by Frost Kay
“It’s good for you.”
“Lies,” she grumped, eyeing the old woman at the counter.
Abuela grunted and shook her head, her long grey braid swishing with the movement. “Niñas these days.”
She sliced a large chunk of bread from the loaf and slathered some butter over it before ambling to Hazel and slapping the sustenance into Hazel’s waiting hands.
Even exhausted, Hazel knew not to turn down food. “Gracias.”
“De nada.”
Tiredly, she took a bite of the savory bread and observed the old woman bustle around the cottage with too much energy for such an ungodly hour. It was downright psychotic. Mechanically, she took one bite after another, trying to wake up. What she wouldn’t do for some black tea. Anything to give her that extra little boost.
Her gaze flicked to the bed. It would be so easy just to lie back down.
“We have much to do today. I have a new task for you.”
Hazel barely kept from groaning. New tasks always meant more physical pain. Her body had gained strength since she’d moved in with the old woman, but the vile woman seemed hell-bent on pushing her past her limits. Hazel popped the last bit of bread into her mouth and brushed the crumbs off her fingers onto the floor.
She stood and stretched her arms above her head, her long tunic-style shirt showing the tops of her thighs. Squeaking, she dropped her arms and slunk to the counter, searching for the pitcher to wash down the last bite of dry bread. Being raised with boys made her more conscious of her own nudity.
Spying the pitcher of water and wooden cup, she poured herself a drink and downed the water. Zombie-like, she trudged back to her cot and pulled a pair of pants on, followed by her boots.
“So, what torture do you have for me today?” she asked while trying to comb out her tangled hair.
The old woman studied her critically and tsked. She gestured to a short stool and held her hand out for the comb. “Sit. Let’s do something with that mop of hair.”
Hazel didn’t argue and handed over the comb. She plopped down onto the teeny stool and almost pitched to the side. Abuela caught her shoulder and steadied her.
“So much flopping. Didn’t your mama teach you how to be a lady?”
Her mama wasn’t alive to teach her anything. “No.”
Abuela didn’t press the matter as she began to brush out the ends of Hazel’s hair. She eyed the bone comb in distaste. It still bothered her she didn’t know what kind of bone it was made out of. Part of her wondered if it was human. She brushed the thought aside and closed her eyes as the woman began to untangle her hair. Despite her situation, this was something she looked forward to. The old woman seemed to have a fondness for brushing and plaiting hair. There was nothing more soothing.
She hid her smile. The witch played gruff and hard, but she was gentle and kind in her own way. She wasn’t cruel to those who her society considered inferior. That, Hazel respected.
The old woman made quick work of her hair, parted her mane into three sections, and plaited it in a French braid down her back.
“That’s better.” She patted Hazel on the shoulder. “Now, let’s be off before the day starts. We need to get to the farms.”
Hazel followed her out of her home and closed the door softly behind them. Abuela led her through the herb garden and toward the arching crops. Tainted moved through the farm furrows like ants, each carrying a basket.
She frowned and looked to the east, the sky just turning pink along the horizon. It was practically still dark. “How in the blazes can they see what to pick?” Hazel wondered out loud.
“Most of them have special sight. Your poor eyes can’t compare. Poor niña.”
Hazel pulled a face, and she scowled at the old woman’s back but kept silent. There wasn’t anything wrong with plain ol’ human eyes.
Her skin prickled as they entered the throng of workers who, one by one, paused to watch her. It was difficult to ignore their attention. She lengthened her strides and kept pace with Abuela, even though she wanted to disappear into the crops and mind her own business.
Her mood soured further when she caught sight of the other man who’d bid on her at the auction. Of all the bad luck. She’d never forget his face—well, his black eyes. Sunglasses were perched on top of his head, and he turned in their direction, a plastic smile on his face, a scrawling tattoo of a moon wrapping around part of his neck. What class did he belong to?
