Chapter 144

We found a pawn shop on Sansom, just past Broad. It sat on the corner, a worn brick building with a big sign above the door that read WE BUY GOLD.

I dug the coins out of my pocket, then handed Ashlara my cloak and staff. “This might take a bit,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She nodded.

I went in alone.

The inside was bright - almost too bright - and packed wall to wall with things. Star Wars figures, guitars, lava lamps, books stacked in uneven towers, trays of wedding rings, signed baseball cards, even a ceramic bust of Elvis staring blankly out over it all.

It felt like a museum of other people’s lives. Or maybe a graveyard of them.

A heavyset man with a shaved head and a scruffy gray goatee sat behind the counter. He wore a dark polo and jeans and was focused on a ledger in front of him, pen moving in short, practiced strokes.

“Hey,” I said.

“What can I do for ya, chief?” he replied, looking up with an easy, practiced smile.

I smiled back. “I’ve got some gold coins I’m looking to sell.” I set five of them carefully on the glass.

Each one was about the size of a half dollar, but thicker - solid, weighty.

He let out a low whistle. “Wow.” He picked one up, turning it over in his fingers. “Oof… sure feels like gold.”

He grabbed a loupe and leaned in, studying it. “Never seen anything like this. Where’d you get ’em?”

“My father,” I said, leaning into a lie. “He was into that fantasy stuff before he passed. Made these himself. Honestly, I can’t imagine how much money he poured into them.”

The man chuckled. “Yeah, people and their hobbies, right?” He didn’t look up from the coin. “Folks spend money on all kinds of things.”

He grinned. “I know a guy - spends tens of thousands on these little minis. Paints ’em. Buys ’em for like a hundred bucks, spends four weekends on ‘em, then sells ‘em for five hundred.” He shook his head, amused. “That’s his free time.”

I gave a thoughtful nod. “Impressive.”

“Oh, he’s good,” the man said. “I’ve seen his work. No idea how he does it.”

He set the coin down gently. “I can’t certify this as real gold,” he said. “I know a guy who can, but it’ll take at least a week - purity tests, all that.” He tapped the glass. “I can call him now, get you in, get these jawns checked out.”

I bit my lip, letting a little hesitation show. A week was impossible.

He saw it immediately. “If you don’t wanna wait…” He exhaled slowly, weighing it. “I can do five hundred a piece.” He lifted a hand slightly. “That’s me taking a risk, though. Best I can offer without testing.”

I pretended to think it over, even though I’d already decided. We needed money. Now.

I let out a quiet sigh. “I’ve got a few more at home,” I said. “Let’s do the twenty-five hundred for now. I’ll talk to my wife about the rest.”

He gave me a knowing nod. “You got it, chief.”

He gathered the coins, already reaching for his ledger. “Lemme log these in, then I’ll grab the cash from the back. Don’t keep that kinda dough in the register, ya know?”

I nodded back, matching his tone. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

* * *

I sat in that room for hours, bored out of my mind.

The two men in black didn’t talk. They just stood there - waiting, I guess. Not even really watching me. Just… existing.

Every half hour or so, a nurse would come in, ask another stupid question, glance at the glowing box on the stand, and leave like I wasn’t even part of the conversation.

The box kept changing numbers. And it beeped.

Constantly.

After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore. When the next nurse came in, I pointed at it. “Is there a way to stop the beeping?”

She smiled, pressed a button on the side, and the noise died instantly.

Then she left.

Five minutes later, it started again.

I stared at it. Then I climbed onto the chair and pushed the button myself.

One of the men in black pulled out his fone.

“Whatcha doing with that?” I asked. “Playing a game? Looking something up? Gonna call someone?”

He looked at me for a second, then slipped it back into his belt without answering.

I crossed my arms. “You guys are no fun. And this room is boring. Can I go?”

“No,” one of them said.

I huffed. “Do you have any books? Or food? I’ve been here forever.”

They exchanged a glance. The taller one nodded toward the door. The shorter one sighed and headed out.

“Grab me a Snickers,” the tall one called after him.

“Me too!” I added quickly. Then I looked back at him. “What’s a Snickers?”

He didn’t answer. Just shook his head.

I slumped back into the chair, irritation settling in.

Minutes dragged.

Then I felt it. Something flow into me. Something warm and welcoming. It brushed against me like sunlight after a long winter. Like home.

