprise, Thomas Henderson simply loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and said: “Alright.

Someone get me those financial records.

If The Collector has been operating for decades, he’s got infrastructure, supply chains, and money flows.

And money flows leave trails.”

Gillian grinned and pulled up files on her tablet.

“I like him.

He can stay.”

Director Chen’s arrival two hours later brought a team of Covenant specialists who immediately went to work on the collar and treating the young shapeshifter’s injuries.

The Henderson living room had been transformed into an impromptu war room, with Duncan’s investigation files, Thomas’s financial analyses, and Director Chen’s intelligence reports covering every available surface.

The young wolf—who managed to communicate through a combination of gestures and Mishka’s translation that their name was Riley and they identified as non-binary—finally had the collar carefully removed.

The transformation to human form was immediate and clearly painful after so long trapped in wolf shape.

Riley turned out to be seventeen years old, with the kind of haunted eyes that spoke of trauma no teenager should have experienced.

Emma immediately claimed them as a friend, sensing in Riley another young person whose life had been violently disrupted by supernatural awakening.

“The Collector’s facility is in the old industrial district,” Riley said, their voice hoarse from disuse and trauma.

“Underground.

Disguised as a warehouse renovation project.

There are at least thirty prisoners there, including six Sirens, twelve shapeshifters, and several witches and warlocks.

Security is heavy—both technological and magical.

And Jean Rousseau is there right now, finishing the weapon.”

“We need to hit them before Friday,” Director Chen said, studying tactical maps.

“A simultaneous rescue operation while they’re focused on preparing for the Eldergrove attack.”

“That’s exactly what they’ll expect,” Bruce countered.

“The Collector isn’t stupid.

He’ll have planned for a rescue attempt.”

“Then we need to be smarter than his planning,” Mishka said, an idea forming.

“Riley, when you escaped, did anyone try to stop you?”

Riley thought for a moment, then shook their head.

“Actually, no.

It was almost too easy.

A guard left my cell unlocked, the security system was down for maintenance, and I found a service exit with no one watching it.

I thought I was lucky, but—”

“But The Collector let you escape,” Duncan finished grimly.

“You’re bait.

He knows where you are because of those tracking runes.

He’s waiting for us to either bring you back to his facility during a rescue attempt, or to gather more targets here at Eldergrove.”

Mrs.

Pemberton examined Riley with new concern.

“Those runes—they’re still active.

Even with the collar removed, they’re transmitting.

We need to remove them immediately, but the scarification is deep.

It will require invasive magical surgery.”

Riley’s face set with determination despite their obvious fear.

“Do it.

I won’t be their bait anymore.

And I want to help rescue the others.”

As Mrs.

Pemberton began preparing the complex ritual that would remove the tracking runes, Patricia Henderson approached Mishka quietly.

“Is this what our life is now?

Surgical rooms in guest bedrooms and tactical planning in living rooms?

Because I need to know if I should be terrified or empowered.”

“Both,” Mishka replied honestly.

“Both is completely valid.

But you’re handling it remarkably well.”

“My daughter is powerful and vulnerable and caught in the middle of a war I didn’t know existed until three days ago,” Patricia said.

“I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.

But Mishka—can you protect her?

When this Friday comes, when The Collector makes his move, can you keep Emma safe?”

Mishka met the mother’s desperate eyes and wanted to promise absolute safety.

But she’d learned that supernatural life didn’t allow for guarantees.

“I will do everything in my power to protect her and every other person in this community.

But Patricia, Emma’s not just someone to protect—she’s someone who can protect others.

Her abilities might be the key to stopping The Collector’s weapon.”

Patricia’s hands trembled.

“She’s sixteen.”

“I know,” Mishka said gently.

“And I wish she could just be a teenager worried about math homework.

But her power is too important to ignore, and hiding her away would just make her a better target.

The safest place for Emma is training with us, learning to use her abilities, becoming too dangerous for The Collector to easily capture.”

“That’s not comforting,” Patricia said.

“No,” Mishka agreed.

“But it’s the truth.”

As evening settled over Eldergrove, the emergency community meeting filled the center with every resident who could safely attend.

