Chapter 225: 225 The Proposal

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225: The Proposal 225: The Proposal “No,” Emma said, understanding what she was seeing.

“No, you’re going to be fine now.

The wards aren’t draining you anymore—”

“And without them to sustain me, the years catch up all at once.” Mrs.

Callahan’s voice was gentle, unbearably kind.

“It’s all right, Emma.

I’m ready.

I’ve been ready for some time.”

Dr.

Harrison moved forward, but Mrs.

Callahan waved him off.

“Let me have this moment, James.

Let me see what we’ve accomplished.”

She turned slowly, taking in the golden light still shimmering along Eldergrove’s boundaries, the community gathered in celebration, the home she’d protected for half a century now safe in new hands.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

“Clara would be so proud.”

Then she closed her eyes and simply…

faded.

Dr.

Harrison caught her as she fell, but Emma could see there was no need for medical intervention.

Mrs.

Callahan was gone, her purpose fulfilled, her legacy secured.

The celebration died in an instant, replaced by stunned silence.

Then Patricia Henderson was at Emma’s side, pulling her daughter into a fierce embrace.

Thomas joined them, his arms encircling both his wife and child.

Emma buried her face in her mother’s shoulder and wept—for Mrs.

Callahan, for the weight of responsibility she’d just accepted, for the magic still singing through her veins and the cost it had demanded.

Around them, the community began to gather around Mrs.

Callahan’s still form.

There would be grief, Emma knew.

There would be mourning and memorial and the hundred small ways they would honor the woman who’d given her life for theirs.

But there would also be hope.

Because the wards were strong again.

Because Eldergrove was protected.

Because Emma had proven that one person’s sacrifice could become many people’s strength.

As the sun rose fully over the community, Emma felt something shift in the air.

The wards responded to her awareness now, recognized her as one of their guardians.

She wasn’t alone in this responsibility—the other witches were connected too, a network of support and shared duty.

But she was the keystone.

The Resonant who held it all together.

Mishka appeared at Emma’s side, kneeling down to eye level.

Her face was serious, eyes red-rimmed with emotion.

“You did something remarkable today, Emma.

Something that will keep all of us safe.

Mrs.

Callahan knew what she was asking of you, and she trusted you completely.

We all do.”

Emma nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

“But Emma,” Mishka continued, her voice dropping lower.

“Bruce and I saw something last night.

Someone was watching the warehouse where we were investigating.

Someone who knows about Eldergrove, about what makes us vulnerable.” She glanced at the shimmering wards, then back to Emma.

“We have to assume Jean knows our defenses were failing.

And now that you’ve restored them, publicly, with the whole community watching…”

Emma’s blood ran cold as she understood.

“She knows about me now.

About what I can do.”

“Yes,” Mishka said quietly.

“Which means you’ve just painted a target on your back.”

As if in response to her words, something flickered at the edge of Emma’s awareness.

There—at the boundary of Eldergrove, where the new wards glowed brightest.

A presence, testing the barriers.

Probing for weaknesses.

Emma’s Resonant senses flared in warning just as Julian’s radio crackled to life.

“We have eyes on the perimeter,” a security guard’s voice reported, tense with urgency.

“Unknown figures, at least half a dozen, watching from the tree line.

They’re not approaching, just…

observing.”

Emma looked at Mishka, saw her own fear reflected back.

Someone had been watching indeed.

And now they knew exactly what Emma Henderson could do.

Bruce had been acting strangely for three days.

Mishka noticed it first when he’d excused himself from helping with Mrs.

Callahan’s memorial preparations, claiming he had “important errands” to run.

Then he’d disappeared for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about “security consultations” and “personal business.” For someone who was usually so present, so attentive, his sudden distraction was notable.

“Maybe he’s having second thoughts,” Milla suggested over coffee in Mishka’s kitchen.

“The last few weeks have been intense.

Near-death experiences, supernatural trafficking rings, elderly witches dying in your arms—not exactly the foundation for domestic bliss.”

“Bruce isn’t like that,” Mishka said, though doubt niggled at the back of her mind.

“He knew what he was getting into when he moved to Eldergrove.”

“Did he though?

Knowing intellectually that you’re dating a Siren who fights supernatural crime is different from living through Jean Rousseau cornering you in an alley.” Milla took a sip of her coffee, her filmmaker’s eyes studying Mishka’s face.

“I’m not saying he’s leaving.

I’m saying he might be processing.”

Mishka wanted to argue, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Bruce had been distant, preoccupied.

Last night, she’d caught him on the phone speaking in hushed tones, ending the call quickly when she entered the room.

“I should talk to him,” Mishka said.

“You should,” Milla agreed.

“But maybe give him space to come to you?

Men are weird about timing.”

The opportunity came that evening.

Bruce texted asking if she was free for dinner—nothing fancy, just the two of them.

Mishka agreed, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

He picked her up at seven, dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders.

But there was something different about him—a nervous energy that reminded Mishka of how he’d been on their very first date.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they drove out of Eldergrove.

“You’ll see,” Bruce said, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

They ended up at High Park, one of Toronto’s largest green spaces.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

Bruce parked near Grenadier Pond and led her along a winding path she’d never explored before.

“Bruce, what’s going on?” Mishka finally asked.

“You’ve been acting strange all week.

“I know.

I’m sorry.” He took her hand, his palm warm and slightly sweaty.

“I needed to arrange some things.

I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

“Perfect for what?”

Instead of answering, he guided her around a bend in the path.

Mishka stopped, her breath catching.

The small clearing ahead had been transformed.

String lights hung from the trees, creating a canopy of warm golden light.

A picnic blanket was spread on the grass, surrounded by candles in glass jars that flickered softly in the evening breeze.

