Chapter 231: 231 Journey to Montreal

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231: Journey to Montreal 231: Journey to Montreal The night before they were scheduled to leave, Mishka couldn’t sleep.

She found herself walking Eldergrove’s streets at midnight, past darkened houses and the occasional lit window where other residents were equally restless.

She ended up at Emma’s house.

Through the window, she could see the young witch at her desk, still working on her ward diagrams by lamplight.

Mishka knocked softly.

Emma opened the door, unsurprised.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Emma asked.

“Too much to think about.” Mishka accepted the invitation inside.

Emma’s room was covered in magical notation, diagrams showing how wards could be layered and linked, notes about the binding magic and how it might be safely dismantled.

“I’ve been studying Clara’s binding,” Emma said, showing Mishka her latest work.

“It’s brilliant, actually.

Terrible, but brilliant.

She wove it into the foundation wards so completely that they’re almost inseparable.

That’s why breaking it is so dangerous.”

“Almost inseparable isn’t completely inseparable,” Mishka observed.

“Exactly.

There’s a seam, a place where the binding and the protection diverge.

If I can find it, isolate it, I might be able to unravel just the binding while leaving the protective elements intact.” Emma’s eyes were bright with the challenge.

“But I need more time to study it.

And I need to teach the technique to other witches at the summit, in case something happens to me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Mishka said fiercely.

“We’ll have Covenant protection, security, every possible safeguard.”

“Jean got someone into my home while I slept,” Emma reminded her gently.

“She has moles in our communities, maybe even in the Covenant.

We have to assume she’ll try something at the summit.”

“Which is why maybe you shouldn’t go.”

“Which is exactly why I should.” Emma’s voice was firm.

“If Jean is going to strike, better it’s at a place with Covenant security than here in Eldergrove where we’re vulnerable.

And if I can teach even one other witch the networked ward system before something happens, it’ll be worth the risk.”

Mishka looked at this fifteen-year-old girl who spoke with the wisdom of someone much older, who’d already sacrificed more than most adults would in a lifetime.

“Mrs.

Callahan would be proud of you.”

“I hope so.” Emma’s voice softened.

“She gave everything for Eldergrove.

I want to make sure her sacrifice meant something.”

They talked until nearly two in the morning, about magic and responsibility, about fear and courage, about what it meant to be part of something larger than yourself.

When Mishka finally walked home, she felt steadier, more focused.

Emma was right.

The summit was dangerous, but so was doing nothing.

And if Jean was going to attack, better to face her surrounded by allies than to hide and wait for the inevitable.

Bruce was waiting on her front porch when she returned.

He stood as she approached, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Before Montreal.

Before everything gets even more complicated.”

Mishka’s heart raced.

“Okay.”

“I’ve been angry,” Bruce said carefully.

“Angry at Clara, at the Kovač family, at Eldergrove itself.

And I’ve been taking some of that anger out on you, which isn’t fair.”

“You have every right to be angry—”

“Let me finish.” He took a breath.

“The binding is real.

My family is trapped.

That’s a truth I’m going to have to live with.

But Mishka, what we have—what I feel for you—that’s real too.

I’ve been questioning it, wondering if the binding somehow influenced my feelings.

But I don’t think it works that way.

The binding keeps people here.

It doesn’t make them fall in love.”

Mishka felt tears prick her eyes.

“Bruce—”

“I’m still processing everything.

I’m still hurt and confused and scared.

But I don’t want to lose you while I figure it out.” He reached for her hand, the first time he’d touched her willingly since learning about the binding.

“Whatever happens in Montreal, whatever we face next, I want to face it together.

Can we do that?”

“Yes,” Mishka whispered.

“Yes, we can do that.”

He pulled her close, and for the first time in days, Mishka felt like she could breathe.

They stood together on her porch as the first hints of dawn colored the eastern sky, holding onto each other and the hope that they could survive whatever was coming.

Tomorrow, they would leave for Montreal.

Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.

But tonight, for just a few hours, they had each other.

And that would have to be enough.

The convoy left Eldergrove at dawn, three black SUVs moving in formation through the quiet streets.

