Chapter one
Allegra was dying, and all Briar could do was watch.
The monitors beeped their mechanical rhythm while her sister's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths that seemed too fragile to sustain life. Briar wrapped her fingers around Allegra's small hand, the skin fever-hot and papery beneath her touch. It wasn’t fair.
Less than a week ago, Allegra had burst through the front door of their small house, blue first place ribbon clutched in her fist, shouting about George's inability to spell spaghetti. Now she lay still as carved marble, her dark hair fanned across the hospital pillow like spilled ink—machines doing the work her body had forgotten.
"Miss Delarosa?"
Briar turned to find Dr. Locklear in the doorway, clipboard pressed against her chest. The doctor's expression carried that particular weight medical professionals wore when delivering news they'd rather not share.
"Can we speak in the hall?"
Briar glanced at her mother's sleeping form in the corner cot. June's fingers twitched against the thin hospital blanket, caught in dreams that made her whimper like a wounded animal. Better to let her sleep. These days, consciousness brought no relief.
The hallway smelled of industrial disinfectant and despair. Other families huddled in waiting areas, their faces mirrors of Briar's own exhaustion. Dr. Locklear led her to a small alcove with two plastic chairs that had seen too much grief.
"The latest labs came back." The doctor's pen clicked against her clipboard in a nervous rhythm. "Her white cell count continues to drop. The fever shows no signs of breaking despite our interventions."
"What about the specialists from Portland?" Briar's voice came out rougher than intended. When had she last had water?
"They're... puzzled." Dr. Locklear's professional mask slipped for a moment, revealing the frustration beneath. "In thirty years of practice, I've never seen anything quite like this. The symptoms don't match any known pathogen or autoimmune condition. It's as if her body is simply... giving up."
The words hung heavy between them. Briar's fingernails dug crescents into her palms, the sharp pain keeping her anchored when everything else threatened to dissolve.
"There must be something else we can try. Experimental treatments, clinical trials—"
"We're exploring every option." The doctor leaned forward, her voice gentling. "But I need you to understand the reality of the situation. Without a diagnosis, we're fighting blind. We're managing symptoms, not treating the cause."
"How long?"
Dr. Locklear's pen stilled.
"At the current rate of decline... days. Maybe a week."
The floor seemed to tilt. Briar gripped the chair's metal frame until her knuckles went white. Days. After everything—their father's death, their mother's slow unraveling, the endless shifts at the diner and the coffee shop just to keep the lights on—they had days.
"Your mother mentioned something about alternative treatments." Dr. Locklear's tone shifted to carefully neutral. "Something about the forest?"
Ice flooded Briar's veins. She forced her expression to remain steady even as her pulse hammered. "My mother isn't well. The stress..."
"I understand. But at this point, with conventional medicine failing..." The doctor spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Some families find comfort in exploring every avenue, however unconventional."
"You're telling me to take my dying sister into the woods based on my mother's delusions?"
"I'm telling you that sometimes hope matters more than logic." Dr. Locklear stood, smoothing her white coat. "We'll continue doing everything we can. But perhaps… Perhaps there are things beyond what medicine can explain."
The doctor left Briar alone with those words echoing in the sterile air. Beyond what medicine can explain. As if Briar hadn't spent twenty years watching her mother chase shadows through trees, muttering about bargains and kings and debts unpaid.
She returned to find June awake, perched on the edge of Allegra's bed with her fingers tangled in her daughter's hair. The afternoon light streaming through the window caught the silver threading through June's dark strands. When had her mother gotten so old?
"She's cooler," June whispered without looking up. "Just a little, but I can feel it."
Briar pressed her palm to Allegra's forehead. The fever still raged, turning her sister's skin into a furnace that consumed itself from within. "Mom…"
"You have to go into the forest, Briar." The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. June's hands trembled as she stroked Allegra's cheek. "Today. While there's still time."
Heat crawled up Briar's neck. Not this. Not now. Twenty-five years of the same delusion, the same story that had made them the town's charity case. The crazy woman who believed in fairy tales. How many parent-teacher conferences had Briar sat through, watching teachers' expressions shift from concern to pity when June mentioned the forest king? How many times had Child Services shown up because June told the wrong person about her "bargain"?
