Snake Eyes

by Hillary Monahan

She sniffed again, which was strange because wasn’t she supposed to be non-corporeal and have no nose t—?

  Yep, Tide. Tide detergent.

  “Why?” Tanis managed with the mouth she didn’t think she ought to have. Her voice was dry, but not like it had been after the petrification. This was plain old been-in-bed-too-long cottonmouth, not been-sucking-on-a-desert-for-six-years dry.

  Someone slapped her face.

  “Open your eyes, lazy. I’ve had enough waiting on you. Look at me.”

  I can’t open my eyes. I—

  Hey, I have eyes.

  She sucked in a breath and tasted salty, coastal air. She smiled. Then she smiled more, because she had lungs, and a face, and in discovering she had a face, she could force open her eyes, blinking at the rude light stabbing at her retinas. The world was too bright for someone who’d been bathed in darkness, and she lifted her arm to her shield herself, understanding, as the back of her hand collided with her cheek, that she had arms—and better than that, those arms worked.

  I’m not dead.

  I’m not dead.

  I’m not dead.

  I’M NOT FUCKING DEAD!

  “How?” she asked, rolling her head toward Maman’s voice. There, a foot away, seated on a stool beside an antique end-table, was the lwa herself. Her braids were tucked back into a kerchief at the nape of her neck. Big gold hoop earrings, a big gold necklace with a fat amethyst wrapped at the end. She’d lined her eyes with canary yellow and painted her lips red. Her dress was green and yellow gingham check, the belt at her waist...

  Distended. Hugely distended.

  Tanis stared.

  “There you are. You see now, koulèv, why I help you, yes? Maman gives you her feather and tells Papa he can’t have you yet.” Maman stretched out to run a wet cloth over Tanis’s face and hair. That Tanis was in a bed, a blanket tucked around her waist, in a room with white wallpaper printed with baby pink roses, registered at about the same time as the baby in Maman’s gut registered.

  “Is it mine?” she demanded.

  “My old man, he does not make the babies so easy. Death is not good at creating life. But strong koulèvs? They got twice the cock and twice the spunk. And here it is, three days? So fast. He’s thriving already!” Maman cackled and leaned back in her chair, wringing out her washcloth in the basin beside the bed.

  “He.”

  I have a son.

  She used me as stud.

  She also saved my life.

  Tanis frowned, but Maman didn’t appear to care.

  “So the good news first. You will recover. Stiff a while, but that will pass. Papa nearly had you to the gates before I laid my claim. He’s sour I stole you, but I promised him a favor to make it up to him. Consider this the last time I can deny him, ya? Don’t be stupid with the life you have left.” Maman reached out to pinch Tanis’s bicep. Tanis winced, and Maman snickered. “Good sign that you can feel pain. When you first got here, I kept stabbing your toes with pins but you never flinched. I knew you’d pull through when you kicked me for it yesterday. Now this. It’s good, it’s all good.”

  All good.

  Yes.

  Sure it is.

  “What’s the bad news?” Tanis asked, unsure of how to feel. Relieved that she was alive, certainly, and grateful that Maman had wrestled her away from her husband’s clutches, yes. But she’d been used and she’d been tricked and now there were two mothers of her children instead of one and that was confusing, especially when you’d just nearly died thanks to a Gorgon curse.

  This week is balls.

  “Ah, the bad. I am lwa. You are not. Our boy will be mine and mine alone. This is probably not kind, but no one said lwa were kind. Perhaps saving your life sapped the last of my good will.” Maman drizzled herself across her chair and tilted her head back, luxuriating in the cold air spewed out by the air conditioner in the window. “I forgot how hot women get while carrying. This is agony.”

  And then she said something in a language Tanis didn’t understand.

  “Am I in New Orleans?” Tanis asked, trying to sit up and discovering that was beyond her capabilities at the moment. Her back felt stiff, her legs like lead. She settled for rolling onto her side and resting her weight on her elbow.

  “Yes.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “That is for Maman to know and the little koulèv to wonder.” Maman had her eyes closed, but she smiled all the same, her hand moving to her middle to rub. “He is kicking. Legs, not snake. This is good.”

  Yeah, that’s great.

  “And I’ve been here for how long?”

  “Three days. Four? Renaud will be glad you are gone soon. Double the cocks means double the piss and his grandmother was born in this bed.” That likely should have embarrassed Tanis more than it did, but her mind was too busy racing. If Barbara had Tanis’s phone and Naree called it, she might have told Naree Tanis had died, or that she didn’t know what had happened to her, inside the Den. And with Tanis plucked from death’s door and relocated three states away from her last known location...

  “Relax. My goodness, you are wound tight. You would think it is the petrification, but you are just like this, aren’t you?” Maman grunted and pushed herself to standing, waddling her way to the door with her arms pressed to the small of her back. “Renaud!” she called out, her voice booming through the house. “Send them! Koulèv is finally awake. Warn the girl that the koulèv’s breath is like alligator farts.”

  Tanis frowned and cupped her hand around her mouth, blowing into it. It was, indeed, rank, and alligator farts didn’t seem that far off the mark.

  “Send who?” She reached for a glass of water beside the bed, not caring who it belonged to, and downed the contents, immediately feeling better.

  “Them.” Maman winked. “You told her to call Poul Mwen, ya? She called. When she heard you were here, she came the next morning. She is a good girl. I did not tell her our little secret.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as she stroked her swollen stomach. “That is for us to know.”

  And with that, Maman lumbered down the hall, taking Tanis’s second baby with her.

  Tanis ran her hands down her face, grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes. The right eye was still tender from Lamia’s abuse, but it was bearable, and she slumped back into her pillows and watched the door, waiting. Her nostrils flared, looking for scent and catching it—that sweet, familiar signature, laced with Skittles and Coca Cola. She swallowed a sob.

