Page 47 of Hair, She Bears
Her head whipped up. Mother vibrated above her as his hand closed around her shirt.
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Mother yanked her through the window and threw her over his shoulder. She somersaulted, curling her body around Malik to prevent further damage to his small frame, and crashed to the floor.
“Parents or no, you owe me a debt, and I expect you to repay it.” He advanced, and tripped over her hair, his eyes flicked down, following the dull river of gold as it wrapped around the armoire leg. Horror crossed his face, and a deep snarl, louder than thunder, rolled around the tower.
“What have you done?”
“I wanted to save him.” She scurried backward and crashed into the back wall, jarring the bookshelf.
“Malik? You cut off your hair to rescue my disappointment of a son?” His anger stretched toward her like the long-fingered shadows of afternoon. “How did you plan to heal him without your hair?”
“I have enough hair.” She dragged her fingers through her short tresses and gasped as she touched the cold metal of her necklace. How would she explain why she had it?
“For a full batch?” Mother asked. The odd note in his voice sent a shudder rolling down Zenna’s spine.
She licked her lips. If she made Mother a new batch, she could pinch enough while filling the vials to save Malik. Mother wouldn’t check the apron pocket for residue. Where could she hide Malik and her necklace until then? Her gaze darted over the tower. The loft would be the safest place if only she could get to it.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice wavered.
“And I suppose you want to make a deal?” Leaning down, he grabbed a section of her hair, and yanked, winding a coil of ash blonde at his feet.
Before he glanced up, Zenna’s hands whipped up to her neck, fumbled with the clasp, unfastened it, and dragged the chain from her throat. She shoved the necklace into the apron pocket as Mother pulled the ends of her hair through the window. When he looked back, impatience marred his face.
“I do.” She stepped toward him, her fingers twisted together. The raven shifted, a minute movement that tickled Zenna’s skin. She folded her arms across her chest, gently pressing against Malik. “I’ll replace the batch I destroyed, just leave me one vial. Please, let me save his life.”
“Where is my son?” Mother twisted around, glaring at her.
“He’s where he landed after you threw him.” She inched forward. Upon reaching the sofa, she leaned over the arm and snatched up Malik’s old shirt. She balled up the material and held it in front of her body.
Mother’s eyes followed her movement. “If I let you save him, what will you give me?”
“I will stay with you, without complaint, for the remainder of my life.”
Malik pecked her, his sharp beak piercing the skin just below her collarbone. She sucked in a sharp breath and shifted her arms, tapping the raven once on its head to communicate, she understood the sacrifice she was making.
“You will do whatever I ask?” Mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, Mother.” She lowered her eyes and stared at the floor.
“And I suppose you expect me to retrieve Malik and bring him to you?”
“That would be helpful.” She peeked at him, gauging his reaction.
He stalked toward her and walked a slow half-circle around her, his gaze sliding over her body. His hand brushed across the back of her neck, skating across her shoulder blades, following the curve of the shirt’s low collar.
“You’re dirty,” he said. His fingers trailed underneath her chin. She kept her eyes on the ground, but he jerked her head up. “I brought you water last night. Where is it?”
She pointed at the burlap sack hanging from the hook. What was Mother going to do?
Mother strode to the hook and lifted the sack. Digging the strings apart, he jerked the leather canteen from inside and dropped the sack on the floor. His dark gaze lifted.
“Put that shirt down.”
Nodding, Zenna bent over the sofa arm, her back to Mother. As she leaned forward, she pulled Malik from inside her shirt and covered him in the second shirt, setting the ball carefully on the cushion.
“Stand by the window.”