Director Chen presented everything they’d learned, Riley’s testimony about The Collector’s facility, and the brutal timeline they faced.

“We have forty-eight hours,” Director Chen concluded.

“Forty-eight hours to plan a rescue operation, fortify Eldergrove’s defenses, and somehow find a way to counter a weapon specifically designed to control all of us.

I won’t lie to you—the odds are not in our favor.”

“Then we change the odds,” came a voice from the back of the room.

Everyone turned to see Naomi, the escaped Siren, standing with the other two refugees who’d arrived that morning.

“The Collector thinks he knows Sirens because he’s been studying us, experimenting on us, trying to weaponize our abilities.

But he doesn’t understand what we’re really capable of, because he’s never seen Sirens working together voluntarily.”

Mishka felt her heart skip.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting we build our own weapon,” Naomi replied, her voice carrying harmonics that made every Siren in the room sit up with attention.

“A Siren choir.

Not controlled or coerced, but freely chosen.

With Emma’s Resonant abilities amplifying our combined voices, we could create a counter-frequency that would disrupt The Collector’s device.”

“That’s theoretically possible,” Sasha said slowly, “but incredibly dangerous.

A Siren choir at that power level, amplified by a Resonant—the harmonics could damage everyone’s minds, not just the target.”

“Then we’ll need precision,” Mishka said, her mind already racing through possibilities.

“Careful coordination.

And practice.

How many Sirens do we have available?”

They counted quickly: Mishka, Naomi, three others in Eldergrove, and two more from nearby communities who could arrive by tomorrow.

Seven Sirens, one Resonant amplifier, and forty-eight hours to learn to sing in perfect harmony.

“This is insane,” Bruce said, though his tone carried more pride than concern.

“You’re planning to fight a supernatural weapon with supernatural music.”

“Sometimes the best defense is overwhelming offense,” Duncan observed, having adapted to the supernatural world with remarkable speed.

“And if you can disrupt their weapon while we hit the facility, we might actually pull this off.”

Director Chen looked around the room at the assembled supernatural beings—werewolves and witches, humans and shapeshifters, all united by necessity and growing friendship.

“Then we have our strategy.

Riley’s tracking runes will lead The Collector to believe they’re still transmitting, but Mrs.

Pemberton will alter them to send false location data.

We make The Collector think Riley’s heading back to their facility.

While his forces are deployed to recapture them, we hit the real facility with our rescue team and disable the weapon.”

“And if The Collector still attacks Eldergrove on Friday?” someone asked.

“Then he walks into a community full of supernatural beings who are ready for him,” Mishka said, her Siren voice carrying harmonics of absolute determination.

“And a Siren choir that will shatter his weapon before he can use it.”

The meeting concluded with assignments distributed—security teams, tactical planning, evacuation protocols for the most vulnerable residents.

Mishka found herself standing with Bruce on the community center’s porch, watching neighbors return to their homes with the careful composure of people preparing for war.

“We’re really doing this,” Bruce said quietly.

“Taking on a enemy who’s been kidnapping and experimenting on supernatural beings for decades.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Mishka replied.

“If we don’t stop him now, he’ll keep taking people.

Keep building weapons.

Until there’s nowhere safe left.”

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Her blood went cold as she read it:

*I’m impressed with your resourcefulness, Mishka Morrison.

The Siren choir is a clever idea.

But you should know—I’ve been collecting supernatural beings for forty years.

I’ve studied every ability, every weakness, every potential threat.

And I’ve already accounted for your strategy.

See you Friday.

You’ll make an excellent addition to my collection.

—The Collector*

She showed Bruce the message, her hand trembling slightly.

“He knows,” Bruce said grimly.

“He knows everything we’re planning.”

“Then we need to plan something he can’t anticipate,” Mishka replied, though fear made her voice tight.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the last light fade from the sky.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—this time, one of Eldergrove’s own, signaling that the perimeter was secure.

For now.

But as Mishka looked at her phone’s screen, watching the message from The Collector fade, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all pieces on a board controlled by someone who’d been playing this game far longer than any of them.

And Friday was coming whether they were ready or not.