Chapter 4 #2
It was all so normal, precious, fleeting.
They spent the afternoon in the kitchen, June teaching Allegra how to make their grandmother's red sauce. Briar sat at the wobbly table, pretending to read but really watching them work.
"More garlic," June instructed.
"It already has six cloves!"
"And it needs two more. We're not vampires."
"How do you know?" Allegra wiggled her eyebrows. "Maybe I'm a vampire and that's why I was sick. Vampire transformation."
"Vampires don't eat garlic bread."
"Maybe I'm a new kind of vampire. A garlic-loving vampire who—ow!" She'd nicked her finger chopping. A tiny bead of blood welled up.
June had band-aids on it before Allegra could even finish saying "ow," mother hen instincts in overdrive. Briar watched them, June fussing, Allegra protesting she was fine, both of them laughing, and dug her fingers into her palms to keep from crying.
"Bri, you're being too quiet," Allegra called. "Tell Mom I don't need Neosporin for a microscopic cut."
"All cuts need Neosporin," Briar said automatically, grateful that her voice didn’t betray the turmoil roiling just beneath the surface. "That's the rule."
"You're both terrible. This is child abuse. I'm calling—what's that number for child services?"
"1-800-DEAL-WITH-IT," June said, which startled a laugh out of all of them.
The sauce, finally finished, was left to simmer. They played cards while waiting, Allegra's choice, some complicated game she'd learned at school that seemed to have no consistent rules.
"That's not how you played it last time," Briar protested when Allegra set down a card.
"Rules evolve. Pokemon evolution but for card games."
"That's not how evolution works."
"You're just mad because I'm winning."
"No one's winning. I don't even understand what we're playing."
"Exactly!" Allegra slapped down another card triumphantly. "That means I win!"
June caught Briar's eye over Allegra's head, fond exasperation mixed with something heavier. Her expression said everything she couldn’t voice: Memorize this.
Briar looked away, afraid her mother might catch the subtle sheen of tears she had been fighting for hours not to shed.
“I bet the sauce is ready,” June said at last, setting her cards down on the table. “Let's go check on it.”
“I hope so,” Allegra replied, hopping up to follow their mother into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
Dinner was loud and messy. Allegra got sauce on her shirt within minutes.
June told embarrassing stories about Briar's childhood, like the time she tried to run away but only made it to the corner because she wasn't allowed to cross streets alone, or the time she'd convinced herself she could talk to birds and spent a whole summer having serious conversations with pigeons.
"I was six," Briar protested.
"You were eight," June corrected. "And you made them tiny paper hats."
"Those pigeons deserved fashion!"
Allegra nearly choked on her garlic bread laughing.
After, they did dishes together, assembly-line style. Allegra washed, badly, while Briar dried, and June put them away. Water got everywhere, soap bubbles ended up in Allegra's hair, and the kitchen towel was soaked within minutes.
"This is nice," Allegra said absently, hands deep in sudsy water. "All of us together. We should do this more often."
"Yeah," Briar managed around the lump in her throat. "We should."
The mark on her wrist pulsed, hidden beneath long sleeves and dish soap. It seemed to be reminding her that she had only hours left.
Evening came too fast. They watched another movie, Allegra's choice again, some superhero thing with too many explosions. She provided running commentary about comic book accuracy while June braided her hair, fingers gentle and practiced.
"You should do Bri's hair too," Allegra suggested. "She never lets anyone touch it."
"My hair's fine."
"It's not about that, it's about bonding. Right, Mom?"
So Briar found herself on the floor in front of the couch, her mother’s fingers working through her dark curls while Allegra explained why the movie's interpretation of superhero physics was "completely wrong but still cool."
She closed her eyes, let herself feel it all. Her mother's careful hands and Allegra’s enthusiastic monologue. The way the house still smelled of garlic and basil and how the couch creaked each time her mother shifted positions.
The warmth of being between the two people she loved most in the world.
I'll remember this, she promised herself. Every second.
