“I’ve got some on me, and I could probably get more.”
“Do you want to meet tomorrow at school?” Pru suggests. “In the ladies’ room near the cafeteria?” She’s pacing, walking circles around the three-ring circus.
“No,” Theodora says. “Someplace else. You live on the west side of the river, right?”
“On Canal Street. Not far from the college.”
“There’s a little market and café over on First,” Theodora tells her. “Natural You, it’s called.”
“I know it,” Pru says. She’s passed it a million times, never been inside. The windows advertise sales on organic spelt, wheatgrass juice, toasted seaweed—things that sound horrid.
“Meet me there tomorrow.”
“What time?” Pru asks.
“Can you come in the morning?”
Pru thinks it over. She can go in, pick up her check, and cash it at the twenty-four-hour place; they charge, but still, she’d have the cash. She’ll tell the other cafeteria ladies she has a medical appointment. They’ll be fine without her for one morning. And if she hurries, she can make it back by lunch.
“Nine o’clock?” Pru suggests.
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“And you’ll bring the vitamins?”
“Yeah. I’ll bring whatever I can get.”
Necco
Necco pauses outside of Natural You, her stomach rumbling. She woke up ravenous and found only a few stale cookies, sugar, and tea in the Winter House. She knows it’s a terrible risk, coming out of hiding, but she needs to see what’s in the locker Hermes rented. Whatever’s in there might help her. If it was digging around into her past and family that got Hermes killed, maybe he’d actually found something useful, something to prove who Snake Eyes was and what he’d done.
Natural You is on the way to the bowling alley, and inside are bulk bins full of dried fruit, nuts, trail mix. She and Mama used to come here because it’s easy to fill your pockets from the bins and there are always lovely samples of cheese and fresh bread and smoothies with wholesome ingredients.
She’ll get in and out quickly, she tells herself as she pushes open the door, her hunger overriding her better judgment. The store smells like patchouli, warm bread, and spices. As she heads toward the bulk bins, she feels a pang of guilt. She doesn’t really need to steal, not with the wad of cash in that girl’s satchel. But she needs to save that money for true emergencies. She stuffed the whole bag into the cavity behind a couple of loose bricks in the Winter House. It was a secret hiding place Mama created—where she saved cash when she had it, and left her pouch of Devil’s Snuff. When Necco had pulled out the bricks to put the girl’s bag there, she’d found a single pearl earring tucked way at the back. Mama had found it on the sidewalk, and thought that it might be worth something. But it was clearly cheap costume jewelry, the gold plate peeling, the pearl yellowing and plasticky. Still, Mama had held on to it. She was a dreamer that way. A spinner of stories. She said things, then believed them because she had to. Necco understands that now.
Necco works her way down the aisles of Natural You and slips a handful of almonds into her pocket, some dried apple, working from the bins at waist level. The store is crowded and no one seems to notice.
Necco is wearing Mama’s red wool sweater, with her hair braided and pinned up. She had grabbed Hermes’s sunglasses with the mirrored lenses, but she can’t see inside with them too well, so they’re up on top of her head. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door of the freezer that contains organic sorbets and soy ice cream bars; she looks like any of the other slightly disheveled, hippieish shoppers here, maybe a college student picking up some hemp shampoo between classes.
A dreadlocked man in a Natural You apron catches Necco’s eye.
“You need any help, miss?”
More than you could know.
She shakes her head, flashes him a big, warm smile. “Thanks, I’m fine.”
Always smile, Mama used to tell her. Be the gray man, Hermes would say. The gray man is the guy who passes right by but no one notices. Be invisible, avoid confrontation, don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself.
She presses on, passing the dairy section, and a cooler full of tofu and tempeh and all other kinds of fake meat. She’s on her way to the front doors when she spots an area for supplements.
Fish oil. Green tea extract. Vitamins she’s never heard of.
Vitamins! That’s what she needs. For the baby.
