Chapter 214: 214 Social Pressures

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214: Social Pressures 214: Social Pressures “And your daughter Emma is one of these…

gifted kids.”

“She’s a Resonant,” Patricia confirmed.

“She can amplify other people’s abilities.

Like—” she searched for an analogy, “—like a supernatural amplifier.

When she focuses on someone with abilities, their power increases.”

Tom absorbed this while basting his ribs.

“That why The Collector wants her?

Because she could make his people more powerful?”

“Partly,” Patricia admitted.

She’d explained The Collector to Tom in terms of “international criminal organization trafficking supernatural beings,” which was accurate if incomplete.

“Emma’s abilities are rare and valuable.

But Tom, I need you to understand—my daughter isn’t a weapon or a tool.

She’s a sixteen-year-old girl who’s scared and trying to do the right thing.”

“Never thought otherwise,” Tom assured her.

“Hell, my nephew came out as gay last year, and my brother-in-law acted like the kid had announced he was joining a circus.

I told him, ‘Your son is still your son, just with a detail you didn’t know about.’ Same principle applies here, right?

Emma’s still Emma, just with supernatural abilities.”

Patricia felt unexpected tears sting her eyes.

“Thank you, Tom.

That means more than you know.”

“Though I gotta admit,” Tom continued, “I’m still processing the werewolf thing.

Julian seems like a nice enough guy, very professional, but then I saw him shift during that false moon incident and—” He stopped, struggling with the memory.

“—it was like watching a horror movie, except I couldn’t leave the theater.”

“It frightened you,” Patricia said.

“Terrified me,” Tom corrected.

“Still does, if I’m honest.

But—” he gestured around at the gathering neighbors, “—so does the idea of running away and letting these people face whatever’s coming alone.

My mama raised me better than that.”

Across the lawn, Lila Chen was setting up what looked like a science fair display, complete with charts, graphs, and several pieces of homemade equipment that beeped intermittently.

Lila was Eldergrove’s resident gadget enthusiast—a software engineer who’d moved to the community two years ago and had apparently decided that learning about supernatural energy was her new hobby.

“So this device,” Lila was explaining to a small crowd of curious residents, “measures ambient supernatural energy signatures.

I built it from modified EMF detectors and some custom sensors I designed based on research into—well, let’s call it ‘unconventional physics.'”

She demonstrated by pointing the device at Mrs.

Pemberton, who was arranging flowers on one of the potluck tables.

The device immediately began beeping rapidly, its display showing colorful graphs.

“See?

Mrs.

Pemberton is projecting a steady supernatural signature—very controlled, very elegant.

That’s consistent with someone who has decades of experience managing magical abilities.” Lila turned the device toward where Bruce and Mishka were setting up chairs.

“And here we have two different but complementary signatures.

The steady, grounded frequency is Bruce’s werewolf nature, while the more fluid, variable pattern is Mishka’s Siren abilities.”

“Lila,” Director Chen said, approaching the display with barely concealed concern, “perhaps we should discuss the security implications of having devices that can detect and measure supernatural signatures?”

“Oh, I’ve thought of that,” Lila replied cheerfully.

“That’s why I’m demonstrating it publicly.

If I can build this from hardware store parts and internet research, then The Collector definitely has better versions.

Better we understand what’s detectable than pretend we’re invisible.”

She pointed her device at the crowd.

“In fact, I’ve been running scans of the entire community for the past week.

Want to know what I found?

About sixty percent of Eldergrove residents have some level of supernatural signature.

Some strong—” she indicated the known supernatural beings, “—some barely detectable.

But the point is, we’re all producing energy that can be measured.

That’s our baseline, our normal.

And once we know normal, we can detect anomalies.”

“Anomalies like infiltrators?” Julian asked, immediately understanding the tactical application.

“Exactly!” Lila pulled up data on her tablet.

“I’ve been logging every signature in the community.

Last Thursday, I detected three signatures that didn’t match any known resident.

They were here for approximately forty minutes, concentrated near the Henderson house and the community center.”

The implications sent a chill through everyone listening.

The Collector’s people had been inside Eldergrove, measuring, observing, planning.

“Why didn’t you report this immediately?” Director Chen demanded.

“I did,” Lila replied.

“I sent the data to Julian’s security team three days ago.

Assumed someone was following up.”

Julian’s expression darkened.

“I never received any report from you.”

“I sent it to the community security email address,” Lila insisted.

