Juliet Dove, Queen of Love

by Bruce Coville

  “For your own sake, I urge you to send the amulet back to me with Roxanne and Jerome. In return, I promise to have them bring you some other, more appropriate item from my shelves—one that will almost certainly cause you less trouble than this one seems likely to.”

  The picture froze into immobility again, leaving the old man staring out at Juliet—though in a different position from when he had started.

  Juliet sighed. “I suppose I ought to do what he asks.”

  “Now you’re talking sense,” said Jerome.

  But when Juliet tried to lift the chain over her head, she found that it wouldn’t fit.

  “That’s weird,” she muttered. “I would have sworn I just slipped it over my head when I put it on.”

  Jerome glanced at Roxanne significantly.

  Juliet reached behind her neck to unfasten the chain.

  She couldn’t locate the clasp.

  Exasperated, she went to the mirror and pulled the chain around, planning to unfasten it from the front.

  A cold chill rippled over her shoulders.

  The clasp was gone.

  Juliet turned the chain around and around, unable to believe her eyes. She was certain the chain had had a clasp when she put it on. Now, it seemed to have vanished. She ran the golden links through her fingers three times, hoping desperately to find a way to open it.

  Nothing. The chain was an unbroken circle, with no hint it had ever been otherwise. Struggling against a wave of fear, Juliet tried one more time to slip it over her head.

  Impossible.

  Panic pounding through her veins, she turned to Roxanne and Jerome. “It won’t come off,” she whispered, her voice tight and small. “It won’t come off!”

  SIX

  Clarice and Mr. Toe

  Juliet stared at the mirror in horror. Was she going to have to wear this thing forever? Was the chain shrinking? What if it kept on getting smaller . . . and smaller? She put her fingers to her neck, imagining the cold metal digging into her throat.

  “Oh, brother,” said Jerome. “The old man ain’t gonna like hearing this!”

  “I don’t care about the old man! I want this thing off me!” She thought for a second, then said, “Wait here.”

  “Where are you going?” called Roxanne as Juliet headed for the door.

  “To see if Margaret has some wire cutters in her art box.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said Roxanne.

  Juliet spun around. “Why not?”

  The rat spread her paws. “That chain is magic, right?”

  “I dunno, Roxie,” said Jerome before Juliet could answer. “It could be just the pendant that’s got the magic in it.”

  “Yeah, that could be,” said Roxanne. “But it was the chain that changed size. Now I don’t know a lot about magic—”

  “You can say that again!”

  Roxanne swatted him on the shoulder. “This is no time for smart remarks, Jerome. As I was saying, I don’t know a lot about magic, but I do know that if you break something magic, sometimes the magic inside leaks out. Cut that chain and you might end up with magic all over the place. Given what’s happened so far, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “On the other hand, odds are good that if the chain really is magic, you couldn’t cut it, anyway,” added Jerome.

  “Then what am I going to do?” wailed Juliet.

  Roxanne stood on her hind legs and studied Juliet more closely. “Has anything unusual happened since you put on the chain?”

  “Nothing much,” said Juliet, trying to sound casual. She waited a second, then confessed, “Some of the boys have been acting a little strange.”

  “Boys always act strange,” said Roxanne, glancing at Jerome. “Be more specific.”

  Juliet felt herself begin to blush.

  “This is important,” said Roxanne.

  “Well, they seem to think I’m—” she hesitated, afraid she would sound as if she were bragging.

  “What?” asked Jerome. “They think you’re what?”

  “Pretty,” said Juliet softly.

  “But you are pretty,” said Roxanne, sounding genuinely surprised. “I said that to Jerome the first time we saw you. ‘That Juliet Dove is a pretty girl,’ I said.”

  “Well, none of the boys ever seemed to think so. At least not until today. Now all of a sudden they’re . . . I don’t know. They keep talking to me. And following me around!”

  “Uh-oh,” said Roxanne.

  “Extremely uh-oh,” said Jerome.

