Princess
Jem was finishing his stretch in Atascadero State Prison when his dad's ticker gave out. They let him out early for the funeral. He wore his least faded black pants and a black jacket zipped all the way up so the rips in his T-shirt wouldn't show. He slumped at the far end of the family's pew next to Michael Junior and pretended he didn't notice his aunts glaring at him and hissing to each other in Slovenian. When the mass was over, he slipped outside to wait for his brothers. He walked slow laps around the parking lot until Peter came out and spotted him. They got into Peter's new Lincoln Navigator and drove to the cemetery without exchanging a word.
Jem stood uncomfortably near the open grave at the service. He knew nobody really wanted to see him there and he hadn't exactly been the best son, but he thought he should at least put out the effort. And he really missed his dad.
The ride back with Peter was just as uncomfortable and silent as the ride to the cemetery had been. To Jem's surprise, Peter didn't head back to Mike's house for the reception. He drove straight to their father's business. Mike's Jaguar pulled in behind them. Jem got out and looked athe sign while Mike fiddled with the burglar bars. The wooden sign over the door still proclaimed DEVIC'S JEWELRY AND LOAN, no different now than eight years ago, when Jem had last seen it from the back window of a police car. Peter caught him staring at it and he turned away. When Mike got the door open they both went in ahead of him. He trailed after them as they unlocked the door to the shop's tiny office. The inside of the pawnshop looked different. There were computers he didn't recognize lining the electronics shelves.
Mike sat down behind the big desk--his dad's desk--and Peter pulled up a chair to one side. Jem sat across from them, feeling uncomfortably like he was in the principal's office. Peter pulled out the smallest phone Jem had ever seen and doodled around with the buttons. Mike unlocked one of the drawers and pulled out a flat blue bag. He slid it over the desk to Jem.
"Six hundred dollars, cash," he said. "That's what was in the till when I locked up last night, and that's your share of the business as far as I'm concerned."
Jem picked up the bag and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He knew better than to count it in front of Mike. "Where am I going to stay?"
"That's your problem," Mike said. "You've got enough to rent a room in a fleabag hotel somewhere. Get a job. Use whatever you saved from stamping out license plates, I don't care."
"I sent all that money to Monica, to help take care of Princess."
Mike turned uncomprehendingly to Peter, who didn't even glance up from whatever he was doing with his phone. "His girlfriend," Peter explained.
"Who's Princess? Her dog?"
"My daughter," Jem said. "Your niece." He had wondered if his family had taken his baby girl in, helped protect her from whatever craziness Monica was up to. The thought that they had forgotten all about her made his stomach knot.
"Not mine. You didn't marry her, she's not family, far as I'm concerned. What kind of bimbo names a kid 'Princess,' anyway?"
"The kind who'd go to bed with Jem," Peter said, and his brothers snorted with laughter. Jem stood up, ready to walk out, and Mike waved him back to his chair.
"Chill, little bro. Look, you're too much of a screwup to run the business. You just spent eight years in jail because you took the fall for a buddy, which is very stand-up of you, but stupid. Take your money, get a job, maybe see if your crazy girlfriend is still around, all right?"
Jem got up to leave for real this time. There was nothing here for him; his brothers had their father's business, he had no idea where his daughter was, and he had nothing but the clothes on his back and six hundred dollars in twenties. He put his hand on the doorknob and Peter said, "Michael. Give him the snake."
He turned to stare at his brother. "Snake?"
"Jem was always good with animals," Peter reminded Mike, as though Jem hadn't said anything. "You were just going to drown it anyway."
"Jem, man, you'll love this. We had some crackhead bring in this freaky rattlesnake in a cage, wanted to pawn it for twenty bucks. We kicked him out and called the police, but he left the snake. Peter's right, I was just going to throw the whole thing into the slough, but hey, maybe a pet would cheer you up."
