How to Sex Your Snake

Chapter 2, Part Two

I never considered myself a prude but I guess I am because I did a half turn before I started stripping, handing stuff back over my shoulder as I went. My jeans, a low-cut, tight, v-neck t-shirt that worked best when I was bra-less, a brand new blueberry-colored thong, and my favorite hoodie were all probably ruined. On the other hand, skin that had been covered with clothing appeared to be blood free. So a win for me, I guess.

The neon stuff that Warren had left turned out to be running pants and a short-sleeved t-shirt that promoted a Halloween themed 5K. The fit was adequate but the hue was so bright that I could make out my reflection in the shower tile.

I heard Leather Girl's duffel bag zip. When I turned around she'd been replaced by Warren.

"Foot," he said.

"What?"

Warren reached down and lifted my leg by the ankle. He pulled something purple from his pocket and slipped it over my bare foot. "Other leg," he said and tapped a hand against the calf. A little hop and my other foot was buried in purple too. "Put these on," he said and my hands disappeared into matching gloves.

"Walk." He steered me out into the hall and pushed.

Somebody had turned on all the lights. I glanced over my shoulders looking for Dewey and caught sight of the trail of bloody footprints that led back to the front room. My bloody footprints. Blast. How did I get in the middle of whatever this was? And where was Dewey?

"Where's my brother?"

Warren ignored the question. "Walk." And then he twisted me away from the blood.

The booties were made to cover shoes so I had to scrunch my toes to keep them on. As I stumbled along, something nagged at the back of my brain. What was I forgetting? As we passed an open door, I dug in my heels and Warren almost tripped over me.

I let out a low whistle and stared into what could only be described as a hoarder's paradise. Snakes wiggled in dozens of cages that lined all four walls, floor to ceiling. In the center of the room, a table was covered in the same stuff that was always laying around Dewey's house: hooks on long handles, small pieces of gnarly twisted wood, empty water bowls in various sizes, and red light bulbs still in their protective packaging. A few bags of aspen shavings were stacked near the door. Dewey used that to line the cages for his creepy crawlies too. But his collection was nothing like this. Which explained why the house smelled like a sawmill. And why my brother had spent so much time here since we'd come back to town.

And then I remembered what I'd forgotten. Morgan. Where was he? After I'd fallen in the blood, and Dewey had come running from the back of the house, he'd been alone.

"Where's Morgan?" I wasn't sure I wanted an answer.

And from the look on Warren's face, I knew I wasn't getting one. He tightened his grip on my arm. "Come on."

We passed two more critter stuffed rooms before Warren stopped us outside a bedroom that looked like it would have fit into any normal house. "Did you open that slider?"

I peered in the cage-free room. Hey, was that Dewey's suitcase sitting next to the open slider? I leaned around the edge of the door for a better look. And there was mine on the floor of the master bath. The idiot had come here straight from the airport. Blast. Practically everything I owned was in that suitcase.

"That's mine," I said pointing, "do you think I could just...."

His look told me no.

Blast.

"June?"

"What?" Oh yeah. "No, I didn't open that slider."

Warren nodded and we continued on our way. At the end of the hall, he opened the side door, lifted up a strip of yellow crime scene tape and gave me a gentle shove. I stepped out onto the tiny porch and sighed. The sun was about to set and I was stuck in short sleeves. I gave my arms a preemptive rub.