She wasn’t sure whether she ought to feel relieved or frustrated. “I’m not Purpose.”

“Oh, I’d recognize that dishwater hair anywhere, you old shipbuilder.” He curled his fingers meaningfully. “Give it here or pay.”

“This isn’t Purpose, Hatter,” Brella told him, angling her body protectively between Scratch and the fae. It was sweet—too sweet—but laughably unnecessary. The fae was a twig: infinitely snappable. As he leered, Scratch considered what a pleasure that might be. “This is her daughter.”

Hatter’s eyes widened. “Well, well. The fetus has emerged. How long did you gestate? A year? Two?”

“Wait.” Scratch shook her head, thoughts snapping together with the jarring force of her comprehension. “Do you mean to tell me that my mother was pregnant when she came to see you?”

“Well, that’s what she said.” Hatter shrugged, finally dropping his outstretched arm. “I assumed she had a rather large, fairly demanding parasite. Though I do suppose there was some truth to that.”

Scratch pinched the bridge of her nose, stemming the first few shoots of a massive headache. “So not only did my mother never tell me about her many adventures in the forest, but she also failed to mention that I had been with her at the time?”

“Well.” Hatter drummed his fingers together. “It depends on your definition of ‘with.’ And ‘her.’ And ‘time.’” He leaned against a tree, crossing his arms. His body was too stiff, and Scratch noticed that he wasn’t quite making contact with the bark, instead hovering a few centimeters away. “Doesn’t change the terms, though. If she won’t come, you’ll do just fine.”

Brella scoffed, but didn’t retreat. “Oh, leave off, Hatter. Shaking down a child for a parent’s debts? That’s a little too human for you, don’t you think?”

He raised an eyebrow. “As much as I detest your primitive race, Brella, they get it right every once in a while.”

“What exactly is it that my mother owes you?” Because if she was going to argue with this irritating creature, it might as well be over something worthwhile.

Hatter smiled, revealing a mouth with far too many teeth. The more Scratch looked at him, the more she could recognize his inhuman qualities. The way he moved his eyes was animal, darting and quick like a shrew. His body was more reptilian, sinuous and snakelike. And his neck articulation? That was all chicken.

“Didn’t I say?” he pecked. “Purpose owes me . . .” A long, dramatic pause. “Her hair.”

Scratch nodded, letting go of Brella’s hand so she could pull her hair from the leather strap she used to secure it. “How much of it? Is a few inches okay or do you want all of it? I don’t have a razor.”

Brella muffled a snort behind her hand.

“But.” Hatter knotted his brows, his confident smile fading. “Purpose was so reluctant.”