Chapter 218: 218 The Stranger

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218: The Stranger 218: The Stranger The Canadian Armed Forces officer who stepped through Eldergrove’s gates carried herself with military precision, but her eyes held something that made Dorothy’s ancient instincts scream warnings.

Colonel Victoria Ashford was exactly what her uniform and credentials suggested—a decorated officer with impeccable service record, authorized by federal directive to assess the supernatural situation in Toronto.

But there was something underneath the professional exterior that felt wrong in ways Dorothy couldn’t immediately articulate.

“Ms.

Thorne,” Colonel Ashford said, extending a hand that Dorothy shook with careful formality.

“I’ve been briefed on the situation here.

Quite extensively, actually.

Two centuries is a long time to accumulate enemies.”

The comment was casual, conversational even.

But it contained knowledge that shouldn’t have been in any official briefing.

Dorothy’s two-hundred-year age wasn’t something that had been disclosed to Canadian military authorities.

Which meant Colonel Ashford had access to information from sources beyond government channels.

“Colonel,” Dorothy replied, keeping her voice neutral despite her growing suspicions.

“Thank you for coming.

As you can see, we’ve had a difficult night.

We’re cooperating fully with Chief Okoye’s investigation—”

“Oh, I’m not here about the investigation,” Colonel Ashford interrupted smoothly.

“I’m here about integration protocols.

The Canadian government needs to establish procedures for identifying, monitoring, and when necessary, protecting supernatural citizens.

You’ve become visible, Ms.

Thorne.

Now we need to determine what that visibility means for national security.”

Chief Okoye, who’d been coordinating with her officers, approached with clear wariness.

“Colonel, I wasn’t informed that federal military would be taking point on this situation.

My understanding was that Toronto Police retained jurisdiction—”

“Your jurisdiction is acknowledged and respected,” Colonel Ashford assured her, but her tone carried the unmistakable weight of superior authority.

“But this situation has implications beyond municipal law enforcement.

We have credible intelligence suggesting that supernatural trafficking networks operate internationally, that weapons specifically designed to target supernatural abilities are being developed and deployed, and that last night’s attack is part of a larger pattern of organized violence.”

She turned back to Dorothy.

“Which is why I need to speak with you privately, Ms.

Thorne.

I have information about The Collector’s organization that might be…

sensitive in nature.

Perhaps somewhere away from the cameras?”

Every instinct Dorothy had developed over two centuries screamed that this was a trap.

But she also recognized that refusing a direct request from military authority, while being recorded by journalists broadcasting to the world, would play directly into narratives about supernatural beings being uncooperative threats.

“Of course,” Dorothy agreed.

“My cottage offers privacy.

Though I’d like Mrs.

Pemberton to accompany us—she’s been managing community security and should hear any intelligence you have.”

“Naturally,” Colonel Ashford smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

As they walked toward Dorothy’s cottage, Bruce fell into step beside them with casual precision that suggested he wasn’t asking permission to join.

His werewolf senses were on high alert, detecting something about the Colonel that his human reasoning couldn’t quite identify.

“Mr.

Ashworth,” Colonel Ashford acknowledged.

“The fashion designer.

I’ve seen your work.

Quite impressive how you’ve built a successful business while managing your…

condition.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at the word “condition,” but he maintained composure.

“My shapeshifter nature isn’t a condition, Colonel.

It’s part of who I am.

Like your height or eye color.”

“Of course,” Colonel Ashford replied, though her tone suggested disagreement.

“I meant no offense.

Though I’m curious—how do you manage transformations during, say, business meetings?

Or fashion shows?

Surely the stress of those environments must trigger involuntary shifts?”

“Voluntary transformation is about discipline and practice,” Bruce explained, his designer’s patience extending to education even when he clearly didn’t trust the student.

“Most shapeshifters develop excellent control.

The forced transformations last night were the result of a weapon specifically designed to override our natural regulation.”

“A weapon you claim was deployed by this ‘Collector’ figure,” Colonel Ashford said as they entered Dorothy’s cottage.

“But we’ve found no evidence of such a person.

No criminal records, no confirmed sightings, no documented proof of his existence beyond your community’s testimony.”

“Because he’s been operating in the shadows for two centuries,” Dorothy replied, gesturing for everyone to sit in her living room that still showed signs of the night’s magical working.

