Serpent's Touch (Serpent's Touch 1)

She eyed her hairdo in the mirror critically, turning her head this way and that. A frown of displeasure firmly settled on her beautiful face, the way it always did in my company.

My heart raced with worry as her silence stretched. My hands grew clammy with sweat as I waited for her assessment of my work.

Madame kept studying her reflection in the mirror. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Tall and stately, she had intense black eyes that set off her flaming red hair in a most stunning way. Her unblemished skin appeared to glow, her naked body barely covered by an open silk kimono that morning.

“Goddess,”the prisoner in the crate had called her. She very well could be that. If gods were real, it’d be easy to imagine Madame among them. And who was to say for sure that gods didn’t exist?

I’d spend my life surrounded by things and creatures that didn’t belong in this world. I knew other worlds existed, all connected by the mysterious river the bracks called the River of Mists. I’d hardly seen anything outside of the canvas walls of the menagerie, but those walls held plenty of evidence for me to believe in things others would deem extraordinary.

It didn’t make much difference to my life who or what Madame was, though. My role remained the same—do whatever she says and do it well to avoid her displeasure.

“Fine.” Madame pressed her full, red lips together, turning away from the mirror. “Now, give me my tea and get out.”

Once out of her trailer, I dared take a deep breath again. The dust of the grounds and the exhaust fumes of the parking lot nearby felt more refreshing than Madame’s perfume. The fragrant air inside her trailer had been suffocating.

I grabbed onto the railing, walking down the trailer’s few steps, and winced in pain. Redness spread across my knuckles where Madame’s brush had hit it. My skin puffed up, bruises already forming underneath.

It was my right hand, and I still had a day-worth of chores lying ahead of me. Cradling my hand to my chest, I allowed a whimper to escape. Everything would take that much longer if I only had one fully functioning hand, my left hand.

Maybe if I took no breaks today, I could still get everything done? But I had to hurry. My hand started to throb, and I shoved it into the pocket of my hoodie on my way to the tents.

When feeding the animals, I had to use extra caution to not let them escape while keeping the doors to their enclosures open and getting their food with the one healthy hand I had. When cleaning Madame’s trailer afterwards, I could barely hold back tears. It hurt too much even to hold the broom.

By the time I got to dusting the display area of the menagerie, my right hand had swollen twice its size and was throbbing hot.

I yelped in pain, trying to lift a metal box, one of Madame’s unanimated exhibits. It wasn’t very large, the size of a medium music box, but the aged, golden-green metal it was made of was heavy. Intricate gears were visible through the various cut-outs of the outer layer, indicating this was a device, but I didn’t know how it worked. Madame told her customers it was a communication box from the Wetlands of Lorsan in Nerifir.

The heavy object slipped from my fingers, hitting the shelf with a thud. Tears sprung to my eyes. I could no longer ignore the pain.

Sneaking into the bracks’ trailer when no one was looking, I got some ice from the freezer, put it in a plastic bag, then wrapped it in the end of my scarf. The cool pack eased some of the burning pain the moment I placed it on my injured hand.

Cradling my hand with the cold pack to my chest, I kept my head down on my way back to the tents.

The fairgrounds were about to open. The first tours of the menagerie would start shortly after. I’d have to go back to the ticket booth soon. There was no time for a meltdown, but I couldn’t stop the tears flooding my vision.

Rushing into the nearest dark room inside the first tent, I squeezed into a corner out of sight and let the tears fall. The pain got the best of me. I sobbed, lifting the ice pack to inspect my hand. Thick bumps rose over the bones just below my knuckles. Dark bruises formed. And it hurt. Dammit, it hurt so much.

I sobbed, tears dripping into my scarf.

“Are you having a bad day, little one?” came a raspy voice, like a whisper of the breeze in a pile of dry leaves.

I choked on a sob in shock. Wiping the tears with my sleeve, I realized I was sitting next to the wooden crate with the gorgonian.

“Tell me who hurt you,” the voice rustled from the crate. “Sometimes just telling someone helps.”

It sounded eerie, horrifying, and…kind.

And it was the kindness that broke me. I was starved for it so much, I would’ve given whatever was left of my miserable life for just one warm hug.

A loud sob tore from my throat. I scrambled to my feet and ran. I fled the room with the crate and the creature in it.

Whoever he was, however, he couldn’t be a bigger monster than the one I’d been working for most of my life.

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