Snake-Eater

by T. Kingfisher

Grandma Billy didn’t seem like a good candidate for a cult, unless she was running it, and then it probably would be more about mojitos than squash.

It was profoundly absurd that being the assistant manager at a deli would prepare you to fight a god. But it was profoundly absurd that there were gods in her garden and that a roadrunner would turn out to be a frightening little dinosaur of a bird and that your best friends would turn out to be an elderly chicken lady and a Catholic priest.