  Naree wasn’t so restrained. She cried as she climbed the house stairs and cried all the way to the spare room. She stopped in the doorway and stared at Tanis, tears running down her face, the baby awake and alert in her arms. Naree’s glasses were on, her hair up on top of her head, her brow and neck dotted with sweat. She wore her purple NOLA T-shirt and a pair of teeny, tiny cut-off shorts; Tanis was surprised her labia weren’t hanging out.

  “Baby. You okay? You were gray. You were so gray.” Naree rushed over to her bedside, smooshing herself against Tanis’s chest as she blubbered, Bee sandwiched between their bodies. Tanis stroked her best girl’s hair and whispered into her ear, reassuring her best she could because that was infinitely better than joining her in weep-fest. The baby let out an aggrieved squawk, and Tanis scooped her up and adjusted her, making sure her delicate neck was supported as she laid Bee out across her chest, the round little face pushed up against the side of her breast.

  “Boob pillow,” she said quietly, and Naree giggled, leaning in to place a string of kisses across Tanis’s brow.

  “You stink,” she announced, and Tanis swatted her hip, her hand sliding around to her back and under her shirt to stroke her spine.

  So soft. So familiar.

  So mine.

  “Yeah, I do. Like alligator farts, Maman said.”

  “I like her.”

  “I knew you would.”

  Naree pulled the chair as close to the bed as it would go and sat, her fingers cla
sping Tanis’s. “They thought you’d die. You were practically black when I got here. I called the next day, like you said, and Renaud told me what had happened and to come right away. I flew down that night. There were people here—I don’t know, like a coven or something—and they were taking shifts watching you. There was chanting and candles and... it was beautiful. I didn’t understand any of it, but it was beautiful.”

  “That’s vodou. It is beautiful.” Tanis smiled and nuzzled at Bee’s dark head. “How pissed were your parents that you left again so soon?”

  “Furious,” Naree admitted, her free hand stroking Bee’s back and then rising to tangle itself in Tanis’s hair. Her fingers massaged circles across Tanis’s scalp. “But they’ll get over it. I did promise we’d go home for Christmas, though.” She paused. “All three of us. And I told them if they couldn’t deal with me being a big fat dyke, they won’t get to see their grandkid. Funny how quick that changed their song.”

  “Maybe they’ll try to send us to one of those queer people reform jails.” Tanis settled back into her pillow and let herself be soothed by the weight of her daughter on her chest and Naree’s gente stroking. She hadn’t realized exactly how tired she was, but the little energy she’d expended had already taken its toll.

  Being petrified is ass.

  “You look exhausted,” Naree said quietly.

  “I am. It’s been... it’s sucked.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Dead.”

  “I figured as much.” Tanis cracked an eye to peer at Naree, and Naree shrugged. “Maman’s got a set of eyeballs in a jar that watch you when you walk into the room. It’s totally creepy. She said they were Lamia’s, so I figured that was a good sign you’d won.”

  Maman took Ma’s eyes.

  ...she took them when she came to get me.

  Tanis cracked a grin and she laughed, her chest aching, but it was worth it, oh, it was worth it. She squeezed her hand around Naree’s, careful not to press too hard, and Naree rewarded her by leaning in to kiss her on the mouth.

  She crinkled her nose as her face hovered above Tanis’s. “I hate to say it, but she’s right. It’s totally alligator farts.”

  Tanis smiled and pressed her lips to her nose. “Totally.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PUTTING A BOOK together is rarely a solo effort. I’m lost without friends, family, and a solid publishing team steering my ship into port. Snake Eyes is no different in that regard; it was adrift until a bunch of greater, more normal people anchored me so I could get it done.

  David, Becky, Lauren, Greg, Eric—you’re my lifelines and make getting out of bed every day worth it. I love you.

  Mom and Drew—thank you for the love and support through all my ups and downs. Maybe one day I’ll write a not-weird book. Probably not? But maybe. Hold onto hope.

  Mike Condon—I love you. You’re a fun, smart, awesome dude and a great dad. I wouldn’t be as okay with who I am today if I hadn’t looked to your example. This book is, truly, for you.

  TS—twinsie. I adore you. You got me started down the right path in publishing and a little part of you is in every story.

  Miriam—you’re my favorite person a lot more than you realize. You’re some parts agent, some parts therapist, some parts rock star and I appreciate you.

  Dave Moore—thanks for giving me this opportunity. You, Jon, and Rebellion are an awesome team to work with. I had so much fun putting this together.

  Evie Nelson—you make my words so much prettier, girl. You’re like a walking, talking tube of lipstick. Like Revlon, only for words. That’s meant to be flattering, I promise.

  My LGBTQ+ Community—this is the first book I started and finished, front to back, after I’d stopped waffling at the closet door and walked out completely. You’re friends and inspirations. You’re brave and wonderful and so many of you make the world a better place. Live, love, laugh when you can. Stay strong. Stay proud.

  I know I’m missing folks—beta readers of yore, vidya game friends, author friends, my social media buddies—but to name you all would take pages I don’t have. Know that if I love you, talk to you, if I interact with you, if you ever made me smile, you make my books possible.

  Much love and peace.

  H

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HILLARY MONAHAN IS a New York Times bestselling author creeping around south shore Massachusetts with her trusty basset hound sidekick. She writes scary stuff and funny stuff and kissing stuff, for adults and teens alike. Her pseudonym, Eva Darrows, is responsible for the critically-acclaimed The Awesome from Ravenstone, and the forthcoming Dead Little Mean Girl from Harlequin Teen in spring of 2017. She often spews opinions on Twitter under the handle @HillaryMonahan.

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