I straightened instantly. “Hey,” I said, sharper now. “Where’s Officer Jenkins?”

The tall man didn’t move.

“My thren is here,” I continued, urgency rising. “I need to see him. He’s going to be mad.”

“Calm down and stay put,” he said.

That was probably the most he’d spoken to me all day.

“My father is here,” I snapped. Louder now. “I need to see him.” I stepped forward. “Hey! Somebody! My father’s here! Open the damned door!”

Nothing.

“Officer Jenkins!” I shouted. “Officer Jenkins!”

A sharp knock cut through the room and the door opened almost immediately.

Two men stepped inside. White shirts. Black pants. Black jackets. Striped cloth hanging from their collars like they didn’t know how to dress themselves.

“Special Agent Johnson, FBI,” one of them said, flipping open a small black book. Inside, a metal shield gleamed. “This is Special Agent Brown. We’ll take it from here.”

“I need to check in with my sergeant,” the tall guard said.

“Of course,” Johnson replied smoothly.

The guard raised his radio. “Dispatch, unit twenty-three. I’m at Thomas Jefferson. FBI requesting transfer of control.”

The radio crackled. “Copy, unit twenty-three. Stand by.”

I actually understood it that time. Either they were figuring out how to speak correctly or I was getting better at understanding the squawking.

The radio’s muffled voice called out. “Unit twenty-three, handoff to FBI confirmed. You are support.”

The guard hesitated - just for a second. “Copy.”

He looked back at Johnson. “What do you need?”

“Secure the exits,” Johnson said. “Check ID on everyone coming in or out. She’s a person of interest. Detain anyone you can’t verify.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard turned for the door.

“Hey,” I called after him. “Tell Officer Jenkins to get his ass in here. I’m serious.”

He glanced back once, then stepped out and shut the door behind him.

Brown moved to the doorway, planting himself there like a wall.

Johnson stepped forward.

“Now,” he said, voice calm but sharp, “why don’t you tell me how you got through the Woundroot tree.”

* * *

I expected the transaction to take a couple of hours. It took forty minutes.

I gave him everything I had - name, social, old address, old phone number, birthday. All the usual boxes checked. When he asked for my driver’s license, I told him I’d left my wallet at home.

He didn’t like that. I could see it in the way his smile tightened, the way his pen paused just a little too long over the ledger. But he let it slide.

And the whole thing moved quickly. Fast enough that I knew those coins were worth a hell of a lot more than five hundred apiece. Probably ten times that. Maybe more.

It didn’t matter. We needed cash, not fairness.

I took the money and went back to the others.

We kept moving until I spotted a clothing store - Ombra Market. Nothing fancy. Jeans, t-shirts, racks of cheap hoodies. It was good enough.

The girl behind the register gave us a look the second we walked in.

“Fantasy dress-up day,” I said with a shrug. “Our real clothes got soaked.”

She hesitated, then nodded like she didn’t care enough to question it.

I moved quick. Oversized hoodies for Ashlara, Tansy, and Nim - though even the largest one barely contained Nim’s frame. The rest got jeans, t-shirts, baseball caps, sunglasses. I grabbed a duffle bag big enough to hide Ashlara’s axe and a couple of cloth masks for her and Mirri.

By the time we were done, I’d dropped well over a grand.

We changed in the dressing rooms, one at a time, emerging looking… almost normal.

Back on the street, I reached out again - felt for Lilae. She was closer - definitely closer.

And when I realized where that pull was leading…

Relief and dread hit at the same time. Thomas Jefferson Hospital rose ahead of us, pale yellow brick stretching fifteen stories into the sky. The place sprawled across the block - too many entrances to count - but the signs pointed clearly enough.

Emergency Room - and Lilae wasn’t far from it.

“I’ll go in and find her,” I said, turning to the others. “You wait here. She’s close - I should be in and out.”

I handed my staff to Ashlara.

“I’m going with you,” Mirri said immediately.

I shook my head. “They’re not going to let you in. Probably not Ashie either. And Nim?” I glanced at him. “No way he gets through those doors without turning every head in the building.”

I looked back at her.

“Please,” I said, quieter now. “Trust me on this one. I can at least do this.”

