Chapter 6
Istare at myself in the mirror as I sit at the vanity in the bathroom early the next morning.
The swelling in my eye has gone down and I can at least see out of it, albeit barely.
Both of my eyes have begun to turn purple with the beginnings of two black eyes from my broken nose, which I gingerly poke at.
Pain explodes in my face and I quickly snap my hand away.
Definitely won’t be doing that again. Everything and everywhere hurts.
I can take a hit, but this was another level.
My hatred for Otyx Berttom burns in my very soul.
But I learned my lesson. Don’t ask him for anything.
I touch my scalp where he pulled it the night before, hissing when I come in contact with a very tender bald patch. He ripped out some hair.
I snatch the brush off the vanity and begin tenderly working through the knots left behind from sleeping with my hair wet, careful to avoid the tender spot on the crown.
Once finished, I braid it down my back to try and tame the wild waves, then throw the brush back into the drawer. As I move to close the drawer, something catches my eye.
Near the back of the drawer is a pair of shears the women use to keep themselves looking presentable and a straight razor they use to make themselves as hairless as a newborn rabbit.
Berttom claims men prefer hairless women.
Though I’ve never bought into that belief, and certainly no men see me naked, he still demands I shave all areas except my head.
I doubt he’d know if I refused, but that’s not a risk worth taking.
I’ve always refused to cut my hair. It’s so long now it’s past my ass.
It was always one of my ways of keeping some semblance of control over my body when it felt as though I had none.
But now . . .
I grab the shears, and before I’ve fully thought my actions through, I start cutting my hair off at the nape of my neck.
I throw my still-tied braid onto the vanity, then start hacking off the rest. I’ve always loved my hair. Its bright copper color always made me feel special, different in a good way. I’d only ever met a handful of other people with a similar color, and it was a point of pride for me.
But Berttom took it and twisted it into a tool for control, for torment. Not anymore.
I drop the shears back onto the vanity and pick up the straight razor.
I stare at it for a few beats. No going back now.
I hold it against the scraggly hair the shears left behind and drag it back, the rest of my hair coming with it.
Unfortunately, I’m also leaving a trail of red behind.
Blood bubbles from the tiny nicks the razor is making on my skin.
I push on anyway, ignoring the stinging in my scalp.
I can’t be bothered to find the shaving soap right now.
I continue on until my head is covered in small slices and my hair is completely gone. Until I’m as bald as Feron. I wipe the blood and tiny hairs away with a cloth, then run my hand over the smooth skin.
A wicked smile breaks across my face as I stare at myself in the mirror, ignoring the ache in my face.
What are you going to do now, Bottom?
A knock at the door causes my heart to jump into my throat. I look from it back to the mirror and my breath falters, my heart plummeting back down to my stomach painfully as the room tilts.
Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What have I done?
“Vay?” I hear Isi through the door. “Vayna, are you in there?”
I begin to shake, my pulse racing to an unholy speed while my palms become damp.
Berttom is going to kill me. He’s really going to kill me this time.
My hair is gone. I look like a little street boy, head shaved to prevent lice.
The panic begins to pull at my heart and my face begins to blur in the mirror.
“Vayna?” I hear Isi call again, only this time she sounds much farther away, the ringing in my ears drowning her out. The room is spinning. I close my eyes to make it stop. It doesn’t help.
The door opens behind me. I forgot to jam it with the stool. I open my eyes to see Isi’s face in the mirror. Her hand flies to her mouth, her shock so thick I can almost taste it.
“Vayna! By the abysm, what did you do?” Her soft voice reaches me just as she does. She softly touches my smooth scalp.
I turn and look up at her, tears rolling down my cheeks and off my chin, staining the bodice of the beige linen dress I’m wearing.
“I didn’t want him to use it anymore.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so frail. I despise it, despise him, despise everything about this place.
Except Isi. Never Isi.
Isi reaches down and brushes the tears from apples of my cheeks with her thumbs.
She wraps her arms around my head and pulls me to her belly.
My tears soak into her dress as I let all the emotions I’ve been trying to contain for what feels like an eternity flow from me to her.