“His family has perfected the art of remaining invisible while hunting those who can’t afford to be.”

“Or,” Colonel Ashford countered, settling into a chair with military bearing, “the stress of forced integration has created a collective delusion.

A shared enemy to explain why supernatural communities have struggled to integrate peacefully.

It’s a common psychological phenomenon—external scapegoating to avoid confronting internal challenges.”

Mrs.

Pemberton’s witch magic flared with indignation.

“We have financial records, facility locations, personnel files—”

“You have documents that Thomas Henderson claims to have obtained from a raid on a facility that may or may not exist,” Colonel Ashford interrupted.

“Documents that could have been fabricated to support a narrative.

I’m not saying you’re deliberately lying, Ms.

Pemberton.

I’m suggesting that trauma and stress can create very convincing false memories, especially in communities dealing with persecution complexes.”

Bruce moved to stand near the door, his protective instincts making him block the primary exit route.

“Colonel, what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting,” Colonel Ashford said, her professional mask slipping slightly to reveal something colder underneath, “that the Canadian government needs to consider alternative explanations for last night’s events.

That perhaps the real threat isn’t some shadowy Collector figure, but rather supernatural beings whose abilities make them inherently unstable and dangerous to themselves and others.”

The implications hung in the air like poison gas.

“You’re here to justify containment,” Dorothy said quietly, two centuries of experience recognizing persecution dressed in official concern.

“You’re building a case that we’re the problem, not the victims of attack.”

“I’m here to gather evidence,” Colonel Ashford corrected.

“And to extend an offer.

The Canadian government is prepared to establish a specialized facility—comfortable, well-funded, medically supervised—where supernatural individuals can receive the support they need to manage their abilities safely.

Voluntary registration, comprehensive care, and most importantly, protection from the kind of violence you experienced last night.”

“A facility,” Mrs.

Pemberton repeated, her witch’s intuition recognizing the euphemism.

“You mean a reservation.

A place where you can concentrate supernatural beings away from human populations.”

“I mean a sanctuary,” Colonel Ashford insisted.

“Similar to what you’ve built here, but with government resources and legal protections.

Think of it as Eldergrove with federal support.”

“Eldergrove works because we chose it,” Bruce said firmly.

“Because we integrated with human neighbors who accepted us.

What you’re describing is segregation with a pretty name.”

Colonel Ashford stood, her military bearing returning fully.

“Mr.

Ashworth, Ms.

Thorne, I understand your concerns.

But the reality is that last night proved supernatural abilities are dangerous when unregulated.

A teenage girl nearly destroyed several city blocks because she couldn’t control her powers.

Shapeshifters were forced into transformations that terrorized civilians.

Magic was used as a weapon.

These facts cannot be ignored simply because we empathize with your struggle.”

“Emma saved this community,” Dorothy said, her ancient voice carrying power that made the cottage’s windows vibrate.

“She used her abilities to create peace, not destruction.

She chose compassion when violence would have been easier.

That’s not evidence of dangerous instability—that’s evidence of heroic restraint.”

“Or evidence of luck,” Colonel Ashford countered.

“Ms.

Thorne, what happens the next time a young Resonant manifests?

Will they also choose peace?

Or will they level a school, a hospital, a shopping center?

Can you guarantee that every supernatural being will always make the right choice?”

“Can you guarantee that every human will?” Mrs.

Pemberton shot back.

“Should we create facilities to contain all humans with the capacity for violence?

Which would be all of them?”

“Humans don’t have the ability to transform into predators or channel reality-warping power,” Colonel Ashford replied.

“The stakes are different when abilities exceed normal human capacity.”

Bruce’s wolf senses finally identified what had been bothering him about the Colonel.

“You’re not here on behalf of the Canadian government,” he said slowly, pieces fitting together.

“You’re here on behalf of The Collector.

Everything you’ve said—every argument, every suggestion—it’s designed to justify exactly what he wants.

Supernatural beings concentrated in facilities where they’re easy to monitor, study, and exploit.”

Colonel Ashford’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in her eyes—a flicker of calculation, of masks almost dropped.

“Mr.

Ashworth, that’s quite an accusation.

