Justifiable Herpecide

A woman walks into a bar. She wears a heavy cloak with the hood pulled up to hide her face—not out of a need to remain anonymous, but out of shame and a growing anger. The anonymity might come in handy for later, she reflects, and leaves the hood up.

The person she seeks sits casually at the bar, nursing a margarita. The woman slides onto a stool beside her target. The target glances her way, one eyebrow raised. “It’s my husband,” the woman says. “This time he’s gone too far.”

She orders a beer. The two sip their drinks and speak in low tones. Eventually an agreement is reached, and money is exchanged.

# # #

Osborne Hancock lay in his bed and grinned, watching the woman approach him. Even in the gloom he could see she was a looker. And naked, just like he’d insisted. He hitched his flabby legs apart. That wide, full-lipped mouth was made to have a cock thrust into it. He could tell by her walk she was ready and willing. Now he was assured she’d be able.

Yeah, that walk. There was something off about that walk. She didn’t move like a wolf, or a cat, or even a human. The sway of her hips suggested a serpent gliding over desert sands. Her scent was dry as scales. Just for a second unease overrode his lust. Then she sat on the edge of the bed with her tits hanging practically in his face, and he told himself he was being a nervous old mutt.

“Howdy,” the woman drawled. “Heard you were in the market for some company.”

“Oh yeah,” Ozzy rumbled. Up close she was even more striking, and her scent even more unsettling. “You’re not a wolf, are you?” he asked.

The woman tossed her hair and grinned at him. “That a problem?”

“Not to me. I like to try new things.”

“You’ll be trying new stuff out tonight for sure, I guarantee you that. Y’know your wife’s in the other room right now?”

“Fuck her. I’d rather fuck you.”

He reached for the woman. She swayed out of reach. “Uh-uh, sugah. I set the pace here. You just sit back and enjoy.”

All right. A skank willing to do all the work. Ozzy lay back down and rolled his fat legs even wider apart.

This evening’s skank took the hint. She positioned her body between his legs and her mouth right in front of his cock. She opened her mouth. Wide.

Holy shit, Ozzy thought. It was like her jaw had come loose. Was that even possible? What kind of a shifter was she?

She showed him.

His lust-befogged brain barely had time to register the fangs before they sank into his penis. What felt like molten acid squirted into his most tender area. He was still writhing when she struck again, this time at his sack. His scream almost shattered the windows.

“You bitch!” he howled through tears of agony. “Stinking—”

A high-speed buzzing answered him. Mocked him. Ozzy squinted through the sting of his tears and focused on the huge rattlesnake coiled between his legs. He hurled a pillow at it. The rattler dodged it easily and thumped off the bed. He lost sight of it in the shadows.

The implications sank in far more slowly than the fangs had. Rattlesnake. Bitten. He’d been poisoned. If he didn’t get help pronto, he was going to die.

Ozzy rolled off the bed and lurched to the door. He yanked it open and bellowed into the corridor for help.

Only one wolf appeared in answer to his frantic howl: Claudette, his meek omega wife. She did not look so meek tonight. She eyed his nudity, the blood and venom smeared across his private parts, in implacable silence.

“Call 911,” he barked at her. “I’ve been snakebit. I’ve been poisoned. I need an ambulance.”

She didn’t move. A little bit of a smile quirked her lips. “I don’t think you’re going to find anybody willing to suck that out.”

“Did you hear me? I’m snakebit! Call a doctor!”

“Don’t work yourself up, dear. It will only spread the poison through your system that much faster.”

Ozzy gaped at her. “You bitch. You put that snake in there.”

“And you pimped out our shes to those alphas. You turned our daughters into whores, for your own selfish ends.” In the twenty-three years of their marriage she’d always had trouble looking him in the eye. She had no trouble now. Her glare burned him like the venom in his bloodstream. “Our daughters, Osbourne. I know you married little low-rank me so you’d feel safe doing whatever you wanted. And I put up with it. Not this time. Even an omega has a breaking point.”

He found it hard to get his breath. His package had started to swell. He lifted his hand to smack her, and was terrified to see that hand shaking.

Screw her. He staggered down the hall in search of help, a phone, anything.

