“Fine, then, I look like a first grade teacher from the 1970s.”
“Your sense of history is very brief.” I consulted my GPS before pulling to a stop in front of one of the attractive brick houses. “We’re here.”
Shelby forgot her sulk long enough to peer past me at the house. “Are you sure?”
“What did you expect? A hole in the ground? Wadjet are civilized people. Chandi’s mother is a doctor.” And Chandi’s father was an impressively large spectacled cobra, which was why Chandi’s fiancé lived at the zoo. Male wadjet don’t coexist well.
“Are you sure she’s home?”
“I called first.” Never surprise any member of a venomous species with a home visit. It’s not only rude, it’s potentially hazardous to your health.
We walked up the narrow path to the front door, Shelby shamelessly gawking at the landscaping, me watching for signs that we’d been followed. No one drove down the street, but that didn’t mean anything; any tail smart enough to stay with us this far would probably be smart enough to park farther down the block and observe our activities from a distance.
There are times when I hate being as paranoid as I am. Life with my family makes paranoia a vital survival trait, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. It can be a lonely way to live. I glanced at Shelby out of the corner of my eye.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t so lonely after all.
I stepped up onto the porch and rang the doorbell, which made a pleasant chiming sound before tapering off. Running footsteps replaced the sound of the bell, and a familiar voice called, “I’ve got it!” just before the door was wrenched open to reveal Chandi. She blinked at us, eyes wide and bewildered. Then they narrowed, and she demanded, “What are you doing here?”
“I came because I wanted to speak with your parents,” I said. “Ms. Tanner accompanied me because she needs to be formally introduced as a visiting cryptozoologist.”
Chandi wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Are you running a breeding program for those, too?”
I gaped at her, not quite sure how I was supposed to respond. I was still gaping when she turned and ran back into the house, leaving the door ajar.
“Mooooooo-om! Dr. Price from the zoo is here and he brought a girl!”
Shelby stepped up next to me. “Look at it this way,” she said. “That’s one little girl who’s never going to need the facts of life explained to her.”
“That’s one little girl whose explanation of the facts of life looks nothing like whatever you’re picturing,” I replied.
Fortunately, Shelby’s reply was cut off by the appearance of Chandi’s mother. Dr. Sarpa was a tall, slender woman with skin the same deep, rich brown as the scales on a spectacled cobra’s back. She had her long black hair pulled into a ponytail, and was wearing a pencil skirt and a flowing white blouse. Her shoes were three-inch heels that my sister would have coveted, but which made me wince in sympathy. She’d only dressed this fancily for me once, and that was the first time that we met; this was all for Shelby’s benefit.
“Alex,” she said, with considerably more warmth than her daughter usually managed. She even smiled at me in the human style, showing her teeth without baring them. “This must be Dr. Tanner from the zoo. I’ve heard so much about you. Won’t you both please come in?”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I said, stepping over the threshold and bending to remove my shoes. Shelby nodded quickly, indicating that she got the hint, and copied my actions. There was a low bench near the door. We placed our shoes on it.
“Daksha is waiting for us in the back garden,” said Dr. Sarpa.
“Thank you,” I said again. “Kumari, may I please properly introduce you to the scholar, Shelby Tanner, who has come here seeking only knowledge?”
“You may,” said Dr. Sarpa, and turned her human-style smile on Shelby. “You are welcome in my home so long as you travel with Alex, who is known and beloved to us, and do not offer any harm or threat unto my family. Do you agree?”
“Yes, of course,” said Shelby, looking puzzled but still agreeable. I understood her confusion; I shared it, the first time I had to deal with wadjet in a social setting. Humans are primates, and primates generally wait to see whether something is a threat before inviting it into their homes. Wadjet are something different. For Kumari, bringing us inside put us within striking distance. If we were going to pose a danger to her family, she wanted to control the environment. She wanted us in her den.
“Good.” Kumari’s smile died, taking the implied threat with it. “This way.” She turned, heading deeper into the house. Her heels clacked sharply against the floor, while our bare feet made no sound.
Shelby paced herself to walk beside me, looking faintly ill-at-ease. That was a good reaction, all things considered. I followed her gaze and saw that she was looking, not at the artwork on the walls or the general design of the house, but at Kumari’s shoes.
“We can’t wear shoes indoors because we might step on something we shouldn’t,” I murmured. “People are heavy. You’re more likely to realize what’s happening and pull back before putting your full weight on someone’s tail if you’re barefoot. Kumari gets to keep her shoes on because this is her home. She’s demonstrating dominance over you.”
“Just me?”
“She demonstrated dominance over me a long time ago.” I paused, realizing how that sounded, and winced. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“No, but it’s what you said,” said Shelby, clearly amused. I decided to stop trying to correct her. Amusement was better—much better—than any of the alternatives.
Kumari was waiting by the sliding glass door to the backyard, which was already standing open. When we reached her, she calmly removed her heels, leaving them on the mat, and stepped through the doorway, onto the cobblestone path that wound its way through their lush rainforest of a yard.
The back fence of the Sarpa residence was high enough to brush up against the restrictions laid down by the local homeowners association. I knew that well, since I’d helped Kumari deflect three attempts to have her fined for building her fence too tall. It had to be the height it was in order to conceal their private greenhouse from prying eyes. Anyone flying over would realize the Sarpas were essentially maintaining a backyard hothouse, but as it was perfectly legal and all their building permits were in order, none of us were particularly worried.
I’m a herpetologist, not a botanist; I couldn’t have named any of the trees, climbing vines, or flowers that filled the enclosed glass box of their yard. A fountain chuckled quietly to itself in one corner, feeding into a pond filled with decorative fish. Birds flashed by in the canopy, as captive as any denizens of the zoo. And in the middle of it all, coiled on a large, flat stone intended for that very purpose, was the master of this household, a spectacled cobra fully seventeen feet in length. As we approached him, he lifted the first third of his body into the air, looking down his nose at me as he opened the great flare of his hood. Shelby’s hand closed on my upper arm, fingers clenching convulsively tight.
I smiled. “Hello, Daksha. It’s nice to see you again. Your scales look remarkable. Did you shed recently?”
The massive cobra continued to study me, his tongue flicking in and out three times before he closed his hood, lowered himself back to the basking stone, and slithered down to the garden path. Moving fast enough to be the stuff of nightmares, he zigzagged to Kumari and twisted his way up her body, moving like the stripe on a barber pole. She held perfectly still, helping him along, until his head was resting on her right shoulder and his body gathered in a thick belt around her waist and torso.