A group of men lounged around him, looking like bored lords from medieval times. A burly man seemed to be supervising some sort of task, but he wasn’t working. In her eyes, it looked a lot like they were standing around and lording over everyone else. Lovely.
Marco barked a sharp command, and all the men stood as Abuela approached. She stood tall and looked down her nose at the man even though he towered over her short frame. He crossed his arms and dipped his head deeply, almost as if bowing in reverence.
“I know there are some that are unwell and cannot work for the next week. I’ve brought you a gift to help carry the load. I didn’t expect to see your men lazing about. Is this how you train your men?” she asked, her tone harsher than Hazel had ever heard it.
“The day is just beginning. Give us a moment to get sorted, Abuela.”
The old woman harrumphed. “That’s señora to you,” and then held out her hand to Hazel.
She obediently stepped forward but refused to lower her eyes and instead stared Marco down. She might be working there for the week, but he didn’t own her. He scanned her from head to toe in a way that was far too sexual. It made her skin crawl and her breakfast lump in her stomach.
“I offer my indentured for the week.”
Hazel kept her expression blank. Slave.
“I expect you to treat her like she is your own,” the old woman commented, her claws clacking against her cane. “If I hear of any misbehavior, you know I will come for you.”
“I will care for her as if she is my own,” Marco murmured fervently.
She almost gagged. Hazel knew exactly where his mind was and didn’t trust a word out of his mouth. He seemed like a dirty liar and a creep. Her intuition was telling her to keep far, far away.
Abuela snapped her fingers at the ghostly man standing idly by the wicker baskets. He snatched one up, almost stumbling, and shoved it roughly into Hazel’s hands. She caught it and wobbled back at the force he’d used. That was unnecessary.
The witch scowled at him and pointed one clawed finger at him. “Watch yourself, young man.”
The albino dude paled further and skittered back to his spot, clearly frightened.
Hazel could barely conceal her snort at his antics. The old woman was intense and tough, but she was only four feet tall, for heaven’s sakes.
“What’s Hazel’s assignment for the week?”
Marco nodded his chin toward a field of tomatoes. “That needs to be harvested by the end of the week or they’ll start going bad.”
She gawked at the huge parcel of land. They’d need way more workers if they hoped to harvest all the tomatoes.
“Very well,” the old woman said.
She spun on her heel without saying goodbye to the men, then looped her hand through Hazel’s elbow and steered her toward the new assignments.
“Work hard,” Abuela whispered so only Hazel could hear her words. “You’re a good girl. Keep your head down but don’t let anyone push you around.” She patted Hazel on the hand. “And make some friends. They will be curious about you. Let them get used to you and you to them. These are your people now. Finally, and the most important, don’t catch the eye of any of the men folk. You’re not ready for that, and you’re spoken for while you work for me.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. The old woman was worried she’d shack up with one of the Tainted? “You don’t have to worry about me like that, Abuela, but I will be diligent.”
“Good. Get on with you.”
Hazel dipped her chin and walked down the lane, stopp
ing at the end. She set her basket down and smiled at the woman on the other side of the tomatoes. Her smile froze on her face when she got a look at the mousy ears and whiskers—it was off-putting but somehow very cute. A little head popped out from behind the woman’s skirt, huge soft brown eyes peering up at her in wonder.
Her smile got bigger, and she winked at the child. Hazel stifled a laugh when the wee one ducked behind his mama, though one mousy ear still peeked out. She shook her head began plucking lush tomatoes. Hopefully, he’d warm up to her this week, because he was the cutest thing she’d ever seen.
Time sped by as she plucked basket after basket of tomatoes. She’d fill one, haul it to the wagon, retrieve an empty basket, and start the process all over again. The work wasn’t miserable, but it took some finagling to figure out how many tomatoes she could put in one basket before the bottoms got squished.
