Page 9 of Reptile Dysfunction
“Water is… calming for me.” I lean my hip against the counter, keeping some distance between us. “Gorgons have an affinity for it, like all serpents. And kids don’t care what you look like as long as you keep them from drowning.”
“You like children?”
The question seems to surprise us both. My snakes tilt collectively in thought.
“They’re honest,” I say finally. “No pretense. If they’re scared of you, they show it. If they get over it, that’s honest too.”
She nods, considering this. “And adults?”
“Adults lie. They smile while their heart rates spike with fear. They pretend comfort while keeping extra distance.” I take a long swallow of bourbon. “Kids just ask why your hair is made of snakes and if they can pet them.”
“Can they? Pet them?”
The question catches me off guard. “Some of them. The friendly ones.”
“The friendly children or the friendly snakes?”
“Both.”
She smiles, and something shifts in the atmosphere—less interview, more conversation. It’s dangerous territory.
“Recording,” I remind her, nodding toward her bag where the device presumably waits.
“Right.” She pulls out the recorder and sets it on the counter between us. “Ready to tell me what enforcers really did before the Revelation?”
“You sure your father’s newspaper is ready to print it?”
“I’m not writing this for my father’s newspaper.” That fire in her eyes? That’s the kind of trouble you don’t walk away from. That’s the kind you invite in. “I’m writing it for the truth.”
I drain my glass and set it down with a decisive clink. “Then let’s talk about what it really took to keep the monsters safe.”
I meet her gaze.
“Starting with making humans afraid of the dark again.”
She presses record. And just like that, I’m betraying five hundred years of monster secrecy to a human with pretty blue eyes and a stubborn streak that matches my own.
My ancestors would be appalled.
But my snakes are suspiciously content with the arrangement, which means I’m already in trouble.
Chapter Four
Sloane
The bourbon warms my throat as Thaddeus tells me things that would give my father an aneurysm. His deep voice fills the unique space of his water tower home, and I find myself caught between work-driven fascination and a more dangerous personal interest.
“We weren’t thugs,” he says, pacing the curved wall with a predator’s grace. “More like… preventive maintenance. If a human teenager was getting too close to monster territory, they’d have an unexplained feeling of dread. If someone was asking too many questions, they’d suddenly decide their curiosity wasn’t worth pursuing.”
“Using your intimidation ability?” I’m recording, but I also take notes—part backup, part distraction from my urge to touch oneof his snakes, which are swaying in an almost hypnotic pattern as he speaks.
“Among other things.” He pauses by one of the round steampunk-style windows, his impressive frame silhouetted against the twilight sky. “Each monster species had its own methods. And all Gorgons’ powers aren’t alike. I have the ability to affect people’s fight-or-flight response. Made me an uncanny fit for the job.”
He pauses, studying my face with those intense molten topaz eyes. “But that’s not my only ability. Some Gorgons also have what you might call truth compulsion—direct eye contact makes it nearly impossible for someone to lie. Useful for interrogations and threat assessment.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?” I ask, suddenly hyperaware of how his gaze seems to pierce straight through me.
His lips curve in what might be a smile. “Not intentionally. The ability requires deliberate activation—my eyes shift to a deeper amber and there’s a… pressure… that most people can feel. Like being wrapped in warm honey that demands honesty.” He looks away, breaking the intensity. “I’ve learned to control it. Most of the time.”
