Page 49 of Hair, She Bears
“It cannot take that long to change one article of clothing!” Mother’s angry voice ripped through the loft.
Zenna popped up, grabbed the apron, and zipped through the curtain.
“Have you added both ingredients?”
“Yes.” Mother turned and glared up at her. “The longer you take, the less time you’ll have to save Malik,” he hissed as if his own son’s name were so distasteful, he regretted having the word in his mouth.
She darted down the staircase, trying the apron strings as she ran, and headed for the worktable. Inspecting the mortar, she poked the mixture.
“Grind it a bit more. It needs to have more grey in the color.”
Mother glanced at her. “Are you certain?”
“Do you intend to test this batch on Carlyle?”
“I do.” Mother’s face melted into a horrifying grin.
“Then, yes. I’m extremely certain.”
“And if I were testing this batch on myself?” His growl startled her.
Zenna swallowed, realizing her error too late. “I would have said the same thing.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Mother pounced, his thick hand closing around Zenna’s throat, and shoved her backward, pinning her against the wall beneath the staircase. His other hand slid down her body, groping. She jerked away.
Mother punched her in the stomach. She doubled over, the air escaping from her lungs in a low grunt. Lifting her face, Mother slapped her. She dropped to her knees, biting back the sob hovering on her lips. He smacked her again, hitting her until she collapsed on the floor, unable to raise her head. Kneeling beside her, Mother reached into the darkness, grabbed a chain, and fastened it to her ankle, then pulled on the chain, testing the strength.
“Now, I believe you said to grind the powder until it became greyer?”
She nodded.
“What did you say?” His fingers wove through her short hair, and he jerked her from the floor.
“Yes.” She gasped. Mother flung her head down. It smashed into the stone, scraping the side of her face.
Mother hummed as he stood. He walked to the worktable and dropped onto the stool. He ground the powder silently. After five minutes, he picked up the mortar and tilted it toward Zenna, who remained immobile on the cold floor, pain pulsing through her body.
“Lizard tail,” she said before Mother’s ire returned.
He rose and returned to the back wall. Selecting the jar of lizard tail, he glanced over at Zenna. “How many?”
“One,” she replied, her breath coming in short gasps. “Grind until the powder takes on a lavender tinge.”
She wrinkled her nose, the scent of decay assaulting her as Mother unscrewed the top of the jar. He carried the jar to the mortar, selected one tail, and set it atop of the powder. Turning, he saluted her with the jar, dragged it under his nose, and sniffed. A shudder rolled the length of her body.
“You don’t like it?” He pulled another tail from the jar and touched it to his face, dragging the tip across his mouth, and blackness seeped into his eyes. “Smells like death.”
Unable to tear her eyes from the macabre display, Zenna gagged, dry heaving. Mother bit off a chunk and spat it at her. She curled into a ball, covering her head, and it flew over her and smacked the stone wall behind her. His mocking laugh swirled around her.
“Always so sensitive.” He dropped the other piece back into the jar, slammed on the lid, and twisted tightly. “I was able to beat it out of Malik, but you, no matter how many times you crumple at my feet, you remain soft. Even now, with all the anger coursing through your veins—yes, I see it—I know you are incapable of hurting me.”
She uncurled, her gaze finding him. “If you believe me harmless, why am I chained up?”
He smiled. “Because my possessions have a tendency to disappear when I don’t lock them up.”
“I am not a possession.”
“You are a debtor. I own you.” His words rumbled across the tower. “I can do what I please with you.”
