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My momma? How does she know her?

The pressure against my legs disappears, and I look down to find the enormous figure from before backing himself away. Fragments of bones, clipped like charms to his belt loop, clatter at his hip.

“Let’s git you outta here.” A quick nod to the monster standing off to the side, and she steps away as he lurches for me.

Another figure comes up from behind him. Big and imposing, with broad shoulders that show his strength, but I don’t recognize him. I don’t know if he’s here to hurt me, like the others.

He clobbers the monster with a thick log across the back of the head.

The monster falls.

Squeals.

The stranger beats the monster over and over.

“Jacques!” the voice from behind calls out. Hands grapple for me. Drag me backward. A sharp burn streaks across my jaw. “You leave my boy alone, or I will slice her throat open.”

The man twists toward her, his eyes burning with malice. Behind him, the monster squeals and moans, rolling on the ground. The stranger doesn’t listen to the woman, but tromps toward us.

“Stay back! I’m tellin’ you to stay back!”

An ice-cold burn slashes across my neck. Doesn’t hurt right away, but when I touch it, my fingers prod a slit where my skin has separated and it feels wet. Paralyzed with fear, I stare up toward the sky with panting breaths.

White petals falling from treetops. The fragrance of magnolias in full bloom. Overcast sky. Crows.

“Céleste!” The unfamiliar voice thunders inside my head, as the face of the stranger blocks my view. “Hang on, girl. I’m gonna gitcha outta here. You’re safe now.”

“R … R … Rsss.” A sudden dryness in my throat keeps me from saying the name my daddy told me.

“I’m Russ. Russ James. Now, you just hold on.”

The sky above me turns dark. The wings of the crow expand, like a splotch of paint spreading across the canvas. Darker. Darker. It eats the white magnolia petals.

“Russ!” I jerk out of the nightmare, and my eyes shoot open to the surrounding darkness.

Blood. Blood at my throat, dripping onto my clothes.

The scent. The horrible, putrid scent of earth and death lingering in my nose, so deeply embedded in my senses, I gag on it. A thick oppressive heat hangs on the air, turgid and stagnant in my lungs, as breath saws in and out of me. Sweat clings to my skin.

Stabbing pains in my skull send a flash of stars across my eyes that slowly dissipates into the shadowy edges. Not pitch blackness, I realize, as I can see objects about the room--a rocking chair, an old dresser, and the flicker of shadows on the wall from a lit candle.

“Minou, minou … I see you!”

At the sound of the voice, I gasp and twist, just now noticing my wrists won’t move. A quick upward glance shows them tethered to rope against a steel frame. The sound of a chuckle across the room sends a twitch of fear through me, and I jolt upright as much as my binds will allow. A tearing sensation across my back has me crashing against the soft surface beneath me, wincing at the pain.

“Dis was your momma’s old room. Where we kept her nine whole months before you was born.” From the dark corner of the room, the figure sits forward, casting light on a face I recognize, her voice a distraction to the agonizing pain.

“Jo?”

“I prefer Maw Maw Jo, but under da circumstances, das fine.”

“What are you saying? What do you know of my mother?”

Lips curving to a knowing smirk, she tilts her chin up. “Dat scar on ya t’roat. I didn’ want to put dat dere, but dat Russ … he tried to hurt my boy.” Gaze falling to an object in her hand, she tips her head, and I study the small cloth doll with yarn hair and beady eyes, one familiar to me, that she strokes her thumb over. “I know everyt’ing about your momma. Considerin’ I labored her. Unlike you, she was marked a breeder. And what joy for us, what a blessin’ to be sure!” Shuttering her eyes, she tips her chin skyward, shaking her head with a smile. “She would bear the fruit of our success!” Chest rising and falling with a deep breath, she opens her eyes, staring off at something beyond me. “Highly respectable men paid good money to breed her. Unfortunately, she didn’t produce as efficiently as we’d hoped. It wasn’t until she became pregnant wit’ you dat we knew we’d be saved.” Still petting the doll in her hands, she seems to fall into memories. “Vivienne was always tête dur. Stubborn. Even as a child, she had to be whipped more dan most children, just to keep her in line. Canaille, her. She gave you away to dat doctor, but we didn’ find out for da longest time. He kept you hidden in dat house. Didn’ matter how many people came over to investigate, you were never around. Never dere. And den he started makin’ all dese accusations. Tellin’ da aut’orities about us. Giving away our secrets. He had to be silenced.”

“Doctor … you’re talking about my father?”

“He wasn’ your father, chère. Your momma promised us she wouldn’ go tellin’ him all our secrets, but she did. She tol’ him everyt’ing.”