I’m a decorated military officer—”

“With impeccable credentials that no one will question,” Bruce continued, his designer’s eye for detail recognizing a carefully crafted façade.

“Because The Collector has been embedding operatives in positions of authority for decades.

How long have you been working for him, Colonel?

Or were you always his agent, your entire military career designed to position you for exactly this moment?”

Dorothy’s ancient power flared as realization hit.

“You’re not here to offer protection.

You’re here to gauge our defenses, assess our resolve, and determine how best to break us.

This ‘facility’ you’re proposing—it’s where The Collector plans to consolidate his captures.

With government authorization, he can legally detain supernatural beings, study them, exploit them, all under the guise of protective custody.”

“That’s absurd,” Colonel Ashford said, but her denial lacked conviction.

“I’m simply trying to prevent further violence—”

The cottage door burst open and Gillian rushed in, her phone clutched in her hand and her expression panicked.

“Dorothy, we have a problem.

That journalist, Sarah Chen?

She just sent me this—she was investigating Colonel Ashford’s background for context, and she found something.”

She showed them her phone, displaying a photograph that made everyone’s blood run cold.

It showed Colonel Ashford twenty years younger, standing beside a man in a laboratory coat.

And behind them, visible in the photograph’s background, were containment cells holding supernatural beings in various states of distress.

“This was taken at a research facility in Montana,” Gillian explained rapidly.

“A facility that was shut down fifteen years ago after allegations of illegal human experimentation.

The man beside Ashford in the photo?

Dr.

Edmund Thorne Jr.—The Collector’s father.

The facility was his operation.”

Colonel Ashford’s professional mask finally shattered completely.

“Well,” she said with cold satisfaction, “I suppose subtlety is no longer necessary.”

She pulled something from her jacket—not a weapon, but a small device that began emitting a high-pitched frequency.

Throughout Eldergrove, supernatural beings suddenly felt their abilities disrupted, destabilized, made unreliable.

“Disruption field, military grade,” Colonel Ashford explained as Dorothy’s attempt to use her Siren voice failed, as Mrs.

Pemberton’s magic sputtered ineffectually, as Bruce’s transformation refused to complete.

“We’ve learned so much from studying captured subjects.

Including how to temporarily neutralize supernatural abilities without causing permanent damage.”

Through the cottage windows, they could see military vehicles surrounding Eldergrove, and soldiers emerging with weapons and equipment designed specifically for supernatural containment.

This wasn’t a protection detail—it was an acquisition operation.

“The Collector sent his regards,” Colonel Ashford continued.

“He wanted you to know that everything that happened last night was exactly as planned.

The false moon forced you to reveal yourselves.

The assault made you defensive and desperate.

The social media attention brought federal intervention.

And now, with legal authority and public fear supporting us, we can finally do what his family has wanted to do for two centuries: bring supernatural beings under complete control.”

“The Canadian government won’t allow this,” Dorothy said, trying to reach for her Siren voice and finding it blocked by the disruption field.

“Chief Okoye knows what you’re doing—”

“Chief Okoye is currently being informed that her jurisdiction has been superseded by federal authority,” Colonel Ashford interrupted.

“And the Canadian government will absolutely allow this, because I have orders signed by officials who believe they’re authorizing protective custody, not realizing that the facility I’m transporting you to is privately operated by Collector assets.

By the time anyone questions the arrangement, you’ll all be secured and ready for study.”

She pulled out a tablet showing a list of names.

“Priority acquisitions: Dorothy Thorne—ancient Siren with two centuries of accumulated knowledge.

Emma Henderson—Resonant with unprecedented capabilities.

Mishka Classens—Siren with binding song abilities.

Bruce Ashworth—alpha werewolf with design expertise that could be useful.

We’ll take everyone eventually, but these four are coming with us immediately.”

“You can’t,” Mrs.

Pemberton said desperately.

“Emma’s barely conscious, she’s traumatized, she’s a child—”

“She’s also the most powerful Resonant we’ve encountered in decades,” Colonel Ashford corrected.

“Which makes her valuable enough to override ethical concerns.

Mr.

Henderson’s research on her abilities will be…

illuminating.”

Bruce moved to attack, but the disruption field made his shapeshifter nature unreliable.

He managed three steps before his body betrayed him, transformation half-completing in painful spasms that left him gasping.