Once he was gone the sidewinder slithered out of the bedroom and became Rosa Terranova again. She rubbed the back of her hand vigorously over her mouth. “I’m gonna be brushing my teeth for hours,” she complained. “We good?”

“And then some.” Claudette pulled a wad of bills from the pocket of her robe and counted half of them into Rosa’s palm. “Your clothes are in my chambers. Use the back exit I showed you. No one will question you. My husband often entertains late-night visitors.”

“Whoo! This is more’n we talked about.”

“I didn’t ask you to bite him there. That was a nice touch, worthy of a bonus.” Something flickered in her eyes. Likely it wasn’t concern. “Will he die?”

“Not if’n he gets treated quick. Him runnin’ around like that ain’t helping him any. If he makes it, he’ll be sick as a dog for a week at least. He ain’t gonna be happy with you.”

“A week should be time enough. But you’re right. I may need some backup during the consolidation phase. How can I reach you?”

“Check for me at Humpty’s. I’m usually at the pool tables. If I ain’t there, leave a message with Jose.” Rosa touched her hand to the brim of an imaginary Stetson. “Pleasure doing business with you, ma’am. I’m lookin’ forward to a long and profitable relationship.”

# # #

After the ambulance hauled her husband away, Claudette called the pack together. In the interim she’d taken time to dress in a dark, tailored suit that screamed power. The pack stared at her in awe. They weren’t used to sniffing confidence on Ozzy’s mousy little wife.

“My husband’s had a medical crisis,” Claudette announced. “He may or may not survive. Actually, that’s irrelevant. I’ve already reported his misdeeds to Damien Hancock. Osborne is no longer alpha of our pack. I’m running things now.” She smiled at the assembled wolves, especially the shes. The relief on their faces made her glow inside. “Things are going to be different from now on.”

Bite Me

Eugene the vampire stalked the nighttime streets of Talbot’s Peak in search of prey. That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. When he’d first rolled into town, he’d figured on easy pickings—isolated small town, minimal law enforcement, lots of healthy, full-blooded lambs ripe for the slaughter, no slayers. This far out in the boonies, he could probably drain the place dry and no one would notice until they failed to file their tax returns in April.

Nobody had told him this was a shifter town, or that the prey tended to bite back.

Look on the bright side, Eugene told himself. Shifters kept a low profile, so the odds against a missing person, or several, getting reported to the Feds ran heavily in his favor. Any hunter with a brain in his or her head would steer far clear of the place. That left Talbot’s Peak wide open, with Eugene the only game in town. Since when could the average fleabag wolf hold its own against a vampire anyway?

He still had a few kinks to work out in his new role as Talbot’s Peak’s Big Bad. “I need a better name,” he decided. “Ripper or something.” He scratched his neck, where the fleece collar of his sheepskin coat rubbed against his skin. “And a cooler outfit."

And someone to drink. Like, right now.

And lo and behold, there she was, like Fate had ordered her up just to keep him happy. A willowy blonde with an undulating walk and long legs tucked into snakeskin cowboy boots. Alone on the street. At night. They must grow even shifters stupid in the Rockies. Eugene slid into stalking mode and followed her.

The blonde went only a dozen steps before she stopped, turned, and looked him dead in the eye. “You following me?”

Momentarily taken aback, Eugene licked his lips and roughened his voice to a growl. He reminded himself this was probably a shifter. They didn’t react like human prey. “You’re taking a helluva risk, wandering around in the dark. A girl could get hurt.”

“You’re taking a bigger one tailing me. And I ain’t been a girl in a while.” Her tongue darted out like a snake’s, so quick Eugene almost missed the action. She made a sour face. “Shoot. You’re a vampire? Thought I left you dirt-nappers behind when I left the Panhandle.”

“I’m new here. Look. Do everybody a favor and don’t scream, or howl, or whatever it is you do. Okay?”

The blonde moved her arm so the bracelets on it rattled. “You wouldn’t like my blood, sugah. Too cold for your taste.”

“Eh. I can warm it up in the microwave.” Eugene lunged for her.

She didn’t run. She seemed to shrink in the blink of an eye. Expecting to grab warm, curvy flesh, Eugene found himself with a handful of blouse and denim. Her bracelets clattered on the sidewalk, next to the now-empty boots.

Eugene stared at the blouse in his hand. “What the hell?”

The blouse moved.

