Chapter 3 #2
This pulled up something halfway useful—an article about traditional protections. Iron disrupted fae magic. Salt circles. Running water. She grabbed her phone, searched for iron suppliers in Portland.
"Whatcha doing?" Allegra had appeared at her shoulder, moving with the silence she'd perfected sneaking midnight snacks.
Briar slammed the laptop closed. "Nothing. Work stuff."
"You're being weird." But Allegra said it with a smile, already turning away. "Mom says dinner in twenty."
The evening passed in forced normalcy. Allegra chattered about everything she'd missed while sick—school gossip, a new song she wanted to learn on guitar, plans with friends now that she was better.
June watched her younger daughter with desperate intensity, cataloging every gesture, every expression.
Briar pushed potatoes around her plate and made the right noises at the right times. The mark throbbed with each heartbeat, counting down with metronomic persistence.
Later, after Allegra had fallen asleep on the couch and June had ushered her to bed, Briar sat in the dark with her laptop.
Rumpelstiltskin loophole
deal with the devil escape clause
supernatural contract law
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Her phone showed three hardware stores that claimed to sell iron fixtures. She'd visit them tomorrow, just in case.
The mark pulsed, and for a moment she could swear pine and dark earth filled her nostrils despite the closed windows.
Two days.
She kept searching.
Briar woke at 4 AM with a plan.
Portland International Airport was ninety minutes away. One ticket to anywhere without forests: Phoenix, Las Vegas, somewhere desert-dry and treeless. She'd figure out the rest later. Her credit card had just enough room for a one-way flight.
She dressed in the dark, shoving clothes into a backpack with shaking hands. The mark on her wrist lay dormant, just dark lines on pale skin. Maybe it only worked near the forest. Maybe distance was all she needed.
The house was quiet as she crept to the door. She'd left a note on her pillow: Had to handle something for work. Be back soon. Love you both.
Not a lie. Not really. If it worked, she'd be back. Eventually.
Her car started too loud in the pre-dawn stillness. She held her breath, watching the house, but no lights came on. The dashboard clock glowed: 4:23 AM.
She made it twenty-two miles.
The first warning was warmth, the mark heating against her skin. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, pressed harder on the gas. The highway stretched empty before her, Portland's glow just visible on the horizon.
The warmth became fire.
"No." She ground the word between clenched teeth. "Not yet. I have time—"
Pain hit with lightning intensity, shooting up her arm and across her chest. The car swerved. She yanked it back into her lane, gasping, but the agony only intensified. White-hot thorns seemed to grow beneath her skin, piercing muscle, scraping against bone.
Her vision blurred. Her lungs refused to expand. Her foot found the brake through pure instinct as the car skidded onto the shoulder.
The moment she stopped moving away from the forest, the pain eased to a vicious throb.
"Bastard," she whispered, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. Sweat soaked through her shirt despite the cool morning air.
She tried again. Started the car, eased forward—
The mark flared. This time she watched it happen, the dark lines writhing beneath her skin, thorns pressing up through flesh in warning. The message was crystal clear: You can go this far. No further.
Once she managed to catch her breath she turned the car around.
The mark was quiet.
By the time she pulled into the driveway, the sun was rising and the mark had settled to its usual warm pulse. June stood on the porch in her robe, arms crossed.
"Phoenix?" she asked quietly. "Or Vegas?"
Briar didn't answer.
"I tried Detroit." June stepped aside to let her pass. "Made it eight miles before…" She gestured at her arm, where the ghost of her old mark lingered. "It gets worse each time you test it."
From inside came the sound of cartoons and Allegra's laughter. Normal morning sounds that made Briar's chest constrict.
"I have to try," Briar whispered.
"I know." June touched her shoulder, gentle. "Try everything…"
The mark pulsed once, satisfied with her return.
Thirty-six hours left.
And nowhere to run.
The breakfast dishes still sat in the sink, evidence of Allegra's appetite returning with vengeance.
She'd demolished two bowls of cereal and half a sleeve of toast—more than Briar had seen her eat in months.
The kitchen smelled like strawberry jam and normalcy, a cruel reminder of everything she was about to lose.
Briar grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door, trying to move quietly. She should have known better.
"Where are you going?"
Briar paused at the door, keys jangling in her hand.
Allegra stood in the hallway, already dressed in jeans and her favorite purple hoodie—the purple one with tiny stars scattered across the sleeves.