By midmorning, her back and neck screamed, and the sun bore down in an unforgivable wave. Today would be a hot one. Hazel wiped her forearm across her forehead and sat back, rubbing her lower back. What she wouldn’t give for some water.
She glanced around, looking for a well and spied one across the way. No one else was getting up for water, though, and Abuela had told her to keep her head down. She could last until they called for a break. Hazel stretched, and then got back to work. She spotted lush tomatoes toward the back of the plant and had bent over when a body brushed the back of her legs and ass. Hazel snapped upright, dropped the tomato, and jerked forward, almost crashing into the bushes.
Marco stood behind her, his eyes hidden by dark shades. He flashed an innocent smile and held out a cup of water. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
Automatically, she reached for the cup, but then hesitated. There wasn’t anything innocent about the man, and Abuela had said no men. This wasn’t some kind of courting ritual, was it?
Even if it wasn’t, why was he singling her out? Hazel scanned the field, and dread filled her belly at all the attention being thrown their way. How would the others react if she accepted special treatment? There was too much on her plate already to deal with more animosity and resentment.
Plastering a smile on her face, she shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m alright.”
Something dark and angry flashed across his face, and his fingers tightened around the cup as if he was trying to squeeze the life from it. Had she done something wrong?
His smile thinned, and he stalked away. Hazel watched him worriedly.
Somehow, she felt like she’d made a huge mistake.
Good gravy, it was bloody hot.
Hazel wiped sweat from her face and placed her sticky hand on the back of her heated neck. God, she hoped she wouldn’t burn. Tomorrow would be so miserable.
A bell rang and the workers around her stood, abandoning their baskets. Hazel followed suit and tried to smile at everyone who caught her eye. The mother with the mousy little boy walked to her right. She spotted the little one gawking, so she pulled a funny face. The little boy grinned, flashing two enormous front teeth that screamed rodent.
Her heart warmed at the smiles he sent her way. They were so free. No ulterior motives behind them. He just smiled at her because she’d made him happy. It was a gift she wasn’t expecting. He crossed his eyes and wiggled his round, thin fuzzy brown ears.
A peel of laughter escaped her and she decided right then and there that he was the most adorable thing she’d ever clapped eyes on.
His mother pulled him closer to her side and Hazel’s smile dimmed a touch. The mama wasn’t looking at her with much amusement at all. If anything, she looked a little scared of Hazel. She gave the woman a small smile and moved farther up the line. She didn’t want to make the poor woman uneasy. It wasn’t as if she was the monster. The child had bigger chompers than Hazel did.
Men near the wagon were handing out sandwiches and cups of water. Her belly rumbled as she waited her turn in line. Hazel smiled politely at Marco and reached for the cup of water and sandwich he held out, only to have it snatched back. Awkwardly, she was left clutching at air and lowered her hands to her side.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you,” he said loudly, his voice ringing out above all the voices. The people fell silent and Hazel felt fifty pairs of eyes pinned to her back.
She gazed at him and then pointedly at the basket bursting with food. “It looks like you have enough to me,” she said softly. “If you’d be so kind, I would appreciate something to drink and eat after working so hard this morning.”
“I don’t know if you really worked very hard.” He smirked. “Maybe you should have accepted the water earlier.”
He was pissed because she didn’t take his offer. Sugar him up, Hazel. You can smooth this over.
Hazel nodded. “You’re right, and clearly I offended you. That was not my intention. I’m here to work as a lowly servant.” Gag her. “I don’t garner special attention.”
“Special attention?” Marco gasped, then chuckled. “There is nothing special about you.”
That was rude and uncalled for. She must have really hurt his feelings.
Marco scanned the quiet workers. “I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t think I ever saw the Untouched come get in line. In fact, I think I saw her starve herself, because she didn’t want to sit and eat with us Tainted folk.”