Before he could do the sensible thing and drop the garment, a snake’s head shot out of the folds. It sank its fangs deep into Eugene’s neck. He felt the poison rush into his system before he wrenched the rattler loose and flung the snake away.

The snake hit the pavement with no ill effects. It coiled, rose up, and became the blonde again. “You had that comin’, sugah,” she told him. “How you like being on the receiving end for a change?”

A snake shifter. In-friggin’-credible. “Waste of good juice, honey. I’m already dead.”

“And bloating up already,” she noted. “The dead ones always go quicker.”

Oh shit. She was right. His limbs were starting to swell. The poison raced through his withered veins like lava, burning from the inside out. Eugene tried to scream, but his throat had already closed up on him. If I needed to breathe, he thought distantly, I’d be in a helluva mess right now.

He also found it difficult to move. Neural paralysis, he guessed. He was unable to dodge the broken branch the blonde knifed into his chest. Eugene the vampire’s career as the new Big Bad ended in a puff of ash.

Rosa Terranova scowled down at the remains. “Shoot. Now I gotta get dressed again.”

“Or you could stay as is,” a voice said out of the dark. “I don’t think anyone will complain.”

She shot a dirty look in the direction of the voice. “Dammitall to hell and gone, Northridge. Why ain’t you gone yet?”

“I thought I’d hang around a bit. This place is … interesting.” Lee Northridge stepped into a streetlamp’s light and studied the ashy remains. “Not bad. You going into the slayer business now?”

“More like a minor annoyance. Thought Talbot’s Peak was shifters only.”

“There are some vampires. Dante knows who they are, and they know what he’ll do if they step out of line. This one must be a newbie.”

Rosa toed the pile of ash. “He ain’t gonna get any older. You hang around, neither will you. I told you, I ain’t got your brother’s money.”

“And I told you, I’m not here for the money.”

“I’m poison, Northridge. Get that through your skull. I ain’t all you got to worry about, either. Town like this, chock full of shifters, and you being—”

“Careful.” Lee smiled. “Dante doesn’t know what I am. Unless somebody’s squealed?”

Rosa snorted. “Don’t need to. I bite. You only get one warning, sugah, and you had yours already.” She deliberately scuffed her bare foot through the dusty remains of the vamp. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to a pretty boy like you.”

“I’m touched that you still care.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Road out’a town’s empty this time of night. Be a good time to take it.” Her exit was hampered somewhat by the need to gather up her clothes before she could slither away. He heard her swearing all the way up the street, juggling her clothes in her arms.

“So why are you still here?” he murmured to the sway of her retreating ass. “If not to kill vampires, then why?”

The Master Plan Revealed

Itzcoatl, the Obsidian Serpent, son of mighty Quetzalcoatl and soon to be ruler of this sorry mammal-ridden planet, was not pleased. He tromped back and forth across the length of his and Suzy’s kitchen and raged at the stupidity and audacity of the warm-bloodeds. “How dare they even attempt an attack on my person!” he seethed. “What did they hope to accomplish? Suicide?”

His “priests,” Lamar Balboa and Rosa Terranova, remained mostly silent throughout Itzcoatl’s tirade. Tirades were the norm for a god. They avoided looking at him by shooting death-glares at each other. Constrictor Lamar was leery of the “Poison Puta,” and sidewinder Rosa had no use for venomless squeezers. Sadly, they were the only snake-shifters in Talbot’s Peak, and so had been pressed into the service of the snake god.

Lamar hoped to save the planet. He wasn’t sure what Rosa wanted. Husband number 7, maybe.

“It was an accident,” Lamar spoke up now. “It wasn’t directed at you. The local bruja cast a spell and things got out of hand.”

“Yeah,” Rosa chimed in. “It only affected horses’ asses—”

“Horses and asses,” Lamar hurriedly overrode her. He jabbed Rosa hard in the ribs and earned himself a hiss from her and a glare from Itzcoatl. Which would hurt more, he wondered, rattlesnake fangs in the neck or getting immolated? “I don’t know why it affected you. She’s not that good of a witch.”

“Obviously not, to think her little spell would cause a god more than a moment’s distraction. Still, I can’t allow this insult to go unpunished. Swallowing her alive should do the trick.”