Her hair stuck up at odd angles from sleep, but her eyes were bright and alert.
Too alert for someone who'd been dying three days ago.
"Just running some errands."
"Can I come?" Allegra bounced on her toes, energy vibrating through her small frame. "Please? I've been stuck inside forever and Mom's being weird, hovering every time I breathe. She literally followed me to the bathroom this morning, Bri. The bathroom."
"She's just worried—"
"I know." The bouncing stopped, and Allegra's expression shifted to something more serious than twelve-year-olds should manage. "I scared her. I scared both of you. But I'm okay now, and I just... I want to feel normal. Please?"
Briar glanced toward the kitchen where June was definitely not doing dishes as loudly as possible. The water had been running for five minutes straight. Her mother's shoulders were rigid with the effort of not turning around.
"Ally—"
"I promise I'll be good. I won't run around or anything. I just want to get out for a bit. Smell something that isn't hospital or house." The puppy-dog expression returned full force. "Please?"
A plate clattered in the kitchen. June's message clear: Your choice. Your consequences.
"Fine." The word came out softer than intended. "But we're just going to the hardware store."
"Yes!" Allegra was already shoving her feet into sneakers, not bothering to untie them first. "Why the hardware store? Are we building something? Oh, are we finally fixing the wobbly table?"
"I need... some stuff. For a project."
"What kind of project?" Allegra grabbed her jacket from the hook, practically vibrating with excitement to leave the house. "Is it a surprise? Is it for Mom?"
"Something like that." Briar pulled her sleeve down, making sure the mark was covered. "Come on, before I change my mind."
The morning air was crisp, carrying salt from the ocean mixed with pine resin. Allegra inhaled deeply, throwing her arms wide to embrace the entire outdoors.
"God, I missed this. You have no idea how boring it is being unconscious."
"That's not funny, Ally."
"It's a little funny." She climbed into the passenger seat, immediately fiddling with the radio. "Can we listen to my playlist?"
"No."
"Can we—"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"
"Was it about playing your playlist?"
Allegra grinned. "Maybe."
They compromised on a classic rock station, Allegra singing along badly to songs three times her age. She knew all the words—Briar had played them throughout her childhood, back when things were simpler. When the biggest worry was making rent, not magical debts with creatures that shouldn't exist.
At Paulson's Hardware, Allegra followed her through the aisles, providing commentary on everything.
"Why does anyone need this many types of screws?" She held up a package. "These look exactly the same as those ones but they cost twice as much."
"Different threading." Briar scanned the shelves, looking for anything labeled pure iron. Cast iron planters, wrought iron hooks, iron-alloy garden stakes. Nothing pure.
"What kind of project needs—" Allegra peered at the list Briar had hastily scrawled, "—cast iron fixtures, railroad spikes, and... what's wrought iron? Isn't that just fancy iron?"
"It's complicated."
"Everything's complicated with you lately." Allegra picked up a decorative iron wall hook shaped into a rooster. "This is hideous. Who would put this in their house?"
"Someone who likes roosters?"
"Nobody likes roosters this much." She put it back, then grabbed Briar's arm. "Oh my god, are you making Mom a weird metal sculpture for her birthday? Is that why we're here?"
"Something like that."
They spent twenty minutes in Paulson's, Briar checking every label, every description. The elderly man working the metals section watched them with growing confusion as she rejected item after item.
"Looking for something in particular?" he finally asked.
"Pure iron. No additives, no alloys. Just iron."
He scratched his chin. "Well, that's a tall order. Everything these days has a little something mixed in. Strengthens it, keeps it from rusting. What do you need pure iron for?"
"A project," Allegra supplied helpfully. "It's complicated."
"Must be." He pointed toward the back. "Might try the antique section. Sometimes old stuff was made different."
The antique section yielded a few possibilities—old farm equipment, some vintage tools. But nothing was labeled clearly, and the prices were astronomical.
"Seventy dollars for a rusty horseshoe?" Allegra whispered. "Is your project worth that?"
My life might be. "Let's try somewhere else."
They hit two more stores. At Home Depot, a teenager with gauge earrings looked at Briar with complete bewilderment when she inquired about pure iron.
"Nobody really uses pure iron, lady. It rusts too easy. Everything's got additives now. For strength and stuff."
"But if someone needed pure iron—"