Heretics and Hangovers (The Witch and Crow Trilogy Book 1) by Ezra Linehan-Clodfelter
The woman ran through the center of town, her heavy boots splashing cold, muddy water up onto her bare legs as she sped right through a puddle. Her lungs burned as she gasped in breaths, her head pounding, feeling ready to burst. Angry shouts rang out from behind her, along with the clang of an alarm bell. A large crow perched on her shoulder, hunched low, claws pricking through her thin shirt as she sprinted down the main street. She took a sharp turn, slipping on wet dirt and nearly losing her balance. The bird had to open his wings and flap to right himself.
The crow spoke. “Well, I hate to say it but—”
“If you say—‘I—I told you so’—” the woman gasped out between breaths, “I swear—swear to all the gods—I’ll sell you—to a fucking circus.” She increased her pace, arms and legs pumping. “Also,” she added, catching most of her breath, “you don’t—you don’t hate saying it. You—fucking—love saying it.”
The crow clacked his beak and launched himself from her shoulder, flapping into the sky.
The woman cursed under her breath, taking another sharp turn. She burst out of an alley into a wide-open square—the town market. It was already bustling with activity, a thick mass of people walking from stall to stall, vendors shouting and cajoling customers.
How the fuck was it so busy at the crack of dawn? She glared up at the sun, as if expecting an answer or apology.
Oh. Apparently it was midday.
She sprinted through the center of the market, the distant shouts compounded by new ones rising around her. She ran flat-out, the stalls and people becoming blurs. At the edge of the square, she clipped the corner of a cart, bouncing off hard, tripping and landing in a puddle. She leapt back up, cold water dripping off her, and resumed running as people stared and pointed.
She turned down another alley and the sudden shift of motion was finally too much for her stomach. She bent over, propping one hand against a wall, and vomited, the contents of her stomach hitting the ground and spattering up onto her legs. She choked, coughing, trying to catch her breath, slumping to sit heavily, her back against the cold stone wall. The angry shouts had reached the marketplace now, closing in on her.
The crow dove out of the sky, flapping to slow himself as he perched on a nearby crate, looking at her, somehow conveying extreme disapproval.
“You have to get up,” the crow said. “They’re close. Get up over the wall at the end of the alley, down the next street and there’s a horse.”
The woman was still trying to catch her breath. Her head was surely about to burst. All in all, it was one of the worst hangovers she’d ever experienced. She pushed herself to her feet, groaning, and the crow flapped over to perch on her shoulder again.
She really, really wished she’d at least been able to find her pants before all this.