“You can’t. I mean, she’s gone. She and her family left town. Hey, your godship, no harm, no foul. She won’t bother you again.”

“Shit,” Rosa muttered. “I ain’t bit a witch in ages.”

“Nevertheless,” Itzcoatl continued, "this incident has brought to my attention the need for decisive action. If one mammal tried to strike at me, others could as well. I must strike first.” He stopped pacing and posed regally before his unwilling—at least in Lamar’s case—minions. “The time has come for me to conquer this world and declare myself its ruler.”

“No!” Lamar said. “I mean, I thought we were going to wait until New Year’s.”

“The time for waiting is done. Let the Age of the Serpent commence. Daughter, fetch my mate.”

“No need.” Itzcoatl’s wife, Suzy, stepped into the kitchen. Lamar had managed to alert her by phone on his way over, after he received the god’s headache-inducing summons. They’d both lived in fear of this moment for close to a year. Suzy assured him she had a plan. It better be a good one, Lamar thought, because I got nada.

“Wife, prepare,” Itzcoatl boomed. “We journey forth to rescue this insipid world from the mammalian plague that infects it. Today dawns the age of the—”

“No. We’re not.”

The Obsidian Serpent shut up in mid-proclamation. He stared down at her, this human woman with the blood of gods who was barely half his size and, compared to him, powerless. Mierda, Lamar thought. She’s going to die. He’s going to flame her right in her own kitchen. The first sacrifice in a bloodbath that would see the destruction of the world.

Itzcoatl stared at her. He did not strike. He did not lash out He’d been married for a while now, and knew better. Instead he asked, with deadly quiet. “And why, my precious golden treasure, must we delay this world’s subjugation yet again?”

She smiled up at him. “Because I’m pregnant.”

# # #

Tongson was not surprised when the fire in the hearth suddenly flared up higher than normal. He settled back in his chair and spoke the ritual greeting. “All hail the mighty Feathered Serpent.” To which he added, “Hello, old friend.”

“Greetings to you and yours, Spirit Bear,” Quetzalcoatl hissed from the fire. “I bring you tidings. The threat of Itzcoatl has ended. His favored mate is with child. They have retired to the Serpent Realm to raise their brood. By the time they return to this plane, if they ever do, centuries will have passed. Perhaps my rash son will have gained maturity in that time. Conquering a world is exhilarating, but ruling it is a bugger.”

“Fatherhood changes a man,” Tongson said. “Let’s hope it changes gods as well. Running after toddlers should curb his impetuosity. Or at least tire him out. So that was Suzy’s plan?”

“The woman knows her man. He’s already annoying the other spirits with his incessant boasting. He’ll be lucky if they let him live long enough to witness the birth. Which reminds me.” The fire dimmed as the Feathered Serpent’s presence withdrew. “I’d better return to the jungle and make sure the rest of my offspring still sleep. We don’t want any of the others awakening and getting ideas. Especially the Rainbow Serpent. She always gets cranky when she’s hungry.”

# # #

“Well, shoot.” Rosa pouted. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Gee, I dunno,” Lamar said. “Go back to our lives, maybe? I don’t know about you, but I’m going home to fuck my boyfriend silly. Or fuck my silly boyfriend. Either works for me.”

“Easy for you. You got somebody. I’m broke and out of a job. I was looking forward to being the power behind the throne.”

“Forget it. Itzy had a wife for that. Anyway, you know snake gods. They tend to eat their followers. I say we get good and drunk, find a bed buddy and give thanks to every other god out there that the world may belong to the mammals, but it’ll still be here in the morning. If you like, you can start right here.” Lamar began to rummage through the cubboards. “I know where his wife kept the good stuff.”

Can I Get An Amen

The Reverend Horton Kirkpatrick gazed upon tonight’s gathering in the tent revival meeting and found it good. Packed to the canvas walls, which would mean a hefty take at the passing of the plate. Best of all, this remote postage stamp of a Montana town had probably never heard the stories of Reverend Horndog or the folks who’d run him out of places bigger than this. He ought to rake in plenty of beer and blow before the rumors started.

The men were the usual scruffy sort he expected out here in God’s Armpit, but the women were fine as could be. Especially that lovely number in the front row with the ample attributes and the thick coils of hair the sandy brown color of a lonely desert at sundown. Her lengthy legs ended in a pair of snakeskin cowboys boots. She must have a rich sugar daddy who kept her in shoes. He’d be separating her from her allowance soon, and from Daddy too if he could swing it.

