“I see.” Pax sat down on the couch, still looking down at me. “What’s a snake god?”
I blinked. “Okay, that was something I hadn’t considered. Um. So most major human and cryptid religions have snakes in them somewhere. There’s the whole Garden of Eden shtick, the Rainbow Serpent, Medusa, all that fun stuff. And maybe that’s because of monomyths and things like that—ask my mother if you ever want to have your ear talked off—and maybe it’s because all religions are a little bit right, but it’s at least partially because there are a really disturbing number of dimensions filled with nothing but snakes.”
“Snakes,” said Pax slowly.
“Yup, snakes. You know how dimensions work, right?”
He looked at me blankly.
“You . . . don’t know how dimensions work?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I bet you don’t know how the benthic zones of the sea function, but I understand them intimately.”
“We all have our own strengths,” I said, and shook my head, trying to switch into educational mode. “Have you ever seen a honeycomb?”
“Yes.”
“So think of our dimension as one cell in a really, really big honeycomb. It’s touching a bunch of other realities, all sort of parallel, all sort of not. What you get is determined by what direction you go—and don’t ask how you know what direction you’re going, I am not a dimensional traveler, and I don’t want to be. That’s my Grandma Alice’s job. Anyway, if you’re traveling on the horizontal,” I swept my hand flat through the air in front of me, “you get humanoids, things that look like life in this dimension, but aren’t necessarily the same. Cuckoos probably came from a horizontal dimension. If you’re traveling on the vertical, you get things that aren’t humanoid, but are statistically more likely to be like the people in this dimension—empathic, intelligent, friendly. And if you travel on the diagonal, you get weird shit. Frequently snakes. Like, three times out of four, snakes.”
“But why?”
“Hell if I know. Hell if anyone knows. The universe seems to really enjoy making snakes.” I pushed myself up off the floor, tucking my phone into my pocket. “Because there are so many snake dimensions, people have run into them at various points throughout history. And because humans are sometimes predictable in bad ways, there are always people who think summoning a giant snake from another dimension will help them get their heart’s desire. I’m not sure what that says about people. Probably nothing good.”
Pax stared at me. “That’s it, I’m going back to the ocean.”
“You’re like the little mermaid in reverse.” I flashed him a smile and offered him my hand. “Come on. Are you feeling less like eating people?”
“Yes, but we’re going to need more steak,” he said, taking my hand and letting me pull him to his feet.
“We can get more steak,” I said. “For right now, we need to get out there and pretend everything is normal. You up for it?”
“No,” he said dolefully.
“Good,” I said, and dragged him out the door. Yes, there was an element of fiddling while Rome burned in heading for a party when two of our fellow contestants had just died, but sometimes, keeping up appearances was all you could do. We’d avenge them later. Maybe I was being a little paranoid: I’d own it if that were the case. Hell, I’d even be grateful. But I didn’t think I was. When something like this begins, it doesn’t end until a lot more people are dead.
Eight
“Walking into danger with your eyes open and your mind clear is a sign of bravery, not foolishness. Well, sometimes foolishness. But as long as you walk back out again, you can pretend that part doesn’t matter.”
—Enid Healy
The Crier Apartments, privately owned by Crier Productions, sometime after midnight
THE PARTY WAS AS AWFUL as I expected. People kept asking if I’d seen Poppy or Chaz, then laughing and making snarky comments about sore losers when I said I hadn’t. It was triggering a weird sort of déjà vu; I was pretty sure I’d seen this scene play out over the course of the last few weeks, as people slipped away from us. I might even have been one of the ones asking where they’d gone.
Thinking about it made me want to grab and shake every single person I saw, and when I realized my hands had started balling into fists without my having consciously decided to hit somebody, I pleaded a headache and left. Lyra was still laughing, dancing on top of a picnic table with one of the contestants from season four. I decided to let her have her fun. She’d pay for it in the morning, and maybe the hangover would make the bad news feel a little less personal.