"Bri? You falling asleep?" Allegra asked.
"Just relaxed."
"Good," she said softly. "You never relax anymore."
By ten o’clock, Allegra was yawning despite insisting she wasn't tired. June herded her toward bed with promises of pancakes again in the morning if she went without arguing.
"Two days in a row?" Allegra's eyes widened. "Who are you and what did you do with my mother?"
"Don't push it."
"Love you too," Allegra called, then paused at Briar's chair. "Hey. Thanks for today. For being here."
"Where else would I be?"
"Work? Like you always were before?" She shrugged and gave Briar a quick, fierce hug, then bounded off to bed.
June lingered in the living room, tidying things that didn't need tidying, the silence hanging heavy between them.
"You should sleep," Briar said at last.
"So should you." June replied before she picked up a throw pillow, fluffed it, and set it down in the exact same spot. "You're leaving tonight."
Not a question.
"Early morning," Briar admitted. "Before dawn."
June nodded, still focused on the pillow. "The letters are in your desk?"
"How did you…?"
"I wrote letters too, after… I never sent them, but..." She finally looked at Briar and then down at her wrist where the mark was hidden from view. "Will it hurt?"
"I don't know."
"He's not... he won't be cruel?"
Briar thought of green-gold eyes and casual touches that burned, of "little thief" said with dark affection, and how the mark moved beneath her skin like something hungry and horribly alive. Under these circumstances, wasn’t cruelty an inevitability? "I don't think so."
Briar wasn’t sure who she was lying to, her mother or herself.
"Good." June crossed the room, pulled Briar into a hug that felt desperate. "I'm so sorry, baby. So sorry."
"I know."
"Take care of each other."
"Mom—"
"That's what I was going to say. In my letter. Take care of each other." June pulled back, cupped Briar's face in her hands. "You did. You always have. My brave girl."
She left before Briar could respond, footsteps quiet on the stairs.
Briar sat alone in the living room, surrounded by the debris of a perfect day. Allegra's hair tie on the couch arm, playing cards scattered on the coffee table, an empty halloween bowl that had held popcorn.
She didn't move for a long time.
The mark pulsed steadily, counting down to dawn.
3:11 AM.
Briar had been watching the clock for the last hour, fully dressed beneath her covers.
The house groaned and settled around her, familiar night sounds that would soon be memories.
Down the hall, June's door was closed but Briar doubted she was sleeping.
Allegra, at least, would be dead to the world until morning.
It was time to go.
She moved through her own life collecting final things, picking up the backpack she'd hidden behind her door. She’d packed a change of clothes, her toothbrush, some cash she'd pulled from her account yesterday. Practical items for an impractical journey.
The stairs were familiar territory and didn't creak as she descended. She'd learned the quiet spots years ago, sneaking down for water during Mom's bad nights. In the kitchen, she paused. Should she leave a note? But what more was there to say?
The mark on her wrist pulsed warm but it didn't hurt. For three days it had been a constant ache, thorns pressing into her consciousness. Now it felt almost content. Satisfied.
Her car keys were on the hook by the door. She grabbed them, then froze. Allegra's purple hoodie hung on the coat rack beside them, still carrying the scent of ocean and ice cream. Before she could stop herself, Briar pressed her face into the soft fabric, breathing deep.
Get it together.
Outside, the world was dark and silent. No birds yet, no traffic, just the distant sound of the ocean and her own thundering heartbeat. She didn't look back at the house. Couldn't. If she did she was worried she’d break, or worse, decide to stay, to risk him coming here to collect.
The car started too loud in the pre-dawn quiet. She held her breath, but no lights came on. No one came running out to investigate, to stop her.
She eased out into the street and waited until she had reached the end of the block to turn her headlights on.
Her hands trembled against the steering wheel—not from fear, but from the weight of what she was doing.
She wasn’t running, not really, she was simply going to wait.
Her mother had never gone back and Eliam had never come for her.