  Juliet looked at them in alarm. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s happening?”

  “Pull my whiskers if I know,” said Jerome. “But I don’t like the sound of it. We better tell the old man about this.”

  “You go,” said Roxanne. “I’ll stay and talk to Juliet.”

  Jerome paused to think this over, then said, “Okay. See you in a bit.” He scampered back under Juliet’s bed.

  “Is there a rat hole down there?” Juliet asked nervously.

  “Of course not,” said Roxanne. “Your parents aren’t the kind to have rats.”

  “Well, you’re here.”

  “We are not normal rats! We are of the Immortal Vermin! Jerome just didn’t want you to watch him leave. The way we go places, it’s . . . well, it’s sort of strange.”

  As far as Juliet was concerned, the whole world was suddenly a lot stranger than she had imagined. This feeling only grew more intense when she said, “Maybe we should have all gone back to the magic shop together,” and Roxanne replied, “I don’t think you could get there now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it kind of moves around. Would you mind if I got on your desk? It would be easier to talk that way.”

  “I suppose it’s all right. Do you want me to lift you up?”

  “Nah, I’ll climb.”

  Juliet was a little startled by how easily Roxanne scrambled up the front of her desk. Once the rat was settled, Juliet said, “What do you mean the shop ‘moves around’?”

  “You never saw it before, did you?”

  Juliet shook her head.

  “And how long have you lived in this town?”

  “All my life.”

  “Well, there you go! It wasn’t here. Then it was. Now it’s probably not again. Mr. Elives keeps moving the place.” Roxanne lowered her voice. “Some days I don’t think we’re anywhere. That can be a little scary, let me tell you!”

  “I can imagine,” said Juliet sympathetically. She paused, then, remembering what her mother had taught her about guests, said, “Uh, would you like something to eat?”

  “That would be very nice,” said Roxanne. She folded her paws in a prim fashion.

  “Cheese, I presume?”

  Roxanne sighed. “I’m not a cartoon character, you know.”

  “Sorry. So, what would you like?”

  “Oh, I’ll eat most anything. And I didn’t mean to be rude. It just gets a little boring, everyone thinking all we eat is cheese, cheese, cheese.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  When Juliet returned a few minutes later, she was carrying a plate that did have some cheese on it, but also some crackers, a stalk of celery, and a Twinkie. She found Roxanne studying a picture of the Dove family that had been taken while they were on vacation the previous summer. “Nice lookin’ bunch,” said the rat.

  Juliet smiled.

  Roxanne began to eat, nibbling daintily at the things Juliet had brought. Juliet noticed that she saved the cheese for last. Like dessert, she thought to herself.

  “That was very nice,” said Roxanne, as she finished off the last of the cheese. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Juliet. Then, to ward off any questions about herself, she said, “How come you and Jerome can talk?”

  Roxanne paused, as if deciding whether to answer. Finally, she said, “You know that old story about the woman who had two daughters, and one of them was nice to an old lady in the
woods, and when the girl came home diamonds fell out of her mouth, so the woman sent the other daughter out, but she was rude to the old lady in the woods, and when she came back toads and rats and snakes fell out of her mouth?”

  “Sort of,” said Juliet uneasily.

  “Well, me and Jerome are two of those rats. That’s why we can talk; we were born out of the daughter’s words.”

  “But that story’s just made up!”

  “That’s strange, ’cause if that story’s just made up, then I’m not here. And if I’m not here, I couldn’t be talking to you. And I could have sworn that I’m standing right here talking to you!”

  “But even if it is true, it happened hundreds of years ago.”

  “Not actually,” said Roxanne, sounding a little uneasy. “Me and Jerome come from a more recent version. Sort of like a sequel. But we could be hundreds of years old! Us creatures that come into being that way tend to live forever. Unless we get run over by a truck or eaten by a cat or something. That’s the reason we’re called the Immortal Vermin: We’re talking rats who live forever! Kinda cool, dontcha think?”

