Chapter 1: The Snake Charmer’s Promise

Mom picked up a woman on the side of the highway, rain pouring so hard her jeans stuck to her legs and her thin shirt was nearly see-through. She was shivering, thumb out, soaked to the bone, but her eyes were sharp as a snake’s.

The woman knew her way around snakes—said her grandma taught her everything in the Louisiana bayou, where the mud never dries and every shadow could hide fangs.

She grinned and said, "Snakes are lustful by nature. Trust me, honey, snakes'll get a man going faster than any blue pill from Walgreens."

Mom grabbed the fattest copperhead from the wriggling pile—its scales glinting like pennies in the porch light—and tossed it straight into the soup pot. She dumped in onions and a fistful of cayenne, humming like she was making Sunday gumbo.

That night, my brother crept down the hallway, floorboards groaning under his weight, and slipped into the woman’s bed. The old house seemed to sigh along with him.

Mom stood over the snake pen we’d rigged from chicken wire and busted pallets, her grin wide as the Mississippi. "We’re gonna be rich! We’re gonna be rich! These snakes really work! Better than that Viagra crap they sell at the pharmacy!"

The next morning, the woman shuffled out of the bedroom, eyes bloodshot, makeup smeared, hair wild. My brother trailed after her, stretching like a lazy tomcat, a smug look on his face.

I hurried up, worry knotting my stomach. "Are you okay? Need some water or something?"

Before she could answer, Mom kicked me hard, her worn sneaker catching me right in the ribs. Pain shot through my side. I bit my lip, tasting blood, but kept my mouth shut. Around here, talking back just made it worse. "What do you mean 'you'? Call her your sister-in-law! Show some goddamn respect!"

I shrank against the peeling wallpaper, barely whispering, "Sister-in-law."