Already the crowd was getting antsy. They sounded, and smelled, like a petting zoo. Horton knew the stench from experience. This religious con was a much sweeter scam, and usually smelled a lot fresher.

He raised his hands. “Brothers and sisters. God bids you all welcome to His home.”

“God lives in a tent?” somebody said loudly. A titter of snarky laughter ran through the congregation.

“You’d think He’d live better when He’s on the road,” somebody else remarked. “A Winnebago or something.”

“God lives in our hearts,” Rev. Horton proclaimed, “but sometimes we shut the door and forget—”

“Which god?” the Winnebago booster asked. “We got a ton around here.”

“There is only one God, and he is—”

“Vishnu? The tigers outside of town worship him, and you should see the palace they live in. Maybe we should switch.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. We pray to Chaos, but that only makes things worse. More interesting, though.”

“There is only one God,” Horton boomed, “and He has sent me to bring you His word. Are you ready to receive the word of the Lord?”

“I’m ready to eat,” a man in the back called out. “Where’s the refreshments?”

Horton was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The food.” The man waved one of the flyers Horton had tacked up around town this morning. “It says we get refreshments.”

“Yeah,” Winnebago chimed in. “Pastor Tim puts out meat and veggie trays. He lets us snack during the sermon.”

“I bring the refreshment of the Lord’s word and the blessings of the holy spirit. If you welcome the Lord into your life, He will bring you all the sustenance you require.”

“We’re not gonna get fed,” the man in the back translated. “Scat,” Winnebago said.

He was losing them. There went his full pockets. The woman in the snakeskin boots stretched out her glorious legs and made as if to rise. There went his full something else.

Time to pull out the big guns.

Horton usually saved the demonstration until later in the sermon, once he had the suckers all worked up and ready to believe, but desperate times, et cetera. He flung open the crate atop his makeshift altar and pulled out two writhing, thick-bodied serpents. They were only harmless black snakes, less threatening than a can of hairspray, but the yokels wouldn’t know that. Harry put up a half-hearted show of resistance. Sally, who hated the crate, hissed and squeezed his bicep.

Horton held the feisty Sally high for the benefit of his audience. “Behold the power of the Lord! Such is my faith that I may handle these venomous creatures without fear, for God will not allow those who believe in Him to—”

“Shoot,” the woman in the boots snorted. “They ain’t even poisonous. Where I come from, the preachers handle rattlers fresh caught off the desert. Not for too long, though. We lose more preachers that way.”

“Are they the refreshments?” the man in the back asked hopefully.

“Piss on this,” Winnebago announced. “Let’s go to Pizza Hut. They’re having a special on Meat Lovers’.”

Okay, then. Divine retribution time. “Turn not away from the word of God,” he threatened, “lest you suffer His fearsome wrath. For the Lord is a jealous god.”

As if on cue, the walls of the tent suddenly rippled, as if blasted by a high wind. A mighty thupping sound accompanied the wind, like helicopter rotors, or the crack of enormous wings.

In an instant the entire congregation went silent. Boot Woman stared about with a look of consternation on her face. She wasn’t the only one. Harry and Sally suddenly started twisting in Horton’s grip, in a desperate bid to escape.

“Damn,” Winnebago said. “He’s good.”

Oh shit, Horton thought. That better not be a tornado. He hadn’t even passed the plate yet.

He lifted his snakes high over his head. Sally’s tail whipped at his face, just barely missing his cheek. “Behold the power of God!”

A man knocked the flap aside and strode into the tent. “Where is the spokesman for God?” he demanded, in a voice that shook the walls even worse than the wind had.

 “I never touched your wife,” Horton bleated automatically.

The man stared at him. He must have been in a rush to attend the service, because all he had on was a loincloth. His body, bronze as an Aztec warrior’s, sported muscles Horton had only read about. Hair the color and sheen of an obsidian blade fell to his near-naked butt. “You are the priest of the Serpent God?”

“Uh … whuh?”

The man straightened. “I am Itzcoatl, son of the Feathered Serpent. I have seen your announcements in town.” He held up a flyer and pointed to the photo of Horton and his reptilian assistants. “You are a priest of the Serpent God. You will serve me in this capacity.”