Necco scans the shelves, studying the labels of the amber-colored bottles. One of them has a silhouette of a pregnant woman, belly swollen as the moon. PRENATAL PLUS, it says. A COMPLETE SUPPLEMENT FOR MOTHER AND BABY.
Perfect. In one quick motion, she grabs the bottle, tucks it up into the sleeve of her chunky sweater. Then she turns to go. Walking slowly, blending in. If one of the cashiers catches her eye, she’ll smile.
“Excuse me, miss?” A voice behind her, gentle, but insistent.
Her heart hammers but she doesn’t slow, pretends not to hear the voice or the footsteps behind her. She walks faster now, her eye on the front doors. But first she has to pass by the cash registers, where two bored clerks are looking her way.
A hand grabs her shoulder. “Slow down,” a man’s voice says.
She turns. It’s Dreadlocks. He has no smile for her now.
“Are you going to pay for that?” he asks.
“What?” she says. She doesn’t have to fake her confusion; she never gets caught. Mama would be so disappointed. If they call the cops, it’s all over.
“The bottle of vitamins in your sleeve.”
A small crowd of shoppers circles closer, excited by the spectacle.
She freezes, thinking over her options. She could say she was going to pay for it then pretend to have left her wallet at home. Deny having any bottle of vitamins, make a show of being outraged by his accusation. Or, she could do what her gut is screaming at her to do: run. Break away and run as fast as she can.
Dreadlocks keeps his hand on her shoulder, tightens his grip. “I’m going to have to ask you to come back into the office with me.”
“There’s…been a mistake,” Necco says slowly, just as a voice behind them chirps: “Jessy! There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Did you pick up my vitamins?”
A girl hurries forward, linking arms with Necco.
It’s the girl from yesterday, the one who gave her the knitting needles. Necco turns and smiles at this girl—Theo, Necco recalls—relief flooding through her like sunshine, and lets the vitamins drop from her sleeve into her hand.
“Got them,” she says. “Just like you asked.”
Theo takes the bottle, glances at it for a second, and smiles, then moves toward the cashier, already pulling out her wallet.
But Dreadlocks does not let go of Necco’s shoulder.
Theo turns back. “Is there a problem?”
“Your friend was hiding those in her sleeve. Looks a lot like shoplifting to me.”
Theo returns to them, smiles indulgently at Dreadlocks, says, in a low voice, “Here’s the thing, they’re for me. I asked her to get them for me.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that—”
“Do you see what kind of vitamins they are?” Theo says, exasperated now, holding the bottle out. “Prenatal. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly supposed to be needing these.” She gestures to her school uniform. “My friend Jessica was just trying to not draw any attention to our purchase. Now, since the damage is done, I’d like to go ahead and finish said purchase before we get any more people gawking and whispering and judging.” She turns to the small crowd and waves the prenatal vitamins at them. “Teach your kids safe sex. Condoms. Abstinence, even.”
Necco bites her lip to suppress a smile.
“So, can we go now or what?” Theo asks.
Face red now, the man nods. He lets go of Necco’s shoulder.
Thank you, t
hank you, thank you, Necco sings inside her head.
Theo links arms with Necco once more, and they head toward the register. Necco thinks of her mother, remembers her warning, To put your trust in another, that’s a dangerous thing. Trust no one. That’s the only way to stay alive out here. We’ve got to live like ghosts.
Live like ghosts, Necco thinks now as she slips her arm gently from Theo’s and watches the cashier—an older woman with a long, untidy braid—ring up the vitamins. Theo swipes a debit card and punches in a number.
“Do you want a bag?” the cashier asks, not taking her eyes off Necco.
“No, thank you,” Theo says.
The woman takes her time finishing the transaction, pushing buttons on her machine. She finally moves her gaze from Necco toward the front of the store. Necco sees what she’s looking at and feels her heart drop like a cold stone.
There’s a rack of newspapers, and there, on the front page, is the headline GOVERNOR STANTON’S SON SLAIN. Below it, a picture of Hermes. It’s probably his high school senior photo; there he is with short hair but his familiar smirk. Next to this photo is a drawing of Necco that bears a remarkable resemblance, really. The bold line of print above her sketched face reads: REWARD OFFERED FOR ANY INFORMATION LEADING TO THE SUSPECT’S ARREST.
