“And you gave it to him?”
Marian’s voice seemed to desert her. She bit her lip again, and nodded.
“I see.” Walter’s hand lashed out almost too fast to follow, grabbing a fistful of her snakes and yanking. The rest hissed madly, but didn’t try to bite him. I guess even snakes can be smart, under the right circumstances. He turned back to the rest of us. “You should go now. You have done enough damage.”
“Walter . . .” began Dee.
“You are as much of an outsider here as these apes that you sully yourself by traveling with,” spat Walter. “Our father would be ashamed to see what you’ve grown into. Go.”
I took Shelby’s hand, sparing one last glance for the girl, Marian, who was weeping as she hung limply in her captor’s hand. If he’d been human, I would have tried to do something—but it’s not my place to criticize the culture of the cryptids we work with. Gritting my teeth to keep from saying something I would regret, I turned, and let Frank lead us away from the fringe, back across the fields to the woods.
The lindworm’s body was still sprawled where we had left it. It was still too fresh to have attracted any large predators, and its partially-petrified state was probably confusing the bugs. I stopped to pick up the eye I’d pried loose earlier, shoving it into my jacket pocket. Maybe I could learn more about the petrifaction process by studying it. It was worth the effort.
We’d been gone long enough for the frickens to forget what had happened earlier. Their small, piping voices escorted us back through the woods, and no more lindworms came to kill us. After what we’d been through so far today, that was enough for me.
Seventeen
“Try your best. That’s always been enough for the people who love you.”
—Alexander Healy
Finishing dinner in a hidden gorgon community in the middle of the Ohio woods
DINNER WAS SERVED AT a long table in the middle of the community’s “town square.” It consisted of root vegetable stew with unidentified chunks of meat that I suspected were either rabbit or jackalope, home baked bread, and suspicious looks from virtually everyone around us. I couldn’t blame them, considering the situation. It had probably been a very long time since Hannah had invited humans to dine with her chosen family. Shelby and I might have impeccable table manners and the best of intentions, but we were still mammals, and hence not to be trusted. Also, we smelled like onions.
Some of the gorgon teenagers cleared our plates when we were finished eating, despite not having dined with us; they had their own table, set a little ways off from the adults, where they wouldn’t be scolded or looked at funny for the crime of being teenagers. They cast sidelong looks at Shelby and me as they removed dishes from the table, and more than a few of the girls looked longingly at her hair. Not in a “I wish I were human” sort of way—more in a “what a wonderful fashion accessory” way.
Dee smiled as the last of the girls left. Leaning toward Shelby, she confessed, “When I was thirteen, I dreamt about starting a wig shop just for gorgons. Hair is so much fun. You can’t style snakes. They pretty much style themselves, and you just get to learn to live with it.”
“Bet you save a mint on shampoo, though,” said Shelby.
That was the right thing to say. The other gorgons at the table—five in all, bringing our total number to ten—laughed, some of the tension slipping out of the gathering.
One of the men looked at me, and asked, “So you’re really Jonathan Healy’s boy?”
“I’m his great-grandson,” I said. “Forgive me for my ignorance, but . . . you look way too young to have known him. He died before my father was born.”
“I am the only one here who actually knew dear Johnny, but all of us know of him,” said Hannah. “He was a great friend to the gorgon community. To all of the gorgon communities, really, in the places where we were divided as well as the places where we came together.”
I blinked. Hannah smiled a little.
“My tales do not match what you know of your own history, do they? Does your family still keep Aeslin mice?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. It seemed best to be respectful when speaking to a gorgon hybrid whose age and capabilities were unknown to me. Respect is rarely the thing that gets you killed.
“Ask them. They may have moved some of the celebrations and festivals into the background, but they will remember who he was, and what he did for the people who put their faith in him. That is the beauty of the Aeslin.” Her smile grew a bit, turning almost wistful. “They never forget anything; they never leave anything behind.”
“Speaking of forgetting things,” I said, as delicately as I could, “weren’t we supposed to be discussing what our next move was going to be?”
“Don’t worry: it was not forgotten, merely . . . set aside for a short time, to allow us to remember that we are all friends here. We are all friends here, are we not?” Hannah’s smile suddenly seemed to contain a few too many teeth, and those teeth were very, very sharp.
There are times when no amount of reminding myself that I am a trained professional can override the small, frightened part of the mammalian brain, the one that is always six inches away from being eaten by something larger. I managed to swallow my shudder, but I couldn’t stop my skin from breaking out in goose bumps. “I’d certainly like to be, ma’am.”
“Good.” Hannah turned her attention on Dee, and I suddenly found it much easier to breathe. It’s never fun to be reminded that humans aren’t necessarily the apex predators on this planet. “What did your brother have to tell you?”
“That he’s lost a cockatrice recently, although he didn’t realize it until we came to see him; one of his little farmhands sold it to someone who came through the woods claiming to have been sent by us.”
“I see. Please do tell Walter that I am displeased with his ability to mind his people. I expected better of him than this. Your father always kept the fringe separate and safe. Your brother should do the same, if he expects to be allowed to keep it.”
Dee flinched, and nodded. “I’ll tell him.”
“So we know where the cockatrice was acquired, and better, we know that it is unlikely whoever is responsible will have access to more than one.” Hannah turned back to me as the gorgon teens returned with trays of cheese and fruit. “Are you satisfied that none of us is responsible for this horror?”
Every instinct I had shrieked at me to tell the nice giant snake-lady that yes, of course I was satisfied, now if she would please just refrain from eating me, that would be swell. Sometimes, training wins out over common sense. “Respectfully, ma’am, I am convinced of the exact opposite. I do believe you have not, as a community, declared war on the city of Columbus with nothing more than a single cockatrice. If you chose to break the peace, you would be much more efficient, and we wouldn’t be sitting here now. But Walter—who seems to keep his people on a very tight leash—was able to lose a cockatrice without realizing it. Dee comes and goes with impunity, and she can’t be the only one. I can’t say for sure that someone here is responsible for this. I can’t say for sure that the opposite is true, either.” I decided not to mention the lindworm. No cockatrice could have petrified it, but that would just complicate things in the here and now.
“What Alex means to say is ‘no,’” said Shelby. “Forgive him. His mother was a dictionary, and he feels like he’s dishonoring her if he uses simple words.”
I opened my mouth to protest, and stopped as I saw that Hannah was laughing silently, her mouth open and her fangs on casual display. Sinking back in my seat, I blinked and waited to hear what she would say next.