  “I suppose so,” said Juliet. “But what—”

  “That’s enough about us,” said Roxanne quickly. “The old man doesn’t like us to talk about ourselves too much. He says a little mystery is the spice of life.”

  “I don’t like spice,” said Juliet firmly.

  “Not even salt?”

  Juliet wavered, but finally had to admit that she did indeed like salt.

  “Well, there you go. Same difference. You wouldn’t wanna go through life without any salt, would you? It’s the same with mystery. A few unanswered questions make life more interesting.”

  “All right, all right. I get your point. I was just trying to make conversation. If you can’t talk about yourself, what are we supposed to talk about?”

  “We could talk about you.”

  Juliet shrugged. “What’s to talk about? I’m just a kid.”

  “Personally I find kids very interesting, never having been one myself.”

  Juliet looked at the rat suspiciously. “What do you mean you were never a kid?”

  “Well, me and Jerome came out, you know, full grown.” Roxanne paused, as if remembering something. Then her face got angry. “Now there you go again, trying to get me to talk about myself! Next thing you know you’ll be asking about some of the jobs me and Jerome . . . Jerome and I . . . have done.”

  “Sure. That would be interesting.”

  “Of course it would be interesting! We’ve had some real doozies, let me tell you. But I can’t tell you. That’s what I’m telling you!”

  They were quiet for a moment while Juliet tried to sort out that last speech.

  “Sorry,” said Roxanne finally. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. Maybe I should just go under the bed and wait for Jerome.”

  “It’s all right,” said Juliet. “I don’t usually talk to new people that much, anyway.”

  “Well, it’s good to be a listener. Even so, you need to throw something in yourself every once in a while to keep the conversation going, you know what I mean? Tell you what: Let’s practice. You tell me one interesting thing about yourself. Just one.”

  Juliet blushed and shook her head.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Juliet. It’s one thing to be modest, but this is ridiculous!”

  Juliet took a deep breath. “I’m in sixth grade,” she said at last.

  “I said tell me something interesting! What’s your favorite book? Do you like any boys? Have you got a secret? Did you ever do something really naughty? Who in the whole world would you invite to dinner if you could? Sheesh, I’ll bet there’s a billion interesting things you could tell me. But ‘I’m in sixth grade’ isn’t one of ’em!”

  Juliet was saved from having to think of something interesting about herself by the return of Jerome, who came scooting out from under her bed. He climbed onto Juliet’s desk as easily as Roxanne had. Juliet noticed that he had a roll of paper strapped to his back. But before she could ask him about it, he pointed to the empty plate and said, “Geez, Roxanne, you could have left some for me!”

  “Well excu-uuse me. It’s not like I knew when you were comin’ back. You mighta been there for hours! Sheesh.”

  “I can get more,” said Juliet quickly. “Just tell me what Mr. Elives said.”

  Jerome looked very serious. “He said a lot of things, most of which were not appropriate for the ears of a young lady. But what it came down to was this: He don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, he don’t like it.” The rat paused, then added, “He doesn’t think you’re in any danger—”

  “Danger?” squeaked Juliet.

  “He doesn’t think there’s any danger,” continued Jerome severely. “But he wants you to be careful. Also, he wants me and Roxanne to stay with you for the time being, just in case the situation gets out of hand.”

  Juliet gaped at him. “He wants you to stay with me?”

  “In case the situation gets out of hand.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be able to help me?” asked Juliet nervously.

  “Nah, we probably wouldn’t do you any good. But at least we’ll be able to tell the old man what happened.”

  “Great. Why don’t you get a little camera, too, so you can give him pictures. And just what does he mean by ‘out of hand’?”

  Jerome shrugged. “He didn’t specify. But he did send you this note.” He removed the roll of paper that was strapped to his back and extended it to Juliet. As she reached for it, she heard a small voice say, “Who are you talking to, sister?”

  Juliet spun around. Clarice was standing in the doorway. Before Juliet could tell her little sister to go away, Clarice came trotting into the room.