#
Jem sat on the floor of his residential hotel room, listening to the drunks outside his window yelling at each other. It had been pretty tough to get a cab that would give a ride to a guy with a rattlesnake in an aquarium, and he had to pay the guy extra. He thought about just leaving the aquarium outside his dad's--no, his brothers'--pawn shop, but he couldn't do it. The thought of the snake struggling to get out while its cage sank into a stream of sewage water was unbearable.
And the snake had been abused enough. Whoever caught it in the first place either found it without a rattle, or cut its rattle off, and superglued a child's toy rattle on the end of its tail. Jem wondered if pulling that stupid joke had actually hurt the snake.
He leaned his head back on the edge of the stained mattress and closed his eyes, too weary to actually climb up into the bed and get some sleep. He dozed and started awake at the noise of the snake's rattle. It was a cheerful sound, a little kid's sound, and it reminded him of Princess. Tears blurred his vision.
"Hold, lad," somebody whispered. "Wherefore this sorrow?"
Jem blinked and sat up. The walls here were paper-thin; maybe it had been the TV in one of the rooms next to his. The snake was awake and had raised its head to look at him. Its tail vibrated and it made that cheerful rattling noise again.
"Bet you're hungry, huh?" he said. "I'll go to the pet store tomorrow and get you something to eat. This is pretty bad. I'm talking to a snake."
"Aye, and I waste my breath talking to a young man too foolish to seize what fortune has been given him," the snake said.
Jem slowly scooted back and up until he was sitting on the bed with his back pressed against the wall. The snake's head, unblinking, tracked his movement.
"You know," he said to nobody in particular, "I never did drugs. I never even really drank. And now I'm sitting in a dirtbag hotel hallucinating that a rattlesnake is talking to me."
Jem could have sworn the snake let out an irritated sigh. "Lad," it said patiently, "If you choose to think yourself gone mad, so be it. It is of no matter to me. Yet consider this: have you any thing to lose by believing me?"
"I guess not."
"Well said, lad! Now, open this cage, if you please. Speaking to you from this distance strains my voice greatly."
"And you won't bite me?"
"You're hardly of a size to make a meal. And magic I have, but thanks to my former and unkindly master, venom I lack."
Jem slowly approached the cage. The snake sat patiently while he lifted the lid. It shot out of the aquarium and scooted under the old radiator, curling itself up and rattling happily.
"Sleep, lad," it said. "There are vermin enough in this place that I can catch my supper. Tomorrow, when the sun sets, we'll find the treasure you seek."
#
Jem slept the whole night and well into the next day. He felt strange and off-balance when he woke up. He was used to getting up early in prison, and he had a moment of panic when he realized he'd slept in, before he realized nobody cared anymore how long he stayed in bed. The snake was still curled up under the radiator. He couldn't tell if it was awake or not, since its eyes looked open. He took a shower, using up all the hot water just because he could. He got out and looked at his ripped T-shirt and faded pants, and didn't particularly want to put them on his clean body.
The snake rattled a greeting. "Dress in your rags, lad, and shed no tears. We'll soon have you in finery. You are my master now, and as you prosper, so do I. But you must follow my instructions exactly, without question or quibble. Do you understand?"
"Sure," Jem said. He was starting to get used to the idea of a talking rattlesnake. He'd always talked to animals, anyway. It was just the first time one of them had really talked back.
"Very good. Go and find yourself breakfast. Get a decent meal and do not worry about the weight of your purse. Bring me back the last thing your serving girl leaves at your table. When you return to this inn, walk three times around the building, and say this charm as you walk: 'Beans and bananas, butterflies and bread.' Then fetch the first living thing you see and bring it to me straightaway."
Jem found a Denny's three blocks over. He didn't think in his current state of dress that anywhere fancier would let him in. He forced himself to go slow, savoring every bite of Moons Over My Hammy, reminding himself that nobody here was watching a clock and nobody would make him get up and leave his food uneaten. The coffee, by his standards, was heavenly.
