Page 1 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter One

T had

“Mr. Fangborn, do you always frown that hard when you teach children not to drown, or is that expression just for me?”

The question comes from a prim blonde in a crisp white blouse who’s standing at the edge of the YMCA pool deck, clutching a leather-bound notebook like it might save her from drowning.

Considering the heels she’s wearing on a slick pool deck, someone might drown today—but it sure won’t be one of my students.

My snakes hiss in irritation, sensing my mood. “Members only on the pool deck. Safety regulations.” I mutter, trying—and failing—to ignore the challenging glint in her eyes.

“Not only am I a member, but I teach a class here. Though I’m not here for that right now.

” She flashes a press badge that dangles from a lanyard around her neck.

“Sloane Whitaker, Harmony Glen Gazette. I was hoping to steal five minutes of your time for a quick word about the upcoming Revelation Day celebration.”

Of course she is. Everyone in this damn town has been trying to rope me into their feel-good anniversary bullshit for weeks. Five years since monsters came out of hiding. Five years of awkward integration and forced smiles. Five years of becoming increasingly useless.

“No comment.” I turn back to the group of kids waiting in the shallow end. “Tyler, show me your backstroke again. Remember to keep your hips up.”

The blonde—Sloane—doesn’t take the hint.

Instead, she perches on a nearby bench, crossing legs that seem to go on forever despite her modest pencil skirt.

“I only need five minutes. Mayor Whitaker specifically suggested I speak with you, since your brother is such an integral part of the community.”

“Mayor Whitaker can kiss my—” My snakes hiss in warning, reminding me of the eight-year-olds splashing nearby. “I’m working.”

“I can wait.” She smiles sweetly, uncapping a pen that probably costs more than my hourly rate.

The mayor’s daughter. That explains the attitude, the expensive shoes and, considering how beautiful she is, probably a fortune in plastic surgery. How does anyone have a face that flawless without some nips and tucks?

“My schedule ends at four.” Maybe she’ll get bored and leave.

She doesn’t.

There isn’t a break between my tadpole class and the Silver Swimmers.

For the next forty-five minutes, I put the senior water aerobics class through their paces.

The whole time, I feel Sloan’s eyes on me.

Analyzing. Assessing. It makes my snakes restless, which in turn makes them pull against each other, giving me the beginnings of a headache.

The seniors, particularly Iris, Mabel, and Dorothy, keep shooting me knowing glances. They’re Sebastian’s neighbors and consider themselves honorary aunties to both of us.

They also fancy themselves matchmakers and take full credit for getting Sebastian and his girlfriend Aspen together. If I were a betting male, I’d wager that this situation with Sloane is about to get exponentially worse.

“Thaddeus, dear,” Iris calls as they finish their cool-down stretches. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” I mutter.

“What was that, dear?” Mabel cups her ear dramatically. “My hearing aid must be acting up again.”

Hearing aid, my ass.

Sloane takes this as an invitation, rising from her bench with practiced grace. “Sloane Whitaker, ma’am. I’m with the Gazette , doing a piece on the Revelation Day anniversary.”

Dorothy’s eyes light up. “Oh! You’re Charles’s daughter! I was just telling the girls what a lovely job you did on that article about the community garden. Wasn’t it wonderful, Iris?”

“Absolutely splendid,” Iris agrees, though I’d bet my Harley she hasn’t read a word of it. “And how nice of you to want to feature our Thaddeus. He was so instrumental during the Revelation, you know.”

My jaw clenches. “Ladies, don’t you have your book club meeting?”

“Not until five,” Mabel says cheerfully. “Plenty of time for us to gossip with Ms. Whitaker here.”

“I’d love to hear about Mr. Fangborn’s role,” Sloane says, her pen poised over her notebook. “The official records are surprisingly sparse on details.”

There’s a reason for that. Official records don’t usually say ‘scared the shit out of humans’ to encourage them to behave.

“Thaddeus was our protector,” Dorothy says proudly. “When those nasty protesters came from the next county over, he stood at the town line and—”

“Ladies,” I interrupt, probably more curtly than I should. “I’m sure Ms. Whitaker has other interviews scheduled. And you need to change for your meeting. You wouldn’t want to drip all over your books, would you?”

The three elders exchange looks that telegraph their thoughts as clearly as if they’d spoken aloud: He’s being difficult again. The poor dear desperately needs a woman in his life.

“Of course, dear.” Iris pats my arm, her hand lingering as she stage-whispers, “Don’t scare this one off. She’s pretty.”

My snakes droop in embarrassment, several hiding behind others. Great. Even my hair is mortified.