  “Are you all right, Juliet?” Her eyes widened. “Hey, you’ve got rats! Did you ask Mommy if you could have them?”

  Juliet glanced over at the desk. Roxanne was standing on her hind legs, frantically shaking her head and putting one paw over her mouth. It took Juliet a second to realize that the rat was signaling for her not to say anything about them talking. “I’m, uh, taking care of them for someone.”

  “Can I hold one?”

  Juliet turned toward the desk again. Jerome had his paws over his eyes and was shaking his head. Roxanne sighed and shrugged.

  “I guess it’s all right,” said Juliet. “Just be gentle.”

  “You were talking to them, weren’t you?” asked Clarice, scooping up Roxanne and stroking her back.

  Juliet panicked. “Well, I—”

  “Just like I talk to Mr. Toe!” said Clarice triumphantly.

  Jerome scowled. Juliet wasn’t sure if it was because Roxanne was getting stroked—or because he wasn’t. She didn’t want him to feel left out. But she also didn’t think she should just pick him up. Finally, she decided to put her hand on the desk, as a sort of invitation. Jerome could decide whether he wanted to climb on or not.

  He stared at her hand for a moment, then scurried up to her shoulder. But it wasn’t attention he was after. Once he was close enough he put his head to her ear and whispered, “Ditch the kid.”

  But it was not easy to get rid of Clarice when there was something new and exciting in your room, and it was clear that she put the rats in that category.

  “Let’s go show them to Mommy,” said Clarice after a few minutes.

  “No!” said Juliet quickly. Then, more cautiously, “You know how cranky she gets if we interrupt her while she’s working.”

  “You didn’t tell Mommy you’ve got rats, did you?” asked Clarice, her eyes dancing.

  Juliet sighed. She loved Clarice, but she also knew that her little sister was not above blackmail. She could extract a heavy price for agreeing to keep a secret. “If Mommy finds out, I might have to get rid of them,” Juliet said desperately. Then, fearing that wasn’t enough, she added, “She might make me take them to the cat food factory, so they can be ground up to feed kitties.”


  Clarice’s lower lip started to tremble and she tightened her hand over Roxanne’s back. “She wouldn’t!”

  Juliet shrugged. “It’s hard to say. People get funny ideas about rats sometimes.”

  “I won’t tell, Juliet. I promise!”

  “Thanks. Now, why don’t you go play with Mr. Toe. I’ve got some things I have to do.”

  “I can’t. I have to give you something.”

  “What is it?” asked Juliet, who was starting to lose patience.

  “A letter.”

  Juliet furrowed her brow. “Who’s it from?” she asked, wondering if one of the boys was trying to use Clarice to get to her. When Clarice didn’t answer right away, Juliet felt her anger begin to rise. If one of those boys had frightened Clarice . . . well, she didn’t know what she would do. But it wouldn’t be pretty. “Who’s it from?” she asked again.

  “Mr. Toe.”

  Juliet relaxed. Clarice was always scribbling on pieces of paper and saying they were notes from Mr. Toe. She held out her hand, knowing she had to play the game before she could get back to the real problem.

  Clarice pulled a carefully folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Printed on it in blue crayon, the letters large and clear, were the words “For Juliet Dove.”

  Juliet scowled at her little sister. “Who wrote this?”

  Clarice’s lip began to tremble again. “I told you! It’s from Mr. Toe.”

  “Who really wrote it?” asked Juliet. She felt like she was being mean, but it was important.

  “I did,” confessed Clarice, a tear spilling down her cheek.

  Juliet stared at her sister. She had seen Clarice’s “writing” plenty of times. It was just scratchy marks.

  “Clarice,” she said gently, “you have to tell me who wrote this.”

  “I did!”

  “Clarice!”

  “I held the crayon! But . . .” Clarice looked at the floor.

  “But what?”

  Clarice sighed. “But Mr. Toe moved my hand.”

  SEVEN