A Shrine to an Unknown God

FANGS

DAHLIA MUST BE ROYALTY for her family to have been able to afford all of this. Her house is gigantic, several stories all built on stilts, with a shady space beneath it where several mini buses are parked. She parks Bertha in this space, and we climb out. The pavement beneath my feet is cracked and caked in sand.

Ezra and I gravitate towards the other side of the building, where two outdoor baths have been built right up against the beach. Sugary white sand stretches for miles before meeting the crystal clear water. The salty air and crashing of waves reminds me of home.

Dahlia joins us. We stand there for a moment, looking at the view and licking at our cones of vegan ice cream as it melts and runs down our hands. Then we head up up a set of rickety white stairs. We pass several doors before she pushes open the one that she'd been looking for and ushers us all inside, out of the heat. Cold air washes over me, sweet-smelling and enticing.

There's the ck-ck-ck of animal claws against tile floor as two large golden dogs bombard us. They lick at Dahlia, jumping up on their hind legs, and curiously sniff at Ezra and me.

"Oh, hi, babies, hi, my babies," Dahlia croons. "This is Oakley and Dante. You guys aren't allergic, are you?"

"I love dogs," I assure her, giving each of them a good scratch behind the ears. The one she points out as Oakley is smaller than the other, with shorter, coarser, yellower fur. Dante is a bit bigger, his hair longer, softer, and slightly browned.

Dahlia slides her sandals off, placing them inside a wicker bin by the door. "You guys can go ahead and take your shoes off. Or leave them on, if you want. It's your life, who am I to tell you what to do?"

To be polite, I take my own shoes off, and place them inside the bin. Ezra does the same. The floor is cool white squares lined in brown.

The dogs follow us as she shows us around, first showing us her bedroom, which is full of dark jewel tones, the scent of incense lingering on the curtains and bedsheets. She points out a clear tank on her dresser, inside of which is a small-ish snake—a literal snake, I can't make this up—with vibrant red and orange patterns on its skin. Its tongue flicks in and out of its mouth, flashing pink. Lining the outside of the cage are several crystals in varying sizes and colors.

"His name is Malfoy," Dahlia explains, with pride in her voice. "He's so stupid, look at him."

"He has a name?" I ask.

"Of course. Do you guys wanna hold him?"

"Will he bite?"

"Only if you hurt him."

She lifts the top off his tank, and gently reaches inside. Closing her hands around his sides, she offers him to Ezra.

"Yeah, that's a no from me."

"Coward." She rolls her eyes and turns to me instead. "Be gentle," she explains, "and just kinda let him do his thing. He's my little explorer, so he's gonna try to climb all over you. He just wants to check you out."

She rests the snake in my outspread hands. I recoil at the feeling of scales against my skin, but I refuse to do anything that could startle him, like flinching. He climbs up my arms and into my hair, then down my face and around my shoulders, resting around my neck. As he hangs there, his tongue keeps flicking out.

"He likes you!" Dahlia exclaims. "Look at that! That's so cute! He's saying mlem-mlem-mlem, Antigone, I wuvva you!"

His fangs seep into the space between my thumb and forefinger. A jolt of low-level electric pain—like stepping on a thorn—knocks through me.