The waitress cleared his empty plate and silverware, even scooping up his crumpled napkin. She reached for the sugar holder, then looked down at her full tray, and went back to the kitchen. Jem scooped up the sugar holder and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Feeling guilty, he left three twenties on the table and quickly left the restaurant, hoping nobody would stop and ask about the strange bulge in his pocket. Nobody did.
Jem hesitated outside of the hotel. He couldn't remember if the snake had told him to go clockwise or counter-clockwise, and wasn't sure it mattered. He was afraid that something would go wrong if he went up and asked, so he just picked a direction and started walking. "Beans and bananas, butterflies and bread," he said uncertainly. Nothing strange happened. He kept walking and reciting the strange phrase. People passing by quickened their pace and avoided his gaze. Jem realized that there was nothing magic about the words; it just convinced people he was nuts, so they didn't look at him. Go around the crazy guy.
It's an invisibility charm, he thought. By the time he made the third lap around the hotel he was almost shouting.
He looked around for something living. No people near him, which was a relief, because he wasn't sure how he'd persuade somebody to come up to his room, and anyway he was a little nervous about what the snake had planned. Movement caught Jem's eye. He bent down over a growth of bushy weeds. On the underside of one of the leaves was a tiny slug. He broke off the leaf and carried it up to his room.
The snake had somehow gotten up onto his bed. It had a sleek, well-fed look that suggested it had found its own breakfast. It dipped the child's rattle in greeting.
"I found, um, a slug," Jem offered. "It was the first living thing I saw. I hope that okay."
"Excellent," the snake said. "Put it there, on the side table. And did you follow my direction as to the conclusion of your meal?"
Jem pulled the sugar container out of his pocket. "Sugar," he said, "but I don't see how that helps us."
The snake couldn't smile, but something about the way it tipped its head implied a smirk. "Taste it."
Jem tenatively touched the opening of the sugar container to his tongue. He blinked. "Salt? That's why she wanted to take it away, it was filled with--"
"A coincidence, is it not? One might almost call it miraculous. Now, we create a charm around yon slug. Draw a line there, and one crosswise. Yes, just so."
Jem did as the snake directed. It looked like a simple maze to him, but the snake was very insistent. Twice it ordered Jem to remove a line and start again. The slug stirred.
As Jem poured the final line at the snake's direction, its movements became frantic. It bumped into a line of salt, recoiled, turned, and found itself trapped. The snake, now perched on the side table watched with interest until its movements subsided into quivering.
"Roger of Lothian," the snake hissed. "It has been a while, has it not?"
"Fie! Trapped!" the slug squeaked. Jem sat down hard on the edge of the bed. A talking snake, all right, but now a talking slug? He was going crazy, just like Monica. Maybe he'd caught it from her. Did it take eight years to go crazy?
"Great bravado in the face of death," the snake said. It rattled dramatically. "All I need do to send you to your next incarnation is ask this good lad to empty the rest of the salt. Shall I, sirrah?"
"No!" the slug cried. "Damn your eyes, Stephen Gaunt! My powers in this form are small and weak. You well know that I can do little to stave off my next death."
"Cease your poor-mouthing. We seek the mother of my good master's daughter. If you cannot provide that answer, only speak, and you will be sent on your way."
"A drop of blood, then," said the slug. The snake nodded its head at Jem. He looked around for something sharp. There was no knife, and he didn't want to break a window. He finally settled on the sharp metal corner of the bedframe and dragged his finger over the edge, hoping his tetanus shot was still good. He squeezed out a single drop of blood in the middle of the salt maze. The slug lowered its eyestalks and seemed to consider for a long moment.
"The mother is at the Old Orchard Theater," he said. "The child is moving, I cannot fix her place. Talk to the mother. Now, will you let me go?"
"Toss him out the window," the snake said. "Aim for the shrubbery. Having no bones, his landing will be unpleasant but whole."
"You have not heard the last of me, Stephen Gaunt," the slug warned, just before Jem gingerly dropped him out the second-story window.
Jem looked at the snake, who was erasing the salt maze with flicks of its tail. "You know that guy? Uh, slug?"
