Page 13 of Reptile Dysfunction

Fred gasps. “What a twist! Our readers are going to love this!”

He scribbles frantically in his notebook while I do my best not to collapse from sheer boredom. This isn’t what I signed up for when I became a journalist, and there’s no way I’m going to write this fluff piece. Luckily, Fred seems eager enough for both of us.

“Now,” says the old woman, peering eagerly between the two of us. “I want to show you the cream of the crop. My Angora wool yarns.”

She raises her eyebrows at us in delight, clearly expecting us to be as thrilled as she is. I try to muster a smile, but Fred, of course, is genuinely excited.

“Oh my goodness!” he exclaims. “What a treat!”

While Fred fawns over the fancy string, I let my mind wander back to my unsuccessful exposé. The editorial might have been squashed, but I’m convinced there’s something fishy about Mayor Wendall. I’m not done investigating his dodgy dealings. If anything, I’m more determined than ever, and every second I spend breathing in old-woman smell and staring at yarns pushes me closer to taking things into my own hands with this investigation.

Just because Eddie couldn’t find any evidence of wrongdoing doesn’t mean it’s not there.

“Would you like to touch the yarn?” asks the woman, holding out what looks like a dead animal. “This one’s made from the beard of a satyr,” she tells me, smiling.

“Uh, no, thank you,” I say as politely as possible. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

“Oh, no! I insist!” she replies, pushing the skein toward me. “It’s best if you can write about the textures. Yarn is all about the textures.”

Reluctantly, I reach out and give the satyr wool a little pat, trying my best not to gag and swearing to myself that I’ll find the story I’m looking for. Anything not to have to do this again.

8

MASON

I hang up the phone, frowning to myself after a call from yet another old friend, acquaintance, or colleague warns me about the new journalist in town.

But as soon as I put the receiver down, it rings again.

“This is Mayor Wendall,” I say, dutifully picking up the phone. “How can I help you today?”

“Mason, it’s Pete,” comes the voice on the other end. “I just thought you should know I’ve been getting calls from the Herald. First from Eddie, then from a reporter. Charlotte somebody.”

“Let me guess, they were accusing me of corruption,” I say, sighing.

“Ah, so you already know,” Pete says, and I can hear the conciliatory tone in his voice. “Look, I hope that wasn’t my fault. I know I was pushing for the development approval, but I didn’t mean to make you look bad.”

I shake my head, annoying the snakes and sending them slithering around the phone cord again. I do my best to answer Pete while untangling them.

“No, no, that’s not on you,” I say, trying to reassure him. “And this isn’t the first accusation I’ve heard from Charlotte Lieberman, either. It sounds like she’s just trying to make a name for herself, and for some reason, she’s picked me as her target.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Pete says, and I can tell he means it. “Well, if there’s anything else I can do to help clear your name, just let me know. I already told them there was nothing to their claims, of course.”

“Thanks, Pete,” I reply. “But I think it’s best to just let this run its course. It’s nothing but rumors, and they have a way of dying out when there’s nothing to fuel them.”

We spend a couple more minutes chatting, but by the time I put down the phone, I’m exhausted. Not since Sweetwater have I had anyone come after me like this, and though I like to think I have a thick skin, I can’t help but feel hurt at Charlotte’s unfounded claims.

I try to ignore the fact that at least a little bit of that sting comes from the fact that the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen seems to resent my very existence. Instead, I remind myself it’s simply a matter of ethics. She has no right or justification for pushing so hard for a story painting me in a bad light.

I sigh, untangling the last of the snakes from the corded phone, which I remind myself to replace in the near future.

But even as I set out to take care of my duties for the day, I can’t help but fear for my reputation. It’s taken me a long time to get to where I am, and I’ve always been sure to do everything to the best of my ability, not to mention with a great deal of integrity.

I’m all too aware of how most of the world sees gorgons, and I’ve held myself to a higher standard than most politicians because of it. I thought I’d finally found a place that saw that.

But this Charlotte…

“Good morning, Mr. Mayor!” calls a little werewolf girl, clutching her mother’s hand.