Walter stood abruptly, his chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. “Come with me,” he commanded, and strode toward the door. He didn’t look back. Shelby and I exchanged a glance, and then we followed after him.

There was a brass bell outside Walter’s door, old and battered and streaked with verdigris. When he rang it, it sounded like it should have been audible all the way into the next county. The echoes were still fading when the fringe gorgons came, walking in from the fields, from the houses, and from the various outbuildings. They were all dressed like the ones we’d already seen, in home-stitched clothes and plain, simple colors. The impression that we’d wandered into the world’s strangest Amish farmstead kept growing, even though I knew it was wrong.

“These people,” said Walter, in a booming voice, “have come from the community, with news of the human cities. One of our cockatrice is loose. So I ask: who has given a cockatrice to an outsider? Do not lie to me. I will know.” He scanned the crowd, focusing his attention on a group of teenagers who stood slightly apart from the others. One of them was staring at the ground, the snakes atop her head virtually braiding themselves as they twisted together.

Walter stepped away from the porch, walking over to her. “Marian,” he said softly. “What is it that you want to tell me?”

“I . . .” She raised her head, biting her lip before she said, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so very sorry, I didn’t know he was going to keep it, and he offered . . .”

“Marian.” The gorgon girl stopped talking. Walter crouched down so that his eyes were level with hers. “What did you do?”

She took a deep breath. “A man came through the forest, past the lindworm. He said the community had sent him. Said they needed a cockatrice, but that they were ashamed to ask it of you. He brought payment. A dead bird in a bag for the stew, and sweets for the children, and good yarn for the knitters. All he asked was one of the young males, and we had too many . . .”

“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.”