"We've met," the snake said casually. "T'is a long story, with tales of evil sorcerors, long curses, the love of an innocent maiden, and a bloody and well-earned revenge at the end of an era, and we have not time for it. I will hide beneath your jacket and we shall go to this Old Orchard Theater, to find your lady love."
"She's not my lady love," Jem said. "She used to be. Then I found out she was insane."
"Details, my lad, rarely make for a stirring tale. Be a hero, not a critic."
#
Jem remembered the Old Orchard Theater from community plays there as a little kid, playing Mr. Raincloud in a kindergarten show about the weather, or fidgeting in his seat next to his dad while Peter's high-school drama club did a clumsy version of Romeo and Juliet. He recalled it as a little shabby, maybe in need of some renovation, but nothing like it was now. A CONDEMNED sign was nailed to the front door. Yellow caution tape webbed the broken windows. Half-assembled scaffolding, flaked with rust, clung to the facade.
Jem walked around the alleyway to the stage door. He gave the metal handle a hard pull and it scraped open. He waited for the snake under his coat to say something, but it remained silent. Jem shrugged and cautiously moved down toward the back of the stage. The damp smell of mildew permeated the painted cementblock hallway. He saw a few slivers of light ahead, as though they shined through tatters in a curtain. Jem realized the lights in the front of the theater were on. He pushed heavy, moldy curtains out of the way and emerged onto the stage, blinded by the brightness of the stage lights. He tripped over an open light pit and fell flat on his face. The snake quickly slithered out from under him. Jem winced looked up, squinting through the bright lights. Somebody was out there, in the seats.
"Monica?" he called. "Is that you?"
There was a high, thin giggle in reply. Jem felt cold. It was a sick version of Monica's girly laugh, back when they were first going out. Before he found out she was crazy. Before she had Princess.
His eyes were more used to the light now and he could see her. She looked pasty and bloated, her pretty blonde hair gone lank, her blue eyes hidden behind thick, ugly glasses. She looked up at the trompe l'oeil ceiling with an empty smile. "Hi, Jem," she said. Her eyes never left the ceiling.
"Hey, Monica," he said. He tried to keep his voice friendly. "What are you doing here? This place is falling apart."
"I like the ceiling," she said. She waved up at the faded cherubs and the picture of Zeus that looked a lot like Harry Truman. "The pictures are pretty."
"Oh," Jem said. He looked around for the snake but didn't see it. He worried that he had fatally injured it when he fell.
"So...how's Princess?"
Monica made that razor-wire giggle again. "She's okay. She's with my stepmom. I'm losing my custody so my stepmom can take her wherever she wants."
"Losing your custody?"
"Yeah. Because I'm, you know, coo-coo. So my stepmom asked a judge to let Princess be her mom now."
There was a soft rattle near Jem's ear. The snake bumped his head with its dry nose. "Your beloved's stepmother has the child?"
"Yeah, she...oh, geez," said Jem, because he suddenly realized who Monica meant. "Noreen, right? The one who owns the casino."
"Noreen," Monica said, and burst into tears.
"That's bad," Jem told the snake. "Very bad. Noreen hates kids. If she wants Princess there must be money involved somehow."
"Pardon, milady," the snake called. Its voice projected to every corner of the theater. Monica, as startled as Jem, looked up in mid-sob. "Might I trouble you as to where this foul witch has absconded with your daughter?"
"Oh...the Gym-O-Roo," Monica said. "They have a balance beam there. Princess likes the balance beam. Over by the mall."
"You'll have to hire a cab," the snake said grimly. "We've no time to lose."
#
Jem slouched into his jacket. He hoped nobody noticed the snake, hoped nobody gave him any funny looks for being a man alone at a children's playplace, hoped he could find Princess. He hadn't seen her since she was a baby. Monica never wrote him in prison, never sent him any pictures. The place was full of eight-year-old girls, most of them in sweatpants or leotards, bouncing from video games to the balance beam to a pit full of foam cubes. Little kids rolled around in a pit full of plastic balls. Surly waistaff hustled lukewarm pizzas and pitchers full of sticky soft drinks around the room. It was loud and the flashing neon was beginning to make Jem feel really disoriented.