Mishka sat in the middle vehicle with Bruce and Emma, watching her community disappear in the side mirror.

Mikhail stood at the gates with Mrs.

Pemberton, both of them solemn sentinels guarding what remained of their fractured sanctuary.

Frank drove their vehicle, his investigator’s instincts on high alert.

Julian led the convoy in the front SUV with two Covenant security agents.

The rear vehicle carried additional protection—a team of supernatural specialists handpicked by Director Chen.

“Two hours to the border,” Frank said, checking his mirrors obsessively.

“Then another three to Montreal.

We should arrive by early afternoon.”

Emma was quiet beside Mishka, her notebook open but her pen still.

The young witch had been up most of the night, Mishka knew, finalizing her ward diagrams and writing detailed instructions in case something happened to her.

The morbid practicality of a fifteen-year-old preparing for her own potential death made Mishka’s chest ache.

“You okay?” Mishka asked softly.

Emma nodded, but her hands trembled slightly as she turned a page.

“Just nervous.

I’ve never been to anything like this before.

What if I can’t explain the wards properly?

What if the other witches don’t understand Resonant magic?

What if—”

“You’re going to be brilliant,” Bruce interrupted from the front seat.

“You’ve already revolutionized ward magic in Eldergrove.

These people need what you know.

They’ll listen.”

His confidence seemed to steady Emma.

She managed a small smile and returned to her notes.

They’d been driving for forty minutes when Frank’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, frowned, and pulled up the message on the vehicle’s display screen.

“Julian just forwarded this,” Frank said.

“It came through the Covenant’s emergency channel fifteen minutes ago.”

The message was brief and chilling: ‘Summit compromised.

Jean’s network aware of delegate movements.

Advise extreme caution.

Do not trust anyone outside core security team.

– Director Chen’

“Compromised how?” Bruce demanded.

“Doesn’t say.” Frank was already calling Julian.

The conversation was terse, conducted in security jargon Mishka only partially understood.

When Frank hung up, his expression was grim.

“Three delegates en route to the summit were attacked this morning.

One in Vancouver, two in Detroit.

Coordinated strikes, professionally executed.

All three vehicles were ambushed on major highways.”

“Were they taken?” Mishka asked, remembering Chen’s briefing about Jean’s network targeting community leaders.

“One delegate was.

The other two fought their way free, but they’re injured and won’t make the summit.” Frank checked his mirrors again.

“Julian wants to change our route.

Take back roads instead of the highway.

It’ll add time but reduces the risk of ambush.”

“Do it,” Bruce said immediately.

They turned off at the next exit, diving into a network of rural roads that wound through farmland and forest.

The change in route meant the journey would take six hours instead of five, but safety was worth the extra time

Except they weren’t safe.

The attack came without warning.

One moment they were driving through a stretch of dense forest, the road flanked by towering pines.

The next, a tree fell directly across their path—not naturally, but with supernatural speed and precision.

Frank slammed on the brakes.

They skidded to a stop inches from the massive trunk.

“Back up!” Julian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“It’s a trap, reverse now!”

But before Frank could shift into reverse, another tree crashed down behind them, blocking their escape.

They were boxed in, three vehicles trapped in a corridor of forest with no way forward or back.

“Out of the vehicles!” Julian ordered.

“Defensive positions!”

They piled out into the cold morning air.

Bruce was already shifting, his body blurring as his werewolf nature took over.

The Covenant security team from the rear vehicle spread out, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the trees.

Emma’s hands moved in complex patterns, ward magic shimmering around their small group.

“I can hold a barrier,” she said, her voice steady despite her fear.

“But not for long if they hit us hard.”

“Where are they?” Mishka whispered, her Siren senses straining.

She could feel presences in the forest—multiple beings, surrounding them, waiting.

“Everywhere,” Bruce growled, his werewolf hearing picking up sounds humans couldn’t detect.

“At least a dozen.

Spread through the trees.

They’re not attacking yet.

They’re watching.”

“Waiting for orders,” Frank said, his gun tracking the shadows between pines.

Then a voice rang out, amplified by magic to carry through the forest.

“Mishka Classens.

We meet at last.”