Oh, right. The snakes. Easy for a nutcase to get the wrong idea. “Look, buddy, I’m trying to conduct a service here. We can talk after the meeting.”

“Of course. You may spread the word of my magnificence. You mammals! Heed the word of this my priest. You stand in the presence of the divine!”

The psycho lifted his arms. The wind sprang up again, deafening and pummeling within the confines of the tent. Harry and Sally were hissing like a pair of leaky tires on Truckasaurus. So was the woman in the boots.

Horton blinked. He would have rubbed his eyes if he weren’t holding the snakes. The man’s shadow, filling the wall of the tent behind him, resembled an enormous snake with feathered wings.

What the hell kind of freaky town had he stumbled into?

Ask and ye shall receive …

One minute Horton was standing before a tent full people and one crazy mofo. The next he was back in the petting zoo. At least, that’s what it looked and sounded like. The entire tent was crammed to the walls with barking, yelping animals. Wolves and coyotes mostly, but Horton’s reeling brain catalogued foxes, beavers, bobcats, rabbits, and a bull elk complete with a massive rack. The rack ripped a hole in the tent and the elk bounded through. The rest of the congregation plowed out the hole in its wake, leaving torn rags of clothing behind.

Somewhere in the middle of this he lost his grip on Harry and Sally. They whipped beneath the rear of the tent to freedom. The woman in the boots followed suit.

So also, with little thought and no regrets, did Horton.

In the field behind the tent sat his camper. Horton ducked behind it. The wind tore at his clothes and roared in his ears. The field was alive with fleeing beasts. They ran for the trees at full speed. Meanwhile, the tent—

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Horton moaned as the roof of the tent was torn asunder. A gigantic winged snake, black and glittering, flapped through the roof and took off in pursuit of its erstwhile worshippers. Or perhaps sacrifices, at this point.

Horton had enough experience to pick the exact right moment when to get the hell out of town. Now was that time.

He ripped open the camper’s door, climbed inside, and froze. The first thing he noticed was the cage where he kept the rats for his snakes. It was empty. The woman in the snakeskin boots sat at his mini kitchen table. Horton was just in time to watch a pink, hairless tail slide between her lips.

She smacked those lips and grinned at him. “Found the refreshments,” she said. “Plump and juicy. Just the way I like ‘em.”

Horton fell backward out the door. He’d barely hit the ground before he scrambled up and started running. Direction didn’t really matter, as long as it was Away.

So ended Horton Kirkpatrick’s tenure as a revivalist preacher and his association with God. He took from his experience the lessons that no one should ever go anywhere near Montana, and God was a son of a bitch.

# # #

Rosa waited for the ruckus to die down, and for her dinner to settle. Man wasn’t much of a Bible thumper, but he kept some damn tasty rats, she’d give him that. But dang it! Of all the places for an actual snake god to turn up. Her being an actual snake, she wasn’t too keen on anyone keeping close tabs on her whereabouts, let alone a damn god.

She opened the camper door and hopped down, and discovered her shitty day wasn’t quite over yet. The snake god stood before her. He beamed a smile full of white teeth at her. “Daughter.”

Rosa hissed in a breath. Don’t show fear. You do, you’ll get swallowed. “ No offense there, sugah, but you ain’t the real Quetzalcoatl.”

“No. I am his son, the Obsidian Serpent. I have risen to take control of this mammal-infested planet in my father’s name.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna be doing it with that ape as your priest. He done lit a shuck for parts unknown.” She looked Itzcoatl up and down. Shoot, that was one fine hunk of man-flesh, god or no. Might be worth the risk of getting swallowed. “If you’re a god, you must know what I am. Seeing as how we’re both serpents and all … ”

“I have already committed to my divine mate, and see no need for concubines. You may serve as a handmaiden. My wife deserves a staff.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of priestess, seeing as how the position just opened up.” Who knew, there might be some profit in this. Specifically, continued survival. That always topped out Rosa’s ledger. And wherever a god went, there were bound to be spoils. You just had to stay intact long enough to enjoy ‘em.

Rosa executed a limber bow. It even looked fairly genuine. “All hail the mighty Feathered Serpent.”