The snake slithered down one of Jem's pant legs and vanished. Jem hoped he was up to something. He scanned the room vainly for someone who might be Princess. Instead, he saw Noreen, sitting at a table against the wall under a NO SMOKING sign, a lit cigarette with an inch of ash between her fingers. Her gaze skipped right over Jem. He thought she was pretending not to see him, then realized she probably had no idea who he was.
Jem went straight to her table and stood over her. He tried to be intimidating, the way he'd seen guys like Bull or Jiffy do in prison, where they just projected mean and people twice their size got out of their way. Noreen looked up at him, unimpressed. "You're blocking my sun, kiddo."
"I'm Jem Devic," he said. He forced his voice to stay even.
"That's nice. Am I supposed to care who you are?"
"I'm Princess's father. Monica told me there was a custody issue."
"Ah, yes," Noreen said. She took a long drag on her cigarette, then tapped the ash into a paper Coke cup. A mother at the next table looked up from coaxing a toddler to stare disapprovingly. "You were in jail for, what was it, car theft? I don't think Princess even missed you."
Jem wanted to hit Noreen more than he had ever wanted to hurt another human being in his life. He had been angry at Javier for framing him on the car theft, miserable when he realized Monica didn't care about him anymore, but it wasn't about him now. It was about Princess. He hung onto that thought, because he knew that if he got in trouble now, his chances of ever seeing Princess again were zero, magic snake or no magic snake.
"What's going on, Noreen? You hate kids. Monica's mom left her a trust fund or something?"
"Something like that," Noreen agreed. "Does it matter? The court doesn't know you exist because I told them you were deceased. What are you going to do about it? You wouldn't even know Princess if she was a foot away from you."
"Mommy!" a child shrieked. Noreen flinched. A kid who looked about four or five ran full-tilt up to the woman at the next able over. "Mommymommymommy there's a snake in the ball pit!"
"Now, Emma," the woman soothed, "that's just an urban legend, honey."
"Mommymommy--" Emma insisted, and then the toddler corner exploded into screams and running children, and Jem ran for the ball pit. Parents scooped up their children and ran the other way. Jem fought past them, knowing something had gone terribly wrong with the snake, and he had to get it out of the ball pit and get out of the Gym-O-Roo before Noreen could somehow pin this on him and he'd lose Princess forever. He reached the toddler corner and saw the snake rearing up out of the ball pit, rattling furiously. He reached for it and a plastic ball rolled under his foot, tripping him. He wheeled his arms for balance and fell flat on his back into the pit, scattering plastic balls into the air in a plume. Jem had knocked all the air out of his lungs and he lay, stunned, until he could breathe again. He groaned and pulled himself up, expecting security or even the police to be ready to drag him out.
Nobody was looking at Jem. The room was silent. The plastic balls Jem had scattered were floating in the air around a little girl who stood on the balance beam, frozen in surprise.
The balls whipped around her in the shape of a double helix.
The snake slithered back up under Jem's jacket. "The very shape of DNA, to mark your daughter as truly of your blood," it whispered.
Jem was too stunned to reply. The snake gave a brief rattle that sounded like disgust. "Again, my wit is cast as pearls before swine," it grumbled, and subsided.
Jem got up and walked to the balance beam. "Princess?" he said. His throat was tight and it was hard to get the words out. "Baby?"
The girl looked at him with Monica's eyes, his father's hair, his mother's cheekbones. "Daddy?" she said.
Jem scooped her off the balance beam and hugged her as hard as he could. He figured the snake was smart enough to get out of the way all on its own.
-----
rattledsnake - the mysterious talking serpent
hell - a magic charm to dampen the power of the snake's mortal enemy
packedhouse - the lovers' bittersweet reunion
diribonucleicgoodacid - the lost princess found