A basket sat at the center, and Mishka could smell the rich aroma of her favorite foods.

“Bruce…” she breathed.

“I had help,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Mrs.

Pemberton enchanted the candles so they won’t blow out.

Tom provided the food—he was very excited to be part of this.

And Milla helped me get you out of the house without suspicion.”

“Milla knew?

That traitor.” But Mishka was smiling, her earlier anxiety melting away.

“This is beautiful.”

They settled onto the blanket, and Bruce unpacked the basket with nervous hands.

There was Tom’s famous barbecue, fresh bread, a crisp salad, and a bottle of wine.

They ate and talked, watching the last of the sunset fade into twilight, but Mishka could feel Bruce’s tension building rather than easing.

“Okay,” she finally said, setting down her wine glass.

“Something’s on your mind.

Talk to me.”

Bruce was quiet for a long moment, staring at the candles.

When he spoke, his voice was soft.

“The other night, when Jean cornered us, I thought we were going to die.

Or worse—that she’d capture you, use you the way she’s used other Sirens.

I thought about all the things I’d never get to say to you, all the moments we’d never have.”

“But we got away,” Mishka said gently.

“Duncan created a distraction, and we escaped.”

“This time.

But there will be other threats, other close calls.

That’s the reality of our lives now.” He turned to face her fully.

“And I realized something in that alley, with Jean standing there and danger closing in from all sides.

I realized that I don’t want to waste another moment not telling you exactly how I feel.”

Mishka’s heart began to race.

Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Mishka’s hands flew to her mouth.

“Mishka,” Bruce said, his amber eyes bright with emotion.

“I love you.

I love your strength, your compassion, the way you fight for what’s right even when it’s dangerous.

I love how you sing in the shower when you think I can’t hear, and how you always save the last bite of dessert for me.

I love that you’ve built this incredible community of people who would lay down their lives for each other.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring that made Mishka gasp.

The band was white gold, elegant and simple, but the stone was extraordinary—a pearl that shimmered with subtle rainbow colors in the candlelight, set among small diamonds.

“It’s a freshwater pearl,” Bruce explained.

“I worked with a jeweler who understands supernatural symbolism.

Pearls represent wisdom gained through experience, beauty born from difficulty.

It seemed appropriate for a Siren who’s transformed pain into purpose.” He paused, taking a shaky breath.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears spilled down Mishka’s cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, of course yes.”

Bruce’s face broke into a radiant smile.

He slipped the ring onto her finger with trembling hands, then pulled her close, kissing her deeply.

Mishka melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against hers.

When they finally pulled apart, both laughing and crying, the string lights seemed to glow brighter, as if responding to their joy.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Mishka said, admiring the ring on her hand.

“When did you even have time to plan it?”

“I’ve been planning it for weeks, actually.

Since before the auction house incident.” Bruce grinned sheepishly.

“Mrs.

Pemberton helped me design the enchantment on the ring—it’s got protective wards woven into it, tuned specifically to your magical signature.

And Tom was thrilled to be involved.

He kept asking if he could add sparklers to the proposal, but I drew the line there.”

Mishka laughed, imagining Tom’s enthusiasm.

“How many people know about this?”

“Pretty much everyone in Eldergrove.

I needed help setting this up, and you know how word spreads in our community.” He cupped her face in his hands.

“They’re all waiting to celebrate with us.

But I wanted this moment to be just ours first.”

They sat together as full darkness fell, talking about the future, about wedding plans and hopes and dreams.

Bruce wanted a ceremony that honored both supernatural and human traditions.

Mishka wanted something intimate, surrounded by the people who mattered most.

They both agreed that Eldergrove itself should be the location—their home, their community, the place where they’d found each other.

Eventually, reluctantly, they packed up the picnic and made their way back to Bruce’s car.

The drive back to Eldergrove was quiet but comfortable, Mishka’s hand clasped in Bruce’s, the ring catching light from passing streetlamps.

As they approached the gates, Mishka noticed something odd.

The community center was blazing with light, and there were far more cars parked along the streets than usual for a weeknight.

“Bruce,” she said slowly.

“What did you do?”

He had the grace to look slightly guilty.

“I may have mentioned to a few people that if you said yes, we’d stop by the community center afterward.”

“A few people?”

They parked and walked toward the center.

Through the windows, Mishka could see the entire community gathered inside—residents talking and laughing, children running between tables, Emma and her parents near the refreshment table, Julian discussing something with his security team.

The moment Mishka and Bruce walked through the door, the room erupted in cheers.

“She said yes!” someone shouted, and suddenly Mishka was surrounded by well-wishers, everyone talking at once, offering congratulations and hugs.

Mrs.

Pemberton appeared, her eyes twinkling.

“Let me see the ring, dear.” She examined it closely, nodding with satisfaction.

“Beautiful work.

The protective enchantments should hold for decades, perhaps longer with proper care.”

Tom bounded over, his barbecue apron still on.

“I knew she’d say yes!

Bruce was so nervous, but I told him, I said, ‘That woman loves you, anyone can see it.'”

Milla was filming everything, her camera capturing the joy and celebration.

“This is going in the documentary,” she announced.

“Eldergrove’s first supernatural wedding!

It’s perfect.”

Patricia Henderson approached with Emma at her side.

“Congratulations, Mishka.

We’re so happy for you both.” Emma beamed, her young face bright with excitement despite the dark circles under her eyes from her recent ordeal with the wards.

Even Duncan had appeared, looking uncomfortable in the crowd but managing a genuine smile.

“Congratulations, sis.

Bruce is a good man.

And if he ever hurts you, I know seventeen ways to dispose of a werewolf body.”