“The one listed on the Eldergrove website.

[email protected].”

“That’s not my email,” Julian said.

“My address is [email protected].

The community website email is—” He pulled out his phone, checking, and his face went pale.

“—apparently been redirected to an external server.

Someone’s been intercepting community security communications.”

The potluck atmosphere evaporated instantly, replaced by the cold reality that their security had been compromised at a fundamental level.

If The Collector had access to their security communications, he knew everything they’d been planning.

Mrs.

Callahan—or rather, Dorothy, as she’d been introducing herself since revealing her true identity—moved through the gathering with a tea service that seemed absurdly civilized given the circumstances.

But Patricia noticed that wherever Dorothy poured tea, conversations became more calm, more focused, as if the centuries-old Siren was using subtle harmonics to manage the group’s collective anxiety.

“Lila,” Dorothy said, offering the engineer a cup, “your device is quite clever.

Have you considered what other applications it might have?”

“Like what?” Lila asked, accepting the tea.

“Like detecting when supernatural abilities are being suppressed or disguised,” Dorothy replied.

“The Collector’s infiltrators would need to mask their signatures to avoid detection by people like Mrs.

Pemberton, who can sense supernatural presences.

But masking creates its own signature—a sort of absence where presence should be.”

Lila’s eyes lit up with understanding.

“A negative space!

Of course!

Let me recalibrate—” She began adjusting her device’s settings.

“If I invert the detection parameters, looking for areas where the ambient supernatural energy is unusually low, that might indicate active suppression—”

Her device suddenly began screaming with alerts.

“What’s wrong?” Patricia asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Lila said, staring at her display.

“Everything’s wrong.

According to these readings, there’s a massive suppression field surrounding Eldergrove.

It’s not blocking supernatural abilities—it’s masking them from external detection.

Someone’s been hiding the entire community from supernatural surveillance.”

“That’s Dorothy’s work,” Mrs.

Pemberton confirmed.

“The wards she’s maintained for thirty years include perception filters that make it difficult for outside observers to accurately gauge Eldergrove’s supernatural population.”

“Difficult but not impossible,” Dorothy corrected.

“The Collector has clearly developed counters to my wards.

Otherwise he wouldn’t know about Emma, about the sanctuary network, about any of this.” She looked at Lila thoughtfully.

“Your device might be the key to updating my wards.

If we can measure what’s being suppressed and what’s leaking through, we can strengthen the weak points.”

Tom chose that moment to shout from his grill: “Brisket’s ready!

Come and get it before I eat it all myself!”

The tension broke slightly as people moved toward the food, grateful for something normal and familiar.

But Patricia noticed how they moved—human residents staying slightly apart from the supernatural ones, conversations careful and guarded, everyone hyperaware of the differences that had been invisible just days ago.

This was what integration looked like at the messy, uncomfortable beginning.

Not the polished version The Collector claimed required control, and not the idealistic vision some supernatural advocates imagined.

Just people trying to figure out how to be neighbors while processing revelations that challenged their understanding of reality.

Emma appeared with Riley, both teenagers looking exhausted from another morning of training.

They loaded plates with Tom’s barbecue and found a spot on the grass near the community center.

“This is weird, right?” Emma said to no one in particular.

“Having a potluck while preparing for war?”

“It’s human,” Gillian replied, having joined them with Milla.

“People need normal rituals, especially during abnormal times.

The potluck isn’t about denying the danger—it’s about remembering what we’re protecting.”

Tom approached their group, carrying his own loaded plate.

“Mind if I join you?

Figure if I’m going to be defending this place, I should get to know what I’m defending.”

“Of course,” Emma said, making room.

Tom settled onto the grass with a grunt.

“So, Emma.

Patricia says you’re a Resonant.

What’s that like?”

Emma blinked, surprised by the direct question.

“It’s…

overwhelming?

Like, I can feel other people’s abilities as frequencies, and my power just naturally wants to make them stronger.

I’m learning to control it, but it’s hard.”

“Sounds like puberty,” Tom observed.

“Everything’s overwhelming, your body’s doing things you don’t fully understand, and you’re just trying not to embarrass yourself.”

Despite everything, Emma laughed.

“That’s actually really accurate.”

“So this Collector asshole,” Tom continued, addressing the situation with the straightforward manner that had made him popular at community barbecues, “he wants to capture you because you can amplify other people’s powers?”

“He wants to use me as a weapon,” Emma said quietly.