Necco can’t move. Can’t breathe.
“Jared?” the cashier calls, and Dreadlocks walks their way—he hadn’t gone far, has been watching this whole transaction with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What is it?”
The cashier looks at Necco, then nods in the direction of the rack of newspapers.
“What, Renee?” Dreadlocks says, irritated, not getting it.
“Come on,” Theo says, grabbing Necco’s hand, pulling her away, past the newspapers, out the front doors, walking fast. Theo looks left, then right. There is a large woman down at the cross street, moving their way. She seems to recognize Theo.
“Oh, there you are,” she calls, waving her arm, the sleeve of her red coat flapping like a flag.
“Mrs. Small,” Theo says. “We have to go. Now.”
“Go? Go where? Who’s this?” she asks, eyeing Necco suspiciously.
“Is your place far?” Theo asks, casting a glance back behind her shoulder. Dreadlocks is outside now, watching them, talking into a cell phone.
“Around the corner,” Mrs. Small says.
“Let’s go,” Theo instructs, taking the lead now as she pulls Necco along, Mrs. Small behind them, hurrying to keep up.
Pru
Pru has never had guests. The only one who ever comes into her apartment is Wayne, and that’s when something needs fixing: a clogged drain, a leaking radiator. As she and the two girls made their way down the street, she started to argue, to tell the girls they couldn’t possibly go to her place, that she’s due at work in half an hour, lunch won’t wait, the other cafeteria ladies are depending on her, but Theodora cut her off and said simply, “Look, if you want your vitamins, this is the way it is.”
And Pru did want her vitamins. So Pru told them which building it was, led them up the dark wooden stairs, down the hallway that always smelled like dirty feet and boiled cabbage, and unlocked her door. Now Emmett is dancing around their feet in the kitchen.
“Where did you get that newspaper?” Pru asks Theodora, who is holding a paper in a plastic bag that she hadn’t had before.
“I borrowed it from one of your downstairs neighbors. But I’ll put it back when I’m done. They’ll never even know. No worries.” She sets the paper on the kitchen counter.
“But…”
“Cute dog,” Theodora says, cutting Pru off, bending down to stroke Emmett’s head. She’s got a heavy backpack on, as does the other girl, the quiet one. This new girl is older, college age maybe. She’s wearing black leggings, big black boots, a rusty-red wool sweater. Her auburn hair is braided and pinned up in a messy bun. Her face is pale and her green eyes look dazed. Pru wonders if she’s on drugs, this girl.
Theodora cuts through the kitchen and into the dark living room, where she pulls back the blinds and looks down at the street. “All clear,” she says, the relief in her voice audible. “No cops. No store manager.”
“Are you…you’re being chased by the police?” Pru asks, watching uneasily from the kitchen. It’s awful enough to have these two outsiders in the big-top house, but now the idea that they might be in trouble with the law puts a new weight on her chest. Her legs are heavy; she feels light-headed and achy all over. She wants, more than anything, to ask Theodora for the pills, to slip one onto her tongue right now and swallow it down, but she doesn’t want to seem desperate. She’s not an addict, after all.
“Hey, Fire Girl,” Theo calls, still looking out the window. “Yesterday, when I came to see you, I had a bag with me. An old canvas army satchel with pins on it?”
“Yeah, you left it on the hood of the car,” the girl says. “I’ve still got it.”
Theodora turns to the other girl, looking shocked, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Now? Is it with you?”
“It’s not here, with me, but it’s someplace safe.”
“And the money?”
“The money’s all there. And your books…and all the other stuff. I haven’t touched a thing.”
Theodora lunges forward and hugs the other girl, who seems startled, frightened even. She lets herself be embraced, but looks as uncomfortable as if it were an octopus doing it.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea the shit I’m in because I lost that money,” Theodora says into the girl’s shoulder. “There’s this guy, Jeremy, and the money is his. He’s going to hunt me down and gut me if I don’t get it to him ASAP.”
