Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [49]
She held it up. The neck and head hung to the side, and Hazel tried to ignore the way her stomach turned looking at it. After all, she was not the one who’d killed the creature.
She felt naked as she began to wrap it around herself, like a bird plucked of its feathers—all goosebumpy skin and trembling bones and frail, sputtering heart.
And then the skin was around her and Hazel was softness, she was warmth. The skin settled into her as if made for her.
But she was no swan. She had legs, she had arms, she had a swan neck dangling uselessly behind her. Of course it would never work, not on her. She didn’t even know her name.
Hazel walked over to the edge of the ridge, thinking she might catch a glance of her reflection in the stream below. But it was too far away, and moving too quickly. It didn’t matter. Hazel knew what she looked like. The skin was just a taunt, just one more thing she would never have. And she was still alone.
She tore the skin off and hurled it into the ravine.
Hazel watched as the beautiful, terrible thing fell into the water. It could not fly, it could not float, because all its swan-ness had been taken away. She stared down at the ravine, and then turned and walked slowly back to her backpack.
And a hand grabbed her arm.
“Where is it?” a voice hissed in her ear.
A woman was standing over her, her hand clutching Hazel’s arm like a claw. The woman did not look right. Her skin was sickly yellow, and it hung oddly on her too-thin body, like someone hadn’t gotten the size right. Big dark eyes popped out of a head that was a layer of skin away from being a skull. Nearly colorless hair hung in deadened strings over her shadowy, gaunt face.
Fear exploded in Hazel’s stomach and she sucked in breath. She could not tell whether or not the woman was human or something else, but it didn’t seem to matter, because the woman oozed blackness and rot. Hazel exhaled in a whimper, and the woman leaned into Hazel and sniffed her.
“My skin,” she said again, her voice a parched rasp. “You touched it. I can smell it on you.”
“I—” Hazel tried to back away, but the woman’s grip on her arm tightened.
“Where is it?” she repeated.
“I—I don’t know—”
“You think you can lie to me, you worthless thing? Who put you up to this? Were you going to sell it?”
“No—”
The woman’s head tilted, and a cracked smile spread slowly across her yellowed face. “Did you think you could use it yourself?” She drew out the last word in a hiss. Hazel sucked in breath in little pathetic gasps. “Did you want to be a beautiful swan, you ugly little girl? Did you think you could fly?”
Her face was right up against Hazel’s now, enough so that Hazel could smell the odor of decay that emanated from her. Hazel squirmed, trying desperately to wrench herself free. The woman’s grasp tightened.
“You think I’m going to let you go? Is that what you think?” She pulled Hazel into her and clutched her against her chest. Hazel could feel the woman’s body against her back, and it was all bone and rattling breath. “Tell me where it is,” she whispered into Hazel’s ear. “Now.”
Hazel should have had a story ready. Something. Something to say that the woman would believe. This is what you were supposed to do now, come up with a clever story. But her mind was nothing but fear and pain.
She could only whimper, “I’m sorry.”
“I see,” the woman said, running a cold finger down Hazel’s cheek. “Actions have consequences, little girl.”
And then there was pain. Stinging, and then searing. The woman had stuck a nail into Hazel’s cheek, and it was like a talon. She dragged her finger down, splitting the skin on Hazel’s face. It traveled down her cheek to her neck.
“Did you want to be beautiful?” she hissed. “Is that what you wanted?” She moved her hand to Hazel’s