Amen, sister. In that, we were in complete agreement.

“Now, Buffy.”

“No.”

“Maybe if we dispatch the snake?” Anarchy suggested.

“It’s a rat snake. We want rat snakes. They keep the rodent population in check.” Bill was the opposite of helpful.

“I meant we could take it to the woods.”

“It will come back,” said Buffy. She directed a scalding glare at her husband. “The only good snake is a dead snake.”

I wouldn’t go that far. I couldn't countenance killing something just because it scared me. But I wasn’t getting off the table until it was gone.

“Ellison.” Anarchy smiled up at me. “Do you see a snake?”

“No. But it could be lurking in the shadows. It’s black, I wouldn’t see it.”

“If I promise to protect you, will you get down?”

Bill muttered something about molly-coddling, held his hand out to his wife, and said, “Get down, now.”

Buffy and I exchanged a look. Only we understood the fear.

“Bill’s afraid of being locked in a small space.” She glared at him. “He’d do anything to avoid it.”

Bill shrugged. “Plenty of people have claustrophobia.”

“And plenty of people have ophidiophobia.”

I was impressed Buffy knew the scientific term for being scared out of my mind by a scaly, hissing demon.

“I read a third of all adults are scared of snakes,” she added.

If that were true, there should be more people on the picnic table. In truth, I wasn’t only afraid of actual snakes. Just thinking about snakes scared me. Seeing them in movies or television or seeing their pictures in books was equally awful. And the reptile room at the zoo? I skirted that building by at least fifty yards.

“You two are being ridiculous,” said Bill

Anarchy stiffened. “Ellison can’t help her fear. Neither can your wife.”

“They don’t have to act like children.”

Buffy fisted her hands. “Let’s lock you in a jail cell and see how you do.”

Bill paled.

“Yeah,” called Graham. “How would you like a prison cell, Bill?

Bill’s brows drew together, and he bared his teeth. “Stay out of this, Graham.”

The lawyer held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, people who live in glass houses—"

“Shouldn’t throw stones.” Buffy glowered at her husband.

“Ellison,” said Anarchy. “I’m sure the snake is gone.”

“How?”

“It’s been five minutes, and no one has seen it. Also—” he glanced at my feet “—you’re wearing boots. Please?”

I hesitated.

“I’ll carry you.”

That was just silly. I weighed far too much for him to carry me all the way to cabin. Not that the idea didn’t hold appeal.

“Fine.” I took Anarchy’s hand and allowed him to help me down. Then, I apologized to the caterer. “I’m sorry about your tablecloth.”

“I get it.” Her smile was sweet and seemed genuine. “I don’t like snakes either.”