Chapter Two: Best Snake Hunter in Town

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The tires hit the gravel of my drive way, and I felt a wave of normalcy, warmth, and safety come over me. No matter what happens to a person, coming back to a place they love will always bring some kind of comfort. And I was no exception, pulling my car into the garage. I usually left it out because I am a man and I don't worry about stuff life grand theft auto or teenagers with a carton of eggs and a grudge. But I lived in the nice side of town, and the crazy-a*s neighborhood committee had long since banned any commercial and or 'damaged' cars from being in view. This translated too 'no poor working class people allowed'. I'm telling you, my neighborhood committee were Nazis, only instead of gassing minorities, they wanted the destruction of any family that had faults. It was the all-American businessman with a trophy wife and perfect kids, or you were socially shunned. Hell, if you didn't get your act together and at least try to pretend like you care about starving kids in Africa, and go to charity stuff, they'd find a reason to kick you out.

Unless you were like me and had enough money to donate a mass of cash to the community, and if they wanted to keep the public pool free or leaves and bugs, they couldn't mess with you. Then you'd be fine.

I made my money through being lazy. I didn't want to go to college or trade school, so I had to find something I was good at that didn't require a license to practice. So what I do? I get work as Denny's manager long enough to buy myself an one of those two-story inner-city things were you live upstairs and run a businessmen downstairs. Slap on a few posters, a clever name, and BAM, I'm a career adviser. And a damned good one, too, because I'm pretty wealthy for a twenty six year old.

The thing about Sirens is that each one has a different song. Songs bring up certain emotions, and only those emotions. My song inspired people. Robbing them of self-doubt, self-hatred, fear, uncertainty meant that anyone I sang to would spend the next month confident and comfortable in their own skin. And you see, that's the key to success. Most of my customers already have a plan, and just don't think they can pull it off. And since my song isn't actually a song, I don't have to bust out in opera to get them going. I say some reassuring words, laced with magic, and there you have it. Instant entrepreneur. After several of my customers started making the big bucks, my own reputation, and therefor income, increased as well.

Though it didn't matter to Tory if I made more than him. He still refused to leave the stun gun in the car, despite my commands. Any time I tried to grab it from him, he'd hit the button, forcing me to retreat. Eventually, I just left him in the car and went inside, the garage door leading into the kitchen. By the time I had fixed myself a glass of water and settled in the seat of my office, he'd zapped the thing so many times it had gone dead. When he told me this, I rolled my eyes.

"You killed my weapon. Great." My chair spun back towards to computer, where I had pulled up a Google search. That may sound dumb, but most information about the supernatural world was on those crappily formatted webpages, whether you believed it or not. Google was my best bet. "Plug it into the wall over there, the adapter is already there."

"I should get one of these things." He informed me, doing as I said none-the-less.

"Why? So you can make it die in under half an hour?" I scoffed, fishing through the crap that Google had provided. Looking up 'magical black market' had led me to things I didn't want to see. Somehow.

"So I guess you lost the bet." Tory hoped up on the cherry wood desk that I kept my laptop on, crossing his legs. His boots, still covered in mud, had yet to be removed. Maybe I was girly or something, but the sight of dirt being tracked through my house and on my tables made a vein pulse next to my eye.

"What bet?" I growled, standing up from the computer to yank his legs from my desk. It put him off balance, and he gasped in surprise as he fell back. Then he sat right back up and started kicking at me, a stubborn struggle to remain a pain in the a*s. Like I said before. B. F. F,

"Dur," His foot hit my leg, the caked mug from the mosh crumbling off the dark leather to stain my jeans. "The reason we went out there, man."

I thought for a second, taking hold of one of Tory's ankles and proceeded to drag him off the desk completely. Before he could fall, though, he cried uncle, and hoped off the desk on his own. When he left to take his shoes off at the door (and to track more filth through my house out of spite), I tried harder to remember what bet.

Oh yeah. That bet.

See, you know how we were drunk? And you know how we were out in the mosh at night, alone, far from society? Though that sounded like a dark gay romance, it was actually a stupid wager between friends. Me and Tory make sure to spend every Saturday hanging out, one way or another. This week Tory showed me a pub he'd recently discovered. During our drinks (at which I am a serious light weight), Tory bet I couldn't catch a snake with my bare hands, like those guys on Animal Planet. I took that bet because I am a man and I can catch a snake with my bare hands, damn it.