“Well, you can have it all back,” Necco says.
“I can’t believe it,” Theodora says, smiling as she pulls away. As soon as she does, the other girl scuttles toward the back wall.
“Let’s get some light in here,” Theodora says, flipping the wall switch. She looks around the room, taking in the circus. “Holy crap!” she exclaims. “What is all this?”
Pru bites her lip, wishes she could turn out the lights, drag both girls back into the kitchen. She’s never shown the circus to anyone. When Wayne comes up, she puts what she can away and covers the rest with sheets. She’s told Mr. Marcelle about it, described it as best she could. But no one has actually seen it. She imagines how it must look to these two girls: tables pushed together and covered with three red-and-white wooden rings, the clothespin people in bright sequined costumes, the caged animals made from junk held together with glue and wire, the string high wire crossing the three rings; the sad hobby of the lonely fat lady. They must think she’s cracked. Bonkers. The most pathetic thing they’ve ever seen. She’s still trying to catch her breath from all the walking and the stairs.
Theodora’s eyes move from the center ring to the poster of the fat lady on the wall, Pru’s face pasted on. Pru holds her breath, wants to say something, to try to explain, but how can she? Where would she start?
It’s all I have, she might say. Or, I don’t have to tell you anything.
Theodora steps forward, reaching for one of the trapeze artists, gently touching her to send her swinging. “This has to be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” she says and smiles. “Did you do all this?”
Pru nods. She nods so hard and fast that she can’t stop, she’s like one of those bobble-head dolls.
“Isn’t it incredible?” Theodora says, looking at the other girl, who has stepped forward now. Theodora touches the bear on the bicycle, the lions in their cage.
“It is,” the other girl says, only half-looking. She glances nervously toward the window. Touches her belly. Pru wonders if she’s seen this girl somewhere before. She’s not a student at the school, Pru’s sure of that. She knows all the kids; she makes it her business to learn each of their names and faces.
“By the way,” Theodora says. “My name’s Theo. You got a nam
e other than Fire Girl?”
The girl nods. “Necco,” she says.
“Necco?”
“Like the candy,” the girl says.
“Candy?” Theodora says.
“The wafers,” Pru adds. “I love those wafers. When I was a girl I would walk to the store with my daddy and he would let me pick one thing. I sometimes chose those. A chocolate bar, that would be gone in a minute. But those candies, I could make them last and last if I sucked them, one at a time.”
Necco smiles. “I like them, too. They were always my favorite. When I was a kid.”
Theodora goes back to watching the trapeze artist swing. “I can’t believe you did all this, Mrs. Small. It’s amazing. So intricate. Do they have names? The performers?”
Pru reaches for the tiny figure in a top hat and coat with tails. “This is Wayne, the ringmaster. And over there, Mr. Marcelle, the strongman.” She smiles as she pets her strongman—Mr. Marcelle in miniature. “We’ve got Miss Veronica Larrs, who does a whole act hanging by her hair. The Flying Kosomovs. Sergei the Lion Tamer.”
Theodora takes everything in. She touches the little performers, rolls the lion cage and clown car, helps the tightrope walkers glide over the center ring. She oohs and aahs and can’t seem to stop smiling.
It’s true magic, the circus is.
But the other girl is still sticking to the shadows, watching Pru and Theodora rather than the circus. She has the look of a trapped animal—a real-life lion in a cage. She glances toward the window like she’s contemplating making a break for it, even though they’re two flights up.
Pru picks up her tiny brass elephant, enfolds it in her hand—her good luck, courage-giving pachyderm. Then she asks the question that has been throbbing through her brain since she first set eyes on Theodora on the street.
“Do you have them? Do you have the vitamins?”
Necco steps forward, looking puzzled. “My vitamins?”
Theodora shakes her head. “Different vitamins. I’ve got them.” She unshoulders the backpack, unzips it, and starts rummaging around for what feels like an eternity.
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