Chapter 206: 206 The Gala Proposal

Settings

Font Size

A

A

16px

Font Family

Background Color

206: The Gala Proposal 206: The Gala Proposal The community center had transformed into a war room within minutes of The Collector’s message.

Maps covered every wall, laptops displayed security feeds, and supernatural beings from a dozen different communities huddled in strategic clusters, their previous social divisions temporarily forgotten in the face of shared threat.

But underneath the organized chaos, Mishka could feel the current of fear—not just of The Collector’s weapon, but of the deeper realization that they’d been compromised from multiple angles.

“We need to shut everything down,” one of the visiting werewolf pack leaders was saying, his voice rough with barely contained transformation.

“Communications, digital planning, everything.

If The Collector’s monitoring us—”

“Then he already knows we’re discussing shutting down,” Duncan interrupted, his investigator’s mind cutting through panic with cold logic.

“We’re past the point of operational security.

He wants us to know he’s watching.

It’s psychological warfare—make us paranoid, second-guess every decision, tear ourselves apart from within.”

Mishka stood at the center of it all, feeling the weight of Sarah’s terrified face on those screens.

Her colleague—her friend—captured because The Collector had studied Mishka’s life with predatory thoroughness.

Every coffee break conversation, every technical discussion, every casual mention of weekend plans.

All of it had been intelligence gathering for this moment.

“We can’t trade you for her,” Director Chen said quietly, having pulled Mishka aside while the others argued strategy.

“I know she’s your friend, but one Siren for one human isn’t the calculation we can afford right now.”

“I know,” Mishka replied, though the words tasted like ash.

“If I surrender, he gets the one thing he’s missing—a Siren powerful enough to control other Sirens.

Sarah becomes leverage to complete his weapon.

But—”

“But she’s also bait for a trap you can’t afford to spring,” Director Chen finished.

“Mishka, The Collector is playing multiple games simultaneously.

Sarah’s capture serves several purposes: hostage to pressure you, distraction from his real moves, and confirmation that his VoltCore infiltration was successful.

We need to think three moves ahead.”

Through the community center’s windows, Mishka could see Eldergrove’s residents trying to maintain normalcy while clearly terrified.

Mrs.

Pemberton tending her roses with hands that trembled slightly.

Children playing under the watchful eyes of shapeshifter parents ready to transform at the first sign of danger.

Tom firing up his grill for what might be Eldergrove’s last normal evening barbecue, the smoke signals deliberately designed to look casual while actually communicating guard positions to supernatural senses.

Emma Henderson appeared at Mishka’s elbow, the teenage Resonant’s eyes red from crying but her jaw set with determination that reminded Mishka uncomfortably of herself.

“I’ve been thinking about the problem,” Emma said without preamble.

“The Collector has us reacting to everything he does.

We need to make him react to us instead.”

“What are you suggesting?” Mishka asked, grateful for any strategic thinking that didn’t involve surrendering herself or abandoning Sarah.

“A gala,” Emma said, and before Mishka could dismiss the idea as absurdly inappropriate, she continued: “Hear me out.

The Collector’s planning a demonstration, right?

He’s invited buyers, media, probably government observers.

He’s staging a show of force.

What if we stage our own show first?”

Riley joined them, the young shapeshifter having recovered enough from their ordeal to participate in planning.

“A counter-demonstration?

But we already discussed that—”

“No, not just a counter-demonstration,” Emma interrupted, her Resonant abilities making her words carry subtle harmonics of excitement that drew others’ attention.

“A full supernatural gala.

Public.

Announced.

Broadcast live to every platform that will carry it.

We show the world what voluntary supernatural cooperation looks like before The Collector can show them his controlled version.”

The arguing in the war room gradually quieted as people turned to listen.

Mrs.

Callahan, still shaken from the burglary but refusing to retreat to safety, moved closer with interest clear on her theatrical features.

“A gala,” Mrs.

Callahan repeated slowly, and Mishka could see her mental wheels turning.

“Clara used to talk about something like this—the ultimate integration event.

Supernatural beings and humans together, celebrating abilities rather than hiding them.

It would be dangerous, visible, potentially catastrophic if it failed…”

“Or game-changing if it succeeded,” Bruce said, having followed the conversation with his designer’s eye for dramatic statement.

“The Collector’s entire pitch to his buyers is that supernatural beings are threats requiring control.

If we demonstrate cooperation, creativity, celebration—we undermine his whole business model.”

“It’s insane,” Director Chen said, but her tone carried more consideration than dismissal.

“You’re talking about deliberately making yourselves more visible, more vulnerable, less than twenty-four hours before a confirmed attack.”

“We’re already vulnerable,” Mishka pointed out, her mind racing through possibilities.

“He has Sarah.

He has Clara’s journal.

He’s monitoring our communications.

We’ve lost the element of surprise and operational security.

What we haven’t lost is narrative control.

Yet.”

Duncan was already pulling up his laptop, his investigator’s instincts recognizing a con when he saw one.

“You want to run a long con on The Collector.