She studied me for several, long heartbeats. Worry and frustration passing over her beautiful features. Finally, she nodded. “Go get our daughter,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

I gave her the most confident nod I could manage, even if it didn’t feel like much. Then I turned and headed inside, my cloak folded over my arm.

* * *

I counted at least half a dozen cops scattered around the entrance. They weren’t guarding, but they also weren’t just milling around. That wasn’t unusual for an ER, but this many, all at once? That set something off in the back of my mind.

I hoped it wasn’t because of her.

I stepped up to the desk. “I’m here to see Lilae Grimm,” I said. “I was told she was admitted?”

The receptionist - a shapely Black woman in blue scrubs, thick braids pulled back tight - looked up at me with the kind of expression that said her day had already been too long.

“Spell that,” she said.

“Lilae. L-i-l-a-e. Grimm—G-r-i-m-m.”

She started typing.

“You’re lookin’ for Lilae?” a voice asked beside me.

I turned. A cop stood there, coffee in hand, watching me over the rim of the cup. He was maybe fifty, bald, and looked to be in fairly good shape for his age.

“Yes, sir. Do you know where she is?”

“You Thren?” He watched me sharply.

I blinked. “Yeah. I’m her thren. Her father.”

“I’m gonna need you to come with me. Answer a few questions.” He said. It wasn’t a request.

“Sure thing, officer. Lead the way.”

He turned and headed down the hall. I followed.

He gestured as we passed a couple of other cops. They fell in behind me without a word.

That didn’t help my nerves.

We stopped in an empty waiting room. The last one in shut the door behind us.

I turned back to him. “Is Lilae okay, Officer…” I glanced at his badge. “Jenkins?”

He didn’t smile this time. “She’s fine,” he said. “Real spitfire.”

That tracked.

“I want to ask you about Tansy.”

“Tansy?” I frowned. “What about her?”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on here,” he said, voice tightening, “but Lilae told me she came here with her five-year-old sister, Tansy. And that she’s missing.”

“She’s not missing,” I said. “She’s outside with her mother.”

“Her mother…” He watched me carefully. “That’s Mirri?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. Not for a second. “And what does Tansy look like?”

I hesitated, dragging a hand through my hair, buying myself a second. “Look, Officer Jenkins, I’m not sure what this has to do with-”

“I brought Lilae in because she was dirty and covered in blood,” he cut in. “She told me you and Tansy fight. Said you hurt her.”

His voice hardened. “I need to know she’s safe. And I’ll be damned if I hand Lilae over until I’m sure of that.”

The room felt smaller all of a sudden.

“So why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”

I exhaled slowly. “How much did Lilae tell you?”

“Enough to know if you’re lying.”

I nodded once. “Alright,” I said. “Then here’s the truth…”

* * *

“If you know about the Weeping Gallows,” I told him, my voice low and steady, “then you know I can tear these walls down and flatten you like a pancake. So back off, crow-bait.”

He didn’t smile.

Behind him, Agent Brown moved with quiet purpose. He unzipped a small leather case and pulled out a glass syringe, long and thin, with a needle that caught the light. A small vial followed - clear liquid, nothing to it. He drew it up with practiced ease.

“You stab me,” I said, taking a step back, “I’m going to stab you back, asshole.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Johnson replied.

His arms twisted -no, unraveled - into vines.

They shot forward and wrapped around me in an instant. Thorns bit deep into my arms and legs, puncturing skin, anchoring me in place.

Pain flared hot and sharp.

Brown came toward me with the needle.

I screamed and hurled my mana outward - what little I still had - into the wall behind me.

The cinderblock exploded. A five-foot section tore free and shot past me, slamming into Brown hard enough to knock him off his feet.

Dull gray sunlight flooded in through the jagged hole. Noise came with it - traffic, shouting, the distant wail of sirens.

Johnson tightened his grip. The vines constricted, thorns digging deeper, tearing flesh.

“Let me go!” I screamed.

Brown pushed himself upright.

For a moment, his face… wasn’t a face. It was a writhing mass of vines, shifting and crawling over itself before snapping back into something human.

Someone tried the door. It rattled, then pushed. Brown stomped his foot down. Vines surged across the frame, sealing it shut, locking us in.

He picked the needle back up and walked toward me. Slow. Certain.

I struggled, but the vines only tightened.

The needle pressed against my neck.

A shadow swallowed the sunlight.

The room ignited with silver fire.

And everything went black.