As the Silver Swimmers exit to the locker room, each pausing to give Sloane an approving once-over, I’m left alone with the journalist who’s clearly not going anywhere.

“You have five minutes.” I grab a towel and dry my hands. Her gaze flickers down briefly, not appearing to mind my broad shoulders and trim waist, then returns to my face with cool detachment. “And I’m not doing any photo ops.”

“That’s fine. I’m more interested in the real story, anyway.” She clicks her pen. “You were an enforcer before the Revelation, correct?”

The question catches me off guard. Most people tiptoe around what monsters did while in hiding. “Where’d you hear that term?”

“Research.” A small, satisfied smile plays at her lips. “I’m good at my job, Mr. Fangborn.”

“It’s Thad.”

“Thad, then.” She makes a note. “As an enforcer, your role was to prevent exposure of the monster community through… what exactly? Intimidation? Threat assessment?”

Preparing to hiss, my snakes rise defensively.

“I imagine that’s not the angle your father wants for his celebration puff piece.

” This is the fifth anniversary of the day monsters were exposed as living in this world.

For the previous four anniversaries, the celebrations were pleasant, whitewashed events full of happy-happy, joy-joy.

Now the mayor’s daughter wants to talk about intimidation and threat assessments?

“I’m aware of what my father wants.” Something flashes in her eyes—frustration, maybe rebellion. Interesting. “But I’m not here for the puff piece. Not entirely, anyway.”

“Then what are you here for?”

She studies me for a moment, then closes her notebook. “The truth. Five years of sanitized integration narrative is enough, don’t you think? People deserve to know what really happened, how monsters like you kept everyone safe during centuries of hiding, and what it cost when that ended.”

My snakes quiet, surprised by her apparent sincerity. “You really think the good citizens of Harmony Glen want to hear about the monster boogeyman who used to keep their teenagers from straying too far into the woods at night?”

“I think some truths are worth telling, even uncomfortable ones.” She hands me a business card. “If you change your mind about talking, that’s my personal number. Not the paper’s.”

I take the card automatically, noting the minimalist design and heavy stock. Everything about her screams expensive taste and privilege.

“One more question,” she says, gathering her things. “Why swimming? Of all the jobs in Harmony Glen, why choose this one?”

The question stings more than it should. “Gorgons adapt to water better than you’d think. And the kids don’t care what I look like as long as I help them float.”

Her expression softens almost imperceptibly. “5:15 tomorrow, then? I teach a Pilates class here until 5:00.”

“I didn’t agree to another interview.”

“No, but you will.” She says it with such certainty that I’m torn between irritation and admiration. “Somewhere that doesn’t reek of eau de chlorine? How about Latte Love, the coffee shop across the street?”

Before I can respond, Iris pokes her head out of the locker room. “Thaddeus, be a dear and tell Ms. Whitaker about your brother’s wedding. We’re all so excited!”

Sloane raises an eyebrow. “Your brother is getting married?”

“To a human,” Iris adds helpfully.

“My brother’s business stays out of your story,” I say firmly.

“It could be good for the community to hear about it.” Sloane tucks a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear. “A monster-human union during the fifth-anniversary celebration? That’s exactly the kind of positive integration story my father would love.”

“Leave them out of it.” My voice drops lower, and I feel the familiar prickle of my intimidation aura activating. It’s subtle, just enough to make most humans uneasy.

The intimidation aura works within a fifteen-foot radius when I’m calm, extends to twenty-five feet or more when I’m angry.

Direct eye contact amplifies it. Most humans feel uncomfortable; some get nauseous; a few panic and run.

I’ve learned to control it after years of enforcer work—dial it to barely perceptible when I just need someone to take me seriously, full blast when there’s actual danger.

Sloane, however, merely tilts her head. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“Your eyes. They change color when you’re angry.” She makes another note. “5:15 tomorrow. I’ll buy the coffee.”

She walks away before I can refuse, her heels clicking confidently across the wet tiles without a single wobble.

My snakes watch her go with varying degrees of interest—some suspicious, others almost appreciative. One particularly rebellious one at the back of my head actually sighs.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter.

The snake gives an unrepentant wiggle. I already know I’ll be at that coffee shop tomorrow, and so do my snakes. For a guy who used to intimidate rule breakers for a living, I’m doing a pretty poor job of scaring off one determined reporter.

Maybe that’s the real problem. Five years after the Revelation, I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be anymore. The role I was born for no longer exists, and I’m left teaching swimming and avoiding anniversary celebrations that only remind me of everything I’ve lost.

But something about Sloane Whitaker’s determined gaze makes me think she might actually understand that—which is precisely why I should stay away from her.

Too bad I’ve never been good at doing what I should.