Page 33 of Hair, She Bears
Zenna had heard stories from the men, rumors of people so desperate for the drug, they would trail behind Mother’s couriers, offering their souls for a speck of purple dust.
“I didn’t recognize her when Malik brought me to her.” Mother’s mouth pulled into a grimace. “Together, we weaned her off the drug. Gradually, her powers returned.”
“Was she grateful?”
Mother snorted. “Grateful that I had tweaked the formula, making Votras Alute one of the most addictive substances in the country? No, she was not. She pleaded with me to stop producing the drug. When I refused, she vowed to shut down my business.”
“So, you killed her?”
“First, I tried to reason with her, but when she discovered I still had you, she threatened to send me to prison... then, I killed her.”
“Malik—”
“Never once questioned my decisions,” he interrupted with a snarl, “until he met you.”
“Have you no feeling?” Zenna asked, horrified at Mother’s coldness.
Crossing the room, his hand closed around Zenna’s throat and yanked her from the back of the sofa, dangling her over the stone floor. His free hand flew, smacking her across the face, rattling her teeth.
“You have until morning to make a batch to rival the one I collected today.” Mother’s growl swirled around her. “If you succeed, I will spare your parents’ lives, but if you fail, you will witness every minute of suffering I inflict upon them.”
He waved his hand and disappeared. Zenna dropped to the floor, gulping down a lungful of oxygen. Her face throbbed, her body ached, but the pain oozing from her heart crippled her. She rolled onto her back, her gaze on the rafters. Mother knew she couldn’t produce a full batch in one day. He wanted her to fail.
A shadow swooped into the tower through the open window. She screamed and flung up her hands when it dove at her face. The shadow charged again, screeching as it flew past her head. She scrambled underneath the worktable and peered out, her gaze moving slowly over the tower as she sought her attacker. A peculiar flapping sound came from the rafters. She craned her head, staring up.
“A bird?”
The raven cawed and dove at her again.
8
“Get out!” she yelled and waved her arms at the raven, attempting to shoo it from the tower. Instead, it circled the room once and landed on the back of the sofa, furthest from Zenna, its beady eyes locked on her.
Bending its head, the raven pecked the sofa, poking a small hole in the shabby material. It glanced up as if judging her reaction, then hopped closer. Stopping halfway across the back, it pecked another hole.
“Stop that.” She crawled out from underneath the worktable.
The raven tilted its head, considering her command, then bowed its head again, digging a third hole in the sofa.
“Hey!” Zenna took a step toward the bird. It froze, its beak buried halfway in the sofa. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I don’t have anything else to sit on, so I would appreciate it if you would stop poking holes in my furniture.”
The raven cawed—she assumed in complaint—hopped off the back of the sofa, and landed on the center cushion, where it paced in a tiny circle, flapping its wings. A small piece of parchment wrapped around its ankle, tied with twine, caught her attention.
Curious, Zenna leaned over the back of the sofa, reaching out slowly. Just as her fingers neared the bird’s leg, it squawked and jabbed her hand with its sharp beak. She drew back with a gasp, blood gathering on the fleshy part of her hand between her thumb and forefinger, and wrapped her apron around the wound.
“I’m trying to help you.” She straightened and glared at the raven. “You flew into my tower.”
The raven cawed again, a staccato castigation, and hopped to the far end of the sofa.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. “May I remove the parchment from your leg?”
Tilting its head, the raven locked its gaze on Zenna, then skipped forward and held out its leg.
At a glacial pace, Zenna’s trembling fingers neared the bird. The raven did not move. Encouraged, she grabbed one end of the twine, tugged, and the parchment tumbled free from the bird. She snatched the rolled piece of paper from the cushion and unfolded it, smoothing it out on the back of the sofa. Her eyes scanned the scribbled words, then she glanced up at the bird.
“This is a recipe.”
The raven cawed.
