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crawly movements on my scalp—but also a movement beside me as Mom reached for the remote and killed the TV.
    Silence, except for the ragged sounds of my own sobbing. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
    Mom put her arms around me, but I stiffened and pulled away.
    Mom’s arms fell into her lap like I’d shot them down.
    Silence.
    Then, in her most controlled voice, “It’s not your fault, honey,” Mom said.
    â€œI don’t care.” I wanted to tell her it was all her fault, actually, but I didn’t. “I’ve got to help him.”
    Isss she crazy? somebody hissed in my mind.
    Mom said, “You can’t. Dusie, have some sense. You can’t let them find out about us.”
    Us.
    Oh. Oh, my God.
    If they took me away, they’d take Mom, too.
    No. No . None of this could possibly be happening.
    But it was.
    As if something were choking me, I could barely talk. I whispered, “But, Mom, I have to do something —”
    â€œWhat can you possibly do that will make any difference for that boy?”
    I shook my head. I had no idea.
    â€œDusie, look at me,” Mom said.
    When Mom told me to do something and she really meant it, I couldn’t not do it. And this was one of those times when she meant it. So I faced her.
    My mother. Like a classical sculpture. But not stone. All too alive, with deep, deep eyes. Something in those depths I could not read.
    â€œDusie,” Mom told me, “You have to accept the way things are for you now. You’ll come to see the good side. Being my daughter, you have a very long life to look forward to.”
    Oh, terrific . “Look forward? ” I almost screamed. “Putting people in the hospital? With snakes on my head?”
    â€œHoney, you’ll learn to cope with your—”
    I put my hands over my ears, loathing her. She wasn’t a great sculptor. She wasn’t anything she’d let me believe she was. Her whole life was a humongous lie. She wasn’t even— my mother wasn’t even human . I hated her worse than ever, yet I needed her so bad I couldn’t stand it.
    I jumped up and stamped my foot so hard it hurt. “Mom,” I begged, “what are we going to do?”
    But I already knew she had no answers for me. Because she wasn’t my perfect parent anymore.
    Sure enough, she said, “I don’t know.”
    â€œMom—”
    â€œSweetie, I don’t know. I never had a daughter before.” A tear rolled from each eye. And Mom never cried. Never. But never say never. “All those years,” she said, “and I never had a child.”
    â€œPlease,” I whispered, because she had always been so strong, her pain hurt me even more than I was hurting already.
    â€œI think we need to go to the Sisterhood,” she said.

THREE
    At midnight we strode into Central Park. “Don’t be afraid,” Mom told me.
    â€œOf what?”
    She didn’t answer, just kept walking. She was wearing an emerald silk gown and a matching headdress that framed her Greek-goddess face. I just wore a thin scarf over my snakes, and they coiled close to my scalp—because of the cold, I guess. I mean, I’m a city girl, and what I knew about snakes was mostly from horror movies, but it seemed to me I’d heard something about snakes sunning themselves. They were reptiles, not like me, and they didn’t do cold very well, apparently. They were finally silent.
    â€œDon’t be afraid of what?” I insisted, so bummed I didn’t really care; I just wanted to argue. “Gangs?”
    But Mom actually chuckled. “Testosterone-prone youths are the last thing we have to worry about.”
    â€œUnless they’re carrying mirrors and swords,” said another voice. By the pale light of a thin moon, I saw a tall woman step out from between the trees to walk on the footpath by my side.
    I said, “Hi, Aunt Stheno.”
    â€œSis,