Hazel gasped. That wasn’t true. She looked around to see if anyone would nay-say him. No one moved. No one spoke. She didn’t think they even breathed. So that’s how it was going to be. Bullies were her specialty. Hazel wouldn’t roll over that easily.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m happy to go home to Abuela and get lunch. I’m sure she’d be happy to feed me and hear about my morning.”
“You won’t be going anywhere until your shift is done.” He grinned viciously and flung his arms out. “And do you really think the old woman is going to believe you over all of us? A slave? No, Abuela is a smart woman.”
Her hackles rose. It was one thing to work for the old woman and for the monster, but to deal with the creepy disrespectful creature before her was the icing on the cake. She was no slave, especially not for the likes of him who lorded over those in his care like a spoiled princeling. Her anger boiled over.
“I believe,” she murmured, letting the reckless words free, “that Abuela demanded you call her Señora.”
A blow struck her across the face, and she never saw it coming. Hazel stumbled back into the Tainted behind her who shoved her away like she had a disease. She fell onto her hands and knees, one hand cupping her throbbing cheek, the flesh already starting to swell.
Quickly, she pulled herself up, tears already in her eyes, not necessarily from the pain—although it hurt—but from the humiliation. Hazel tipped her chin up.
He grinned at her and shook out his wrist like he’d hurt himself backhanding Hazel across the face.
Psycho.
“Watch what you say to your betters, Untouched. We don’t tolerate disobedience here.” He lazily waved a hand at her. “Now get out of my sight before I decide to take harsher measures for your insubordination.”
She rolled her neck and inhaled deeply. He’d hit her. No one had done that since Aaron, and it shook Hazel to her very core. This wasn’t Harbor. She didn’t have allies to support her. She was alone, and if she wasn’t careful, she had no doubt that she could end up dead amongst the crops.
Blinking back her tears, she dropped her hand from her throbbing cheek and nodded once to him. “Thank you for your time,” she warbled out through a split lip.
Head held high, she turned on her heel and slowly marched through the workers, so they could all see what they let happen after standing by, doing nothing. Her stomach gurgled and cramped as she marched back to her tomato basket. She touched her lip and pulled her fingers away, blood coating them.
The wind rustled the leaves of the plants, but that was the only sound. It scared her more than anything.
It was the sound of the downtrodden. It was the sound of hopelessness.
She picked a tomato from the shade and pressed it against her abused face.
Isolation had never broken her before, and it wouldn’t now.
Neither would a little bruise. If he tried anything like that again, she’d hit back harder.
Eleven
Hazel
By the end of the fourth day on the farm, Hazel understood one thing: Marco was a menace, and he could hold a mean grudge.
He’d purposely not given her any water or food, and it was only quick thinking on her own part to pack a lunch of her own every day. Abuela noticed but didn’t comment. She probably thought Hazel was just being picky. How she wished it was just pickiness instead of the bullying.
But the food didn’t solve the problem of thirst. She searched the house for a bottle for water but didn’t find one. By the time the sun set, Hazel was so parched that her lips were cracked, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She sighed a breath of relief when the sun lowered behind the bluff, casting the farm in shade. It felt bloody wonderful after baking in the sun all day. Her skin that had paled due to time in a cell had pinked and turned golden within the first week of living with the old woman. Thank goodness. Dealing with a sunburn on top of being dehydrated would have been miserable.
Judging by the setting sun, there was only an hour more before she could retreat home. The first thing she’d do was down a huge glass of water, and then stretch out across the cool wooden floor. All the harvesting was killing her back. She wasn’t used to being bent over for ten hours a day plucking stupid tomatoes.
Hazel scowled at said tomatoes and plucked a deep red one from a spiny limb, her fingers sticky from the juice. If there was one vegetable that she detested it was tomatoes—technically a fruit, but she didn’t classify it as one. No fruit should taste like dirt.
Her belly rumbled loudly, and she almost took a bite of it just so the growling would stop. Instead, she carefully put the blasted thing in the basket and continued to work. With her luck, she’d probably get accused of stealing.