So we got in the car, still drunk (don't do that, by the way.) We went to the mosh because that seemed like a place that would have snakes. It was dark because Tory wanted that twenty bucks tonight. We were alone because you don't really invite people to come with you and your buddy to drive out somewhere and 'catch snakes'. And it was far from society because we hadn't wanted the cops in on this, for several reasons.

"Damn it." I frowned and fished out my wallet from my back pocket. When Tory reentered my study, I tossed the two tens at him. The green slips of paper hit his chest then fluttered to the ground. He retrieved them with a grin as I returned to my computer to continue on with my search.

"Alright." I spoke more to myself then my company, but he listened none-the-less, taking a seat on the leather love seat that stood a few feet from me. "I just can't get it up running."

"Pfffft." Tory started, "That's so what he said!" And then he busted into self-amused laughter. Ha ha.

"Indeed it is." I agreed dryly, "But the point still remains, Tory, that I can't figure out how that dragon got here."

"Who cares?" He snorted, not happy with my lack of reaction. 'That's what she said' jokes killed at his work, an auto repair shop, and he wasn't used to people not busting a gut at the cheep sex jokes. I'll admit it was funny, and he got me perfect, but now really wasn't the time for sexual innuendo. "It's not like it followed you home. We escaped just fine, so just don't go back into that patch of mosh, man." He paused, "Oh, yeah, dude, are you okay? I mean, I didn't see what happened before you ran out, but you looked pretty beat up, you know?"

"I'm fine. Just some bruises." I checked my wrist, which I hadn't typed with, and found it could move. Hurt like hell, though, so I'd have to get something for it later. My chest, which had taken the impact when the dragon first shoved me down, still ached. It wasn't as mind-numbingly agonizing as before, and I could breath fine, so my ribs should be fine. My head, though, hurt with a throbbing mass. "Need some pain killers, though. Need some?"

"Yeah." Tory answered, frowning, "I screwed up my shoulder when I was stabbing that thing."

"Mm-hm." I acknowledged and headed to the bathroom to pick up those so-familiar pills. I downed two without water, which told you how often I had headaches, and brought the bottle back out to Tory. He had to go get something to drink, leaving me alone. I felt myself relax completely, then, plopping down on the love seat.

Don't get me wrong, I love Tory. But he was the type of guy who refused to let it show when he was bothered. He just had that same smug, confident, lazy feel about him, no matter what, and never stopped cracking his stupid jokes. I can't handle that right after being attacked by a beast that wanted, and knew very well how, to eat me. And since there was a good chance this might lead to something bigger, I really just wanted to be alone. I felt so tired, weak, broken. My limbs felt heavy, too much to hold, and I three my legs up onto the seat, sinking into a laying position with my legs built.

Then I caught myself and sat up again with a jolt.

Another interesting fact about the Sirens is that we don't just make your feelings vanish into thin air, never to be seen again. We take them into ourselves, and they rear their ugly faces at random moments. The depression that had just came over me wasn't mine, but someone's who I had sung too. The distaste for my best friend was a reflection of the person's distaste for their best friend.

It happened to all of us. A Siren that could provoke lust would suffer from a lack of sexual arousal. One that brought anger would remain peaceful. It's just an ironic twist that was frustration as hell. And one that I didn't need right now.

I spent another hour searching the web. Tory had passed out on my couch some time go when I finally closed the laptop, my eyes about to burst from staring at the bright screen. I shuffled off to the bathroom after throwing a blanket on him and turning out the lights.

If you're hurt, take a hot shower. Just do it. It's heaven, I swear.

The warm water shifted through my hair, making my strawberry blonde hair look light auburn, and all the tension in my shoulders seemed to melt and join the water, flowing down over my body before swirling down the drain, never to be seen again. I scrubbed myself down without much hurry, and must had yawned a thousand times. I stood there, falling asleep on my feet, until my water heater finally couldn't take it, and the shower started to cool. This was saying something, since I had a heater that could supply a good three baths before needing a break. I didn't mourn over the wasted water, just wrapped towel around my waste and headed to my room.

I slept, and had the oddest dream. From some reason, I dreamed I was a world-famous snake charmer.

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