Maybe the same would hold true for her as well.
So, she decided to test him and see what would happen when dawn came and she wasn't standing at the forest's edge.
The drive felt surreal. Empty streets, closed shops, traffic lights blinking yellow.
Cannon Beach to Lincoln City, thirty-five minutes of increasing distance between her and everything that mattered.
Each mile was deliberate, calculated. If Eliam's response to her absence was violent, if the magic lashed out, at least it wouldn't touch her home. Wouldn't touch Allegra.
The mark stayed warm but painless, occasional pulses marking time. Like a countdown. Like a heartbeat growing impatient.
The Seabreeze Motel squatted beside Highway 101, all faded turquoise paint and flickering neon.
The kind of place that rented by the hour and didn't ask questions.
Perfect for someone who might not survive until checkout.
She'd wait here, door locked, curtains drawn, and see what dawn brought.
If nothing happened then maybe she'd found a loophole.
If not, at least Allegra would never know what became of her.
The night clerk barely looked up from his phone when she entered the cramped front office. "Forty-nine plus tax. Check out's at eleven."
"I might need it later."
"Twenty extra for late check out."
She paid cash and signed the register "Jane Smith" with handwriting that wasn't quite hers. Room 23 was at the far end, facing the parking lot. Had this been a normal situation, Briar would have turned and left the moment she opened the door. The room was small and dimly lit, It reminded her of something she’d seen once in a documentary about serial killers. She took a step inside and grimaced when the carpet sank in with a soft squelching sound. The wallpaper was peeling, the bedspread stained by things she didn’t want to consider, and the air thick with old cigarette smoke despite the NO SMOKING signs.
It wasn’t ideal but it would do.
She closed the door, locking the deadbolt before sliding the chain in place. She regarded it for a moment before pushing the dingy armchair against it for good measure.
She glanced at her phone.
4:48 AM.
Dawn was coming. She could feel it in her bones, in the way the darkness outside began to thin. The mark pulsed faster, expectant.
She sat on the bed and watched the clock.
4:52.
4:59.
5:00.
The mark flared hot for a single moment, then... nothing. No pain. No burning. Just the same warm pulse as before.
5:15.
Through the threadbare curtains she could see that the sky was lightening. Gray to pearl to the faintest hint of pink. She peeked out the window, searching for any sign of movement. The parking lot remained empty except for her car and a rusted pickup that probably belonged to the clerk.
5:30.
5:45.
The sun broke the horizon, painting the dingy room in shades of gold. Briar remained at the window, barely breathing.
6:00 AM.
Nothing.
She laughed. The sound came out cracked, hysterical.
"I did it." Her reflection in the window looked hollow-eyed, disbelieving. "I actually did it."
The mark still pulsed, but so what? Let it pulse. Let it remind her forever of what she'd escaped. A magical tattoo was a small price for freedom.
She sank back onto the bed, exhaustion hitting hard and fast. Three days of terror, of planning, of goodbyes that weren't goodbyes had left her feeling broken and exhausted, but she'd won. He obviously couldn't leave the forest, and she simply wouldn't go back.
The motel room might have been ugly and smelled of industrial bleach and old despair, but in that moment it was beautiful to her. Because she was still here, still free.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from her mother.
Are you… okay?
I think so. I’m still here. I will talk to you later.
Allegra's asking where you are. I don’t know what to tell her.
Work emergency. Had to cover a shift. Tell her I'll bring home donuts.
Are you sure?
I’m exhausted, going to sleep and then I’ll be home.
Home. There would be time to talk later, when she figured out how to explain the impossible. For now, she just needed sleep.
She kicked off her shoes, not bothering to undress further. The pillow smelled wrong but she didn't care. The mark pulsed against the pillowcase, warm and almost soothing now.
You lost, she thought at it. At him. At the forest that couldn't reach her here. I won.
As sleep pulled her under between one breath and the next, a single vine had begun to grow through a crack in the bathroom tile, tender and green and patient.