Make him think we’re desperate, emotional, making grand theatrical gestures while actually preparing something else.”

“What else would we be preparing?” one of the visiting witches asked skeptically.

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Mishka replied.

“But Emma’s right about one thing—we’ve been reacting to his moves since this started.

Time to make him react to ours.”

Thomas Henderson entered the room, still in his investment banker suit but with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up in a way that suggested he’d fully committed to his new role in supernatural resistance.

“If you’re seriously considering a public event, I can help with logistics.

My firm has contacts with every major venue in Toronto.

But Mishka, the security implications—”

“Would be enormous,” Julian agreed, having been coordinating with his security team.

“We’d need to protect both the attendees and control who gets access.

But if we’re broadcasting live, location becomes less critical.

We could stage it here, in Eldergrove, on our home ground with our defenses in place.”

“A gala in a gated community?” Milla was already filming, her social media instincts recognizing a story.

“That’s actually brilliant.

We control access, we control the environment, and we show that supernatural beings have built a functioning, beautiful community worth protecting rather than controlling.”

“It would need to be spectacular,” Mrs.

Callahan said, her theatrical background asserting itself.

“Not just powerful demonstrations of abilities, but art.

Music.

Beauty.

We need to make people fall in love with what we’re protecting.”

Mishka felt her Siren voice rising with unconscious harmonics as the plan took shape in her mind.

“A showcase of supernatural arts.

Musicians who can play instruments while transformed.

Sculptors working with magically enhanced materials.

Fashion designs that literally shift and change—Bruce, could you—”

“Already designing in my head,” Bruce confirmed, his eyes bright with creative possibility.

“Clothing that responds to the wearer’s supernatural nature.

Fabrics that shimmer with contained transformation.

It would be the most ambitious collection I’ve ever attempted, but if we’re making a statement…”

“We make it undeniable,” Mishka finished.

Naomi, the escaped Siren, had been quiet throughout the discussion, but now she spoke with the authority of someone who’d survived The Collector’s captivity.

“If we’re performing publicly, we become targets.

The Collector will see this as an opportunity to capture multiple supernatural beings at once.

You’re essentially offering him a buffet.”

“Unless we make the buffet poisonous,” Duncan said, his con-artist smile emerging.

“We announce the gala, make it look like desperate bravado from a community that knows it’s cornered.

Leak information—controlled information—about who will be attending, what abilities will be demonstrated.

Make it irresistible bait.”

“And then?” Director Chen asked.

“And then we give him exactly what he expects—on the surface,” Mishka said, understanding dawning.

“But underneath, we’re running our actual operation.

The gala becomes cover for a rescue mission to his facility.

While he’s focused on the showy public event, trying to decide whether to attack or simply monitor, we hit his actual base of operations.”

The room fell silent as the audacity of the plan sank in.

“You want to use a supernatural arts gala as a diversion,” one of the werewolf pack leaders said slowly.

“Stage a massive public event that draws The Collector’s attention while simultaneously mounting a rescue operation for the captured Sirens, Marcus, and—” he paused, meeting Mishka’s eyes, “—your colleague Sarah.”

“It’s the last thing he’d expect,” Gillian said from her position by the communications station.

“Because it’s completely insane.

Which is probably why it might work.”

Mrs.

Pemberton had been consulting quietly with the other witches, and now she spoke up.

“If we’re staging a major magical event, we’ll need wards.

Serious wards.

The kind that take time and power to construct.

Clara’s old protective networks would need to be reinforced and expanded.”

“How long?” Director Chen asked.

“For something of this scale?

Normally, several weeks.

With Emma amplifying our working and every witch in the community contributing?

We might manage it in eighteen hours.”

Eighteen hours to plan, prepare, and execute a con that would either save them all or hand The Collector everything he wanted on a silver platter.

“We’d need to coordinate the timing perfectly,” Julian said, already sketching out security protocols.

“The gala starts at sunset Friday—early enough that we’re seen taking action before The Collector’s planned demonstration, late enough that we have the cover of approaching darkness for the rescue mission.”

“Who goes on the rescue?” Riley asked quietly.

“Because I’m going.

I know the facility’s layout, and I can get us past some of the supernatural defenses.”

“Small team,” Director Chen decided.

“Mix of abilities—shapeshifters for speed and strength, witches for magical counters, and at least one Siren who can disrupt The Collector’s control device if they’ve already activated it for testing.”

Everyone looked at Mishka, and she felt the weight of inevitable decision.

“I need to be at the gala,” she said.

“I’m the most powerful Siren here, and the public demonstration needs to be convincing.

But Naomi—”

“I’m going on the rescue,” Naomi confirmed.

“I know what they did to us.

I know the device’s weaknesses.

And I owe those other Sirens the chance I got.”

“Then we have our basic structure,” Mishka said, feeling the plan crystallizing.

“Public gala here at Eldergrove—maximum visibility, maximum supernatural cooperation.

We announce it immediately, make it impossible for The Collector to ignore.