I’m tired of being the strong one, the resilient one. I let her comfort me this time.
She lets me cry until I have no more tears to shed. I don’t know how long it takes.
“I take it the talk with Otyx didn’t go well?” she asks. The evidence of how it went is all over my face. She knows how it went.
A watery laugh escapes me. I sniff and shake my head into her stomach.
She pulls away and kneels in front of me. “He’s going to kill you,” she whispers as she strokes my bald head.
“I know.” I can’t meet her eyes.
“Well,” she says, “why don’t we see if we can do something about it?”
She pats my knee, stands up, and reaches for my hands, pulling me up after her.
She gathers up my discarded braid and tucks it into the pocket of her dress.
She pulls off the cloak she’s wearing and wraps it around my shoulders, pulling the hood up to cover my mistake.
It’s only now I notice she’s wearing a proper dress, not the usual skimpy things Bottom makes her wear.
“Why are you all dressed up?” I ask.
“Oh.” She looks down at her dress, a small smile pulling at her lips.
She waves her hand. “Never mind why. It doesn’t matter right now.
We have places to be and things to do.” She plasters a smile on her face.
I know she’s hiding something from me, but I don’t press. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
“Why are you taking my hair?”
“I’m disposing of the evidence,” she whispers with a wink.
I giggle despite myself as I follow her to the door. She holds her hand up, opens the door slightly, and pokes her head through.
“All right,” she says, her face coming back into the room. “The coast is clear.”
“This isn’t some secret spy mission, Isi.”
“Isn’t it?” She starts humming some tune that I’ve never heard before, likely one that she’s made up in her own head, that sounds very intense and secretive.
I can’t help but laugh as she starts tiptoeing down the hall toward the stairs with exaggerated movements, all while humming that stupid song.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her flatly.
“Shhh! You’re going to blow our cover!” she hisses.
I laugh and move around her to the stairs and lead her down them, making a point to make as much noise as I can with my feet.
“Killjoy,” I hear her mumble under her breath.
We round the stairs and scurry down the lower hall to the kitchen. Isi peeks her head in again and motions for me to follow. We enter the larder, move the bulky items from in front of the secret door, wrench it open, and head out into the world outside this godsforsaken hole.
Isi leads the way out of the alley onto Vymal Street, and we disappear into the crowd.
“Isi. Where are we going?”
“To get you some hair silly,” she says, smiling.
I stop dead, forcing the woman behind me to quickly change course. I ignore her cursing and stare at Isi. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say ‘get me some hair’.”
“I did.” The look of innocence on her face makes me even more apprehensive.
“And how do you plan to do that?” Really, you can get anything in the Rookery, for the right price.
But that’s my concern. The price. I’m not sure what she has in mind, but I don’t like the dull look in her eyes.
It’s almost a quiet resignation, like she is going to do whatever she has to do to help me. To protect me.
“Isi? Seriously. Where are we going?”
“To a wig shop, silly.” That’s two “silly’s” in a row. Something is definitely up.
I squint at her. “I can’t afford a wig. I know you can’t either.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “You let me worry about that. Now hurry up, before Bottom notices you’re missing.”
Turning down the street, she deftly dodges the beggars, con men, urchins, and orphans.
I have no choice but to follow her. I don’t like leaving her alone on these streets if I can help it.
She heads down side streets and up alleyways, easily slipping through the throngs of people with her slight frame and short stature.
She looks like a hummingbird flitting around the wildflowers in Feron’s field in the summer.
The years of training have made me more solid, more curvy, and I’ve never minded being a little taller than most women in the Rookery since I’m also as sneaky as they come.
Today, though, it’s frustrating. She fits in small cracks between bodies that I can’t and she never slows down or waits for me, so I’m constantly falling behind.
Finally, she stops at the door of a shack on the edge of the Rookery, near the Elvael Forest. It looks as though it’s made from mud.
As I get closer, I notice small fibers sticking out of the mud.
I reach out to touch one, quickly pulling my hand back as I realize what the fibers are.
Hair. I can’t be sure if it’s human, animal, or some combination of the two, I just know I do not want to go inside.