Snake-Eater

by T. Kingfisher

Selena believed, with every fiber of her being, that a person’s worth was not defined by how hard they worked or how productive they managed to be. She also believed just as strongly that this did not apply to her.

Maybe all kitchens were the same, when you got down to it, little fragments of some ur-kitchen, where the first grandmothers had cooked on flat rocks and turned mammoth bones into soup.

Father Aguirre smiled. “The first commandment is ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before Me,’” he said gently. “It doesn’t say that there aren’t any others, or that you shouldn’t be polite when you meet them. I’d probably try to talk you out of worshipping one, but . . . well . . . we all make our own peace with the desert. Call them spirits if it sits easier with you. And if you’re worried for your immortal soul, come talk to me.”

“Let’s start with solid Catholic doctrine and move on to the heresy, shall we?”

“Don’t know what good a Catholic priest is if he’s gonna act all demure and modest. Might as well get a Unitarian.”