Jean Rousseau stepped out from behind a tree, flanked by two massive figures that might have been human once but had been twisted by dark magic into something monstrous.

She looked exactly as she did in the photographs Frank had shown—elegant, composed, radiating power and absolute confidence.

“Let the others go,” Jean said pleasantly, as if they were negotiating a business deal rather than standing in an ambush.

“This doesn’t concern them.

I only want you and the girl.”

“Not happening,” Bruce snarled, positioning himself between Jean and Mishka.

“I wasn’t asking.” Jean made a gesture, and the forest erupted with movement.

Figures dropped from trees, emerged from behind trunks, materialized from shadows.

Mishka counted at least fifteen attackers—shapeshifters, dark magic practitioners, and what looked like controlled supernatural beings wearing the same kind of collars she’d seen at the auction house.

“Emma, shields!” Julian shouted.

Emma’s ward magic flared brilliant gold, expanding into a dome that covered their group.

The first wave of attackers slammed into it and recoiled, but Mishka could see the strain on Emma’s face.

The girl was powerful, but she was fifteen years old and facing practiced killers.

Bruce leaped forward, his werewolf form a blur of claws and fury.

He took down two attackers before they knew what hit them.

The Covenant security team opened fire, but Jean’s forces had their own supernatural defenses—bullets stopped in mid-air, redirected by dark magic.

“We need to break through!” Frank shouted, firing at a shapeshifter that was trying to flank them.

“We’re sitting ducks here!”

“The wards are failing!” Emma cried out.

Blood dripped from her nose, the strain of maintaining the barrier against so many attackers overwhelming her system.

Mishka made a decision.

She’d been holding back her Siren abilities, afraid of losing control, afraid of becoming the monster people feared.

But if she didn’t act, everyone she cared about would die or be captured.

She opened her mouth and sang.

The sound wasn’t quite music, wasn’t quite speech.

It was pure supernatural compulsion, the full force of a Siren’s power unleashed without restraint.

The command was simple: “Stop.”

Every attacker within hearing range froze.

Even Jean’s monstrous bodyguards stood paralyzed, their bodies locked by Mishka’s voice.

But Jean herself merely smiled, protected by some charm or spell that deflected Siren magic.

“Impressive.

I see the reports about your abilities weren’t exaggerated.”

Mishka kept singing, holding the attackers frozen, but she could feel the strain.

This many people, this much power—she couldn’t maintain it for long.

“Now!” Bruce roared, and the Covenant security team moved as one.

They grabbed Emma, physically lifting the exhausted girl, and ran for the front SUV.

Frank and Julian laid down covering fire while Bruce savaged anyone who broke free of Mishka’s compulsion.

It was chaos, brutal and desperate.

Mishka felt her control slipping.

One attacker broke free, then another.

She poured everything she had into holding them, her voice rising to a pitch that made the very air vibrate.

“Mishka!” Bruce was at her side, blood streaking his fur.

“We have to go now!”

She wanted to run.

But if she stopped singing, all fifteen attackers would be free at once.

They’d never escape.

Jean seemed to read her dilemma.

“A Siren’s greatest weakness—once you commit to a compulsion, you can’t easily stop.

Let go and we overwhelm you.

Maintain it and you exhaust yourself until you collapse.

Either way, you’re mine.”

“Bruce,” Mishka gasped between phrases of her song, “get Emma out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to!

Get her to the summit!” Mishka’s voice was starting to crack, her power faltering.

“She’s more important than me.

She can help other communities.

Bruce, please!”

She saw the agony in his amber eyes.

The impossible choice.

Stay and they both might die.

Run and Mishka would certainly be captured.

“I’m coming back for you,” Bruce said, the words somewhere between a promise and a prayer.

“I swear to God, Mishka, I’m coming back.”

Then he was gone, racing toward the SUV where Emma was already secured.

The engines roared to life.

Frank was behind the wheel, Julian shouting coordinates to the Covenant headquarters for immediate backup.

Mishka watched them crash through the underbrush, creating a new path around the fallen trees.

Jean’s forces tried to pursue, but Mishka’s compulsion held them back just long enough.

Then her voice finally gave out.