“I won’t let anything terrible happen to you.” My voice is low and firm. “I told you that, and you have to believe me.”
She doesn’t answer, so I continue to my next story. “In a month, Freddie’ll be back, and I’ll quit the show. We’ll move to Paris, where we’ll live in a house on the Avenue Montaigne and I’ll have a limo and diamonds—”
“And a little dog,” she says, the smallest glint of hope returning.
“And a little dog.” I repeat, swallowing my fear. “And we’ll never think about this place. Ever again.”
18
“Being scared means you’re about to do something brave.”
Lara
Hours pass as I lie in the darkness listening to Molly breathe. Desperation has me by the throat, making it impossible to sleep. I can’t stop thinking of how we might escape until finally I give up and slip out of the bed.
I creep to the door, sliding the bolt and stepping out into the dark passage, and I make my way down the hall to Rosa’s room. Her light is still on, but I’m frozen in place by what I hear inside. It’s Tanya’s voice, whining and fighting.
“No,” she mumbles. “Let me go!”
“Stop doing this. You’re going to kill yourself.”
“Then let me die,” Tanya shouts, her voice breaking.
The noise of something banging to the floor has me leaning forward to look. Tanya is on her back, eyes closed, and in her hand is a crumpled piece of aluminum foil and a lighter. The room smells like vinegar, but I don’t understand any of it.
I lose my balance, and my shoulder hits the door. It creaks open, and Rosa’s face snaps to mine. Her brow collapses.
“Lara,” she sighs. “Get out of here. You shouldn’t see this.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Heroin. Fentanyl.” Rosa pushes off her knees and sits in the chair, leaning forward with her face in her hands over what looks like a sleeping Tanya.
“Why would she do that?”
“She’s an addict. It’s getting worse. Fast. If we don’t get her clean, she’ll die.”
The words are terrible, horrifying, but instead of fear, something different blooms in my chest. I scan the place, mentally logging the items surrounding the skinny girl on the floor. The wheels are turning, and I can’t stop the idea growing bigger by the second…
“It’s powder?”
Rosa frowns. “Yes.
“How does she get it?”
“I’ve heard some of the voodoo shops have it, but you can probably buy it on Bourbon Street if you know who to ask.”
I’m out the door, headed to my room while she’s still speaking. Molly is asleep, but it’s still pretty early. I pull on my jeans and grab the black sweater, jerking it over my head and down to cover the white tank. Calm fills my mind. The calm of knowing exactly how I’m going to handle this. My path is plain, and I know I won’t falter.
But first I have an errand to run.
Tapping on my new phone, I text Roland to meet me at the corner of Royal and Orleans in five minutes. I grab a coat and small hat on my way out the door. It’s brown tweed with a black band and a little feather on the side.
Roland grins when he sees me, and we set off down the narrow street toward Bourbon. I pull the collar tight at my neck. The sky is overcast again.
We stop at the corner, and Roland lights a cigarette. “Care to tell me where we’re headed, old boy? I have to admit this drag you’re wearing is working for me.”
I cut my eyes at him and start walking again, slipping my hand in the pocket to clutch the money I grabbed from pawning my mother’s pen. I’ve never made a drug deal, and I can only hope it’s enough to get what I need.
We reach the small shack on St. Anne’s just as Roland finishes his cigarette and tosses it to the ground. “Voodoo?” he chuckles as he grinds out the butt. “Now will you tell me what the hell we’re doing?”
“I need to buy something. I didn’t want to come here alone.”
“At least you’re smart.”
“Come on.”
The house seems deserted, but Roland dashes up the steps and holds the door for me. It’s as cold inside the narrow cottage as it is outside, and the pungent scent of pipe smoke mixed with spicy patchouli oil surrounds us.
We pass counters adorned with dolls and alligator claws, crude noise-makers, and other assorted gris-gris.
An olive-skinned woman in a white turban with frizzy hair sticking out the bottom passes through a beaded curtain that divides the front of the house from the back. She comes to where we’re standing and looks us up and down, frowning.
“Children,” she mutters in a thick, New Orleans accent, shaking her head. “What do you want?”
Roland points at me.
“I need something.” I hesitate, then I lean toward her. “Fentanyl.”
“You don’t come here for that,” she snaps. “You need a prescription.”
“I just need an ounce.”
The woman doesn’t react, but Roland catches my arm and turns me to look at him. His eyes narrow, and he drags me back to the entrance. I struggle against him, but he’s stronger than me and has me outside in two steps. Then he fixes those brown eyes on mine.
“What’s going on?” he demands.
I glance down and a huge gust of damp wind whips my hair up and around my face. “I have to do this.”
“Do what?” His arms are crossed, and I simply look at him until he lowers them again. “Who?”
“Guy.”
At that, he grips my arm and pulls me back to the street, the way we came. I struggle to break free of his hold until he finally stops walking and turns to look at me again.
“First, there’s no way you’d ever get him to take it. And second, what makes you think you could hide something like this by yourself?”
“He’s coming for Molly.” My throat grows tight, and I can’t finish. I can’t tell him what I said to Gavin, my dark bargain.
Roland spins on his heel and throws out his arms. “So let him have her!”
My hand clenches into a fist, and I hit him so fast, it surprises both of us. He staggers back, covering his mouth, and I rub my fingers. The pain brings tears to my eyes.
Then he grabs my arm and jerks me to him with a force that makes me cry out. “Don’t ever hit me again,” he growls through clenched teeth.
Two tears hit my cheeks.
He shoves me back, still holding his lip. A trickle of blood appears, and I dig in the pocket of my borrowed coat to find a tissue.
I hand it to him. “I said I’d take her place.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, and his teeth clench. “Who did you tell that?”
“Gavin.”
He explodes a loud exhale. “He’ll never let that happen.”
“I won’t let Guy have her!” My voice is desperate and tears blur my vision. “This is the only way to stop him. For good.”
I start back for the cottage, but Roland catches my arm, gentler this time, and pulls me to him. “Calm down,” he says, stroking my hair. Then he wraps his arms around me and presses my head into his chest. I shiver as the tears fall.
“Why have you stopped caring about her?” I whisper through the thickness in my throat.
“I haven’t. It’s just… you have to learn when to fight, and when to let go. There are those you can save, and those you can’t.”