“Force me to amplify his controlled supernatural beings, turn them into an army.”

Tom chewed his brisket thoughtfully.

“Well, that’s not happening.

You’re a kid, this is your home, and any sonofabitch who tries to weaponize children is going to have problems with me.”

“You’re human,” Riley pointed out gently.

“No supernatural abilities.

How would you fight The Collector’s forces?”

Tom patted his side.

“I’m Texan.

We don’t go anywhere unarmed.

Plus—” he gestured at his massive grill, “—I’m real good with propane tanks and fire.

Not as fancy as magic, but effective.”

Lila joined their group, her device still beeping intermittently.

“Tom’s right about human ingenuity.

The Collector expects supernatural resistance, but I bet he’s underestimating what humans can do with technology and creativity.

We might not have magic, but we have engineering, chemistry, physics—”

“And inside information,” Gillian added.

“I’ve been mapping The Collector’s financial networks.

He’s expecting supernatural communities to fight with supernatural abilities.

He’s not expecting humans to audit his shell companies and freeze his assets.”

Patricia watched the conversation, feeling something shift.

The potluck had started as an attempt to normalize the supernatural for human residents.

But it was becoming something else—humans and supernatural beings finding ways to contribute, collaborate, defend together.

This was integration.

Not perfect, not comfortable, but real.

A commotion near Tom’s grill made everyone turn.

Dr.

Harrison had been helping serve food when his shapeshifter nature had briefly surfaced—just a flicker, barely noticeable, triggered by stress or fatigue.

But it was enough for one of the human residents to drop their plate and back away.

“Stay away from me,” the man said, his voice carrying across the suddenly quiet gathering.

“I don’t care what you are or how ‘controlled’ you claim to be.

You’re dangerous, and I don’t want you near my family.”

The moment crystallized all the tension that had been building.

Dr.

Harrison froze, his medical training warring with his hurt at the rejection.

Patricia stood, ready to mediate, but Dorothy was already moving.

“Mr.

Peterson,” Dorothy said, her ancient authority making the man pause.

“Your fear is understandable.

You’ve just learned that people you thought you knew have abilities you don’t understand.

That’s disorienting.

But let me tell you what I know about Dr.

Harrison.”

She gestured to the shapeshifter.

“He’s been a neurosurgeon for twenty-three years.

He’s saved countless lives.

Three years ago, he performed emergency surgery on your daughter when she was in that car accident.

Do you remember?”

Peterson nodded reluctantly.

“He worked sixteen hours straight to save her life,” Dorothy continued.

“His shapeshifter abilities actually helped—enhanced perception, steady hands, stamina beyond human limits.

Your daughter is alive because Dr.

Harrison is exactly what he is.

So you can choose to be afraid of him, Mr.

Peterson.

But you should know that your fear is directed at the person who refused to let your child die.”

The silence stretched.

Then Peterson’s wife stepped forward.

“Harrison saved Sarah’s life,” Mrs.

Peterson said quietly.

“I don’t care if he turns into a wolf or a bear or a kangaroo.

He’s a good doctor and a good man, and I’m not going to let fear make me forget that.”

She moved to stand beside Dr.

Harrison, a deliberate statement of support.

Others began to follow—human residents who’d been helped by Mrs.

Pemberton’s garden magic, who’d been protected by Julian’s security expertise, who’d been enriched by the community’s diversity even when they hadn’t known the full truth.

Not everyone joined them.

Peterson and several others remained apart, their fear and suspicion unchanged.

But enough people crossed the divide that the potluck transformed from a gathering trying to pretend everything was normal into a community consciously choosing unity despite fear.

“This is what The Collector is afraid of,” Bruce said quietly to Mishka, watching the scene unfold.

“Not our individual abilities.

Our choice to stand together.”

But even as the moment of unity crystallized, Lila’s device began shrieking with unprecedented intensity.

She grabbed it, checking the readings, and her face went white.

“We have a problem,” Lila announced.

“My device is detecting a massive supernatural signature approaching Eldergrove.

Multiple signatures, actually.

At least twenty distinct sources, all converging on our location from different directions.”

Julian’s security team immediately went on high alert, weapons ready, transformations beginning.

But Dorothy held up a hand.

“Wait,” she said, her ancient senses detecting something in the approaching signatures.

“Those aren’t hostile.

Those are—” She paused, hope and fear mixing in her expression.

“Those are the other communities.

They’re coming to help.”