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Cryptoherpetology, noun:

1. The scientific study of reptiles and reptile-like cryptids.

2. A specialized branch of cryptozoology.

3. Not a good way to live a long and healthy life

Prologue

“I’m not saying that it’s a horrible monster here to mercilessly devour you whole. I’m sure it would chew you first. ”

—Thomas Price

A small survivalist compound about an hour’s drive east of Portland, Oregon

Fifteen years ago

ALEX KNELT IN FRONT of his new terrarium, peering through the glass as he searched for a sign of his latest pet.

The problem was the piece of hollow log he’d placed in the middle of the tank. It had seemed like a great idea when he was putting the terrarium together, and it looked pretty boss surrounded by native ferns and nestled down in the spongy moss he’d used as a groundcover. It was a totally natural environment, or as close as he was going to get on his limited budget. He would never have been able to afford a fifty-gallon tank if it hadn’t shown up at the swap meet.

The tank would still have been outside his price range if the glass hadn’t been cracked on one corner. That would have been a problem if he’d been planning to keep fish in it, but that had never been an option. Who wanted stupid old fish, anyway? All they did was swim around and flip their fins at you. Reptiles and amphibians were where the real fun was. They didn’t care about cracked glass, as long as the tank was big enough.

If he squinted really hard, he could almost make out the edge of one wing. The coatl had it half-spread, preventing most of the light from filtering into the log. Defeated, Alex sank down onto his heels and glared at the carpet. “Stupid snake,” he muttered.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a voice behind him.

“Mom!” Alex scrambled to his feet and spun to face his mother, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean to leave the door open. ”

“I can tell,” said Evelyn Price, surveying the chaos of her ten-year-old son’s bedroom. He was a surprisingly organized and scholarly boy. Some people probably assumed that made him easy to clean up after. Those people had never dealt with a smart boy who liked nature enough to bring it home with him. “What’s wrong?”

“I put my new coatl in his tank, but he won’t come out. ” Alex sat down on the floor again as he glared at the glass. “I barely even got to see him before he hid. ”

“Oh, is that all?” Evelyn walked over to kneel beside her son. “What do you know about coatls?”

“They’re winged snakes native to the Americas, and were named in honor of the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl,” recited Alex, without hesitation. “Most known species are nonvenomous and primarily found in forested areas. ”