He’ll have to choose: attack the gala and prove supernatural beings are dangerous, or ignore it and watch us control the narrative.”

“Either way, he’s reacting to us instead of the other way around,” Emma said with satisfaction.

“And while he’s making that decision,” Duncan added, “our rescue team hits his facility.

Best case scenario, we extract the prisoners and destroy the device before Friday’s demonstration becomes possible.

Worst case—”

“We still have the gala as backup,” Bruce finished.

“With a Siren choir and Emma’s amplification ready to counter any attack he launches.”

Director Chen looked around the room at the assembled supernatural beings—exhausted, frightened, but also energized by having a concrete plan.

“This is still incredibly dangerous.

The Collector has been planning for decades.

We’re improvising in hours.”

“Improvisation is jazz,” Mrs.

Callahan said with a smile that would have made Clara proud.

“And supernatural beings are excellent at jazz.

We’ve been improvising survival for centuries.”

“Then let’s get started,” Mishka decided.

“Milla, I need you to create the most spectacular event announcement the supernatural internet has ever seen.

Make it look like desperate defiance mixed with artistic pride.

I want The Collector to see it and think we’ve lost our minds.”

“On it,” Milla said, already typing furiously on her tablet.

“Bruce, you need to design showcase pieces fast.

Nothing functional, everything theatrical.

We’re selling a fantasy of supernatural beauty.”

“I’ll have preliminary sketches in an hour,” Bruce promised.

“Mrs.

Pemberton, coordinate the wards with every witch in the community.

Emma, you’ll need to pace yourself—we need you amplifying the protection spells today and ready for the gala tomorrow.”

“I can do it,” Emma said with more confidence than Mishka felt, but the teenager’s determination was unshakeable.

“Duncan, Thomas—I need you tracking every piece of intelligence we’ve leaked and every piece The Collector might have acquired.

Build me a profile of what he thinks we’re planning.”

“And the rescue team?” Riley asked.

Director Chen stepped forward, her Covenant authority asserting itself.

“I’ll coordinate that directly.

Riley, you’ll brief our team on the facility layout.

Naomi, work with our specialists on targeting The Collector’s control device.

We go in tomorrow night, thirty minutes after the gala starts.

Everyone’s attention will be on the public event.”

As the room dissolved into focused activity—people moving to assigned tasks with the urgency of those who knew time was their enemy—Mishka found herself standing with Mrs.

Callahan, looking at the organized chaos they’d created.

“Clara would be terrified and proud in equal measure,” Mrs.

Callahan said softly.

“A supernatural gala staged as both celebration and distraction while mounting a rescue operation against a two-hundred-year-old conspiracy.

It’s exactly the kind of theatrical audacity she always advocated.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Mishka asked, voicing the fear she couldn’t share with the others.

“What if we’re just giving The Collector more targets, more opportunities?”

“Then we fail spectacularly, darling,” Mrs.

Callahan replied.

“But we fail while celebrating what we’re fighting for.

That’s not nothing.”

Through the windows, Mishka could see the sun beginning to set over Eldergrove, painting the community in shades of gold and amber.

Tomorrow night, that same sunset would mark the beginning of either their salvation or their destruction.

Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Despite knowing it was probably another threat from The Collector, she opened it.

But it wasn’t from The Collector.

‘The gala is smart.

But he’s smarter.

He’ll use your colleague as bait within bait.

Watch for the double cross during the rescue.

Trust no one who arrived today.

—A Friend’

The same mysterious entity that had left the frost warning was still helping them.

But who?

And why?

Before Mishka could process this new information, Milla called out: “The announcement is live!

And Mishka—it’s already viral.

Ten thousand views in the first minute.

Twenty thousand.

Fifty thousand.”

On Milla’s tablet, the event announcement blazed with supernatural beauty: “The Eldergrove Gala: A Celebration of Integration.

Tomorrow night, sunset.

Live broadcast.

Come witness the future of supernatural-human cooperation.”

And underneath, in smaller text that made Mishka’s stomach clench: “Featuring the Siren voices of Eldergrove and a Resonant demonstration unlike anything ever attempted.

All proceeds benefit supernatural integration initiatives worldwide.”

They’d painted a target on themselves that was visible from space.

And The Collector would definitely be watching.

Somewhere in his facility, watching the announcement go viral, The Collector was probably smiling.

Because now he knew exactly where Mishka and Emma would be tomorrow night.

He knew they’d divided their forces between public celebration and covert rescue.

He knew their plans because they’d been forced to make them public.

But what he didn’t know—what Mishka was desperately hoping he didn’t know—was the one piece of information they’d kept completely secret.

The piece that could either save them all or doom them forever.

And as night fell over Eldergrove, that secret waited in Mrs.

Callahan’s cottage, hidden where even magical theft couldn’t find it: Clara’s real journal, the one that documented not just The Collector’s past, but the one weakness his family had carried through generations.

The journal they’d let him steal had been a decoy.

Now they just had to hope that discovering the deception wouldn’t make him even more dangerous.