Page 8 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)
Chapter Seven
T had
After I drop Sloane off and return home, my snakes won’t stop their pleased swaying, making it impossible to pretend that kiss didn’t just change everything.
Sterling—the iridescent one who earned his name by admiring his reflection one too many times—keeps stretching toward the door, like it might bring Sloane back.
“She’s trouble,” I tell them, but they just hiss contentedly. Clearly, my hair has worse judgment than I do. Something I didn’t think was possible.
Although I prided myself on keeping my emotional distance from humans, that illusion shattered the moment her lips met mine, my so-called impressive control slipping away as if it had never existed. And those little sounds she made when my snakes touched her…
A knock at my door interrupts that dangerous train of thought. Suddenly alert, every serpent snaps to attention, hoping for Sloane’s return, but the familiar pattern of taps identifies the visitor before I open it.
“I wondered if you wanted to share dinner,” Sebastian says by way of greeting, holding up a paper bag that smells like India Market’s curry.
My brother’s snakes are immaculately styled as usual, his signature bow ties making them look more decorative than dangerous.
“Aspen was worried you’re avoiding us because of the wedding planning. ”
“Just busy.” I let him in, noting how his eyes track the two bourbon glasses on the counter. His snakes perk up with interest, several craning for a better look.
“Busy entertaining?” His tone aims for casual but misses by a mile. “The Silver Swimmers mentioned you had company at the coffee shop.”
Of course they did. “Don’t start.”
“Who’s starting anything?” He sets out the containers of food with exaggerated innocence. “I’m merely expressing a brotherly interest in why you’re suddenly taking Pilates classes and entertaining journalists in your fortress of solitude.”
“It’s for her article,” I say, accepting a container of curry. “The Revelation Day anniversary piece.”
“Mhmm.” Sebastian’s snakes do that knowing wiggle that always makes him look insufferably pleased with himself. “And does this article require late-night motorcycle rides and bourbon?”
“You’ve been talking to the Meddlesome Mavens far too damn much.”
“They’re very observant ladies.” He takes a bite of curry, studying me with those quiet eyes that see too much. “They also mentioned she’s not afraid of us. Of what we are.”
My chest expands like I’ve swallowed sunlight. “No. She’s not.”
“Like Aspen wasn’t afraid of me.”
“This is different.” But my snakes sway hopefully at the comparison.
“Why? Because she’s the mayor’s daughter? Because she’s writing about what we did before the Revelation?” His voice softens. “Or because you think you don’t deserve something real?”
My jaw clenches. “You were different, Seb. Your abilities helped people. Made them feel safe.”
“And yours didn’t?” He sets down his fork. “How many monster children stayed safely hidden because you kept curious humans away? How many families avoided exposure because you were willing to be the scary one?”
“That was then. Now I’m just—”
“Teaching kids to swim? Keeping the YMCA safe? Still protecting people, just differently?” His snakes nod encouragingly. “You didn’t stop being valuable just because you stopped being secret.”
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes. He checks it, his eyebrows rising. “It’s Aspen,” he says, accepting the call and putting it on speaker. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Sebastian!” Milo’s excited voice bursts through the phone. “Guess what? I taught Super Steggy how to swim today! Well, pretend swim. In the bathtub. And I found out that some dinosaurs could swim! Did you know that? They had special tails for swimming!”
Sebastian’s snakes perk up with obvious delight, several leaning toward the phone. “That sounds like an excellent discovery, Milo. Did Super Steggy enjoy his swimming lesson?”
“Oh yes! He’s getting really good at floating. And he asked me lots of questions about water dinosaurs, and I told him about—” Milo pauses suddenly. “Wait! Mama said you were going to Uncle Thad’s house tonight! Is Uncle Thad there? Can I talk to him?”
My snakes immediately perk up at being acknowledged. “Hi Milo, you’re on speaker, I can hear you,” I manage, touched by the kid’s enthusiasm.
With Sebastian’s grin and encouraging nod, I add, “And Super Steggy sounds like an excellent swimmer.”
“Really? Uncle Thad, you should come swimming with us sometime! I could teach you about dinosaurs that lived in the water! Oh, and Mama! Mama found something really cool on the computer about monsters!”
“It’s a deal,” I say, and mean it.
“Now let me talk to Mama,” Sebastian urges, and we hear Aspen’s voice come on the line.
“Sorry about that,” she says, sounding amused.
“Someone is very excited about bedtime stories tonight. But, Sebastian, I did find something interesting. There’s a blog called HarmonyUncensored.com that just posted about monster protectors and pre-Revelation history.
I thought you and Thad might want to see it.
I’m forwarding it now. See you when you get home. ‘Night, you two.”
He shows me a screen open to a blog called HarmonyUncensored.com. The latest post is titled “The Truth About Monster Protectors: What Really Happened Before the Revelation.”
I recognize my own words from my interviews with Sloane.
They’re woven into a masterful narrative about sacrifice and necessary shadows.
She’s captured everything—the weight of responsibility, the cost of using fear to keep people safe, the struggle to find purpose after secrets became unnecessary.
But she’s also captured something else, something in the way she describes Gorgon abilities and midnight motorcycle rides that makes my chest ache.
“It’s good,” Sebastian says quietly, his snakes nodding. “True.”
“It’s going to cause problems.” My throat tightens. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted someone to understand—not just what I did, but why I did it.
“Probably.” He smiles slightly. “But when has that ever stopped you from doing what you want?”
My phone buzzes—a text from Sloane: Just posted the truth. You okay with it? There’s a link to the same article.
“You should answer her,” Sebastian suggests, because apparently he can read upside down. “Before she thinks she crossed a line.”
“She did cross a line.” But my snakes are already reaching toward my phone. “This isn’t the piece her father wanted—no spin, no polish. Just truth, sharp as a blade.”
“No.” Sebastian stands, gathering the empty containers. “It’s better. It’s real.” He pauses at the door. “You know, I liked having a scary little brother. Still do, actually. Even if you’re not so scary anymore.”
After he leaves, I pull out my phone and scroll through Sloane’s latest blog post again. The comments section is already filling with monster voices, sharing their own pre-Revelation experiences. She’s created something powerful here—a space for truth instead of sanitized celebration stories.
Before I can second-guess myself, I type: Good article. Unflinching truth looks good on you.
Her response comes quickly: So, do your snakes when they’re showing off for me.
The compliment slams into me, shaking loose every carefully crafted illusion I’ve built since we met.
Oh, and I expect to see you at my 10 AM class tomorrow. Don’t be late.
When I catch my breath, I find myself smiling. My snakes do their pleased swaying dance, and for once, I don’t urge them to stop.
Because maybe Sebastian’s right. Maybe being the scary one wasn’t just about intimidation. Maybe it was always about protection—of secrets, of family, of a community that needed shadows as much as it needed light.
And maybe a journalist who wears thousand-dollar shoes to public pools and kisses like she’s not afraid of monsters is exactly what this particular shadow needs to let go of the past and step into the future.
But first, I have a Pilates class to survive tomorrow. And judging by the way my snakes perk up at the thought, they’re going to be absolutely useless at hiding how I feel about the instructor.
Some enforcer I turned out to be. Can’t even intimidate my own hair into behaving.