The Cloisters(29)

We must have continued like that, selling herbs and necklaces, mixtures and potions, for at least two hours. Leo, always reaching out to touch me as he passed behind, brushing up against me, lingering sometimes a little too long over me while I made change. A delicious dance that made me hope the sun would never go down, that the day at the greenmarket would never end.

But it did end, and after the women were gone—because it was mostly women—and Leo’s inventory was depleted, he pulled out the till and counted out $200 in twenties and handed it to me.

“Commission,” he said.

When I went to take the money, he pulled it back.

“But you can’t mention you saw me today, okay?”

“Okay,” I said slowly and reached again for the cash, this time snaking it from his hand. “Why is that?”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Why?”

“Because everything I sold today came from the gardens at The Cloisters. All harvested. All stolen. All rebranded to appeal to white women who don’t believe in modern medicine but are the only ones left who can afford it. You know what I mean?”

“Do you really think anyone would care? What are a few snips of herbs from the garden?”

Leo tilted his head back and laughed.

“Oh, Ann, no. This isn’t a small operation. I’m not snipping a few herbs. I’m growing an entire second garden in the greenhouse behind the Bonnefont Cloister full of herbs I harvest for this,” he responded, gesturing at the table. “I’m selling more than a few trimmings.”

He was, I thought, proud of it—the money, the hustle, the covertness.

“Why would I tell anyone?” I said, pocketing the cash.

“You’d be surprised what can come up in casual conversation.”

“I’ll make a note to keep your illegal grow operation out of rotation.”

“Illegal grow operation?”

“What? Isn’t that what they’re called?”

Leo laughed, and I found the hearty and rich way he let it all out delightful. I couldn’t believe I had been the one who caused him to make that sound. I loved it.

“I can’t imagine you’re familiar with them,” he said. “Grow operations, that is.” I was going to admit that I wasn’t, he was right, when he said, more seriously, “You’ve got to just take what you can from the situation you’re in, you know? Make it work for you.”

That was something I was familiar with, something I had been doing since I was old enough to realize what my situation was.

“It’s just—” He took a step closer, closing the distance between us, and reached up to grab a curl that had slipped loose from my topknot. “One of the things I have going right now. But an important one.”

I could feel his calloused knuckles graze the edge of my cheek, and I turned my whole face so that his open palm rubbed against my lips. I wanted it to smother me, but as I breathed him in—all soil and body odor and lemon balm—Leo looked up sharply and said:

“Shit. Time to go.”

He hastily packed up his things, revealing how little had been there in the first place, folded his table, and passed me the cashbox.

“Come on, now.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled hard.

At first we were just walking briskly, and I noticed a man behind us, closing in quickly.

“Leo,” he called out. “Leo—”

“Pick it up,” Leo said, transitioning to a trot.

My shorter legs struggled to keep up.

“Who is that?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder.

“Local constable,” Leo said. “Gets bent out of shape when I sell without a license.”

“You don’t have a license?”

“Hey. You were selling today, too. So hurry.”

Ahead of us, I could see the park.

“We gotta get you a cab,” Leo said, lifting a hand and waving one down. “You’re too slow.”

When a cab pulled up, Leo folded me into the back seat and threw a twenty at the driver. “Take her home,” he said.

“Leo, wait. No—” I was confused, but he had already closed the door. The window didn’t work, and I yelled his name against the glass, watching as he looked behind him to see the officer, because it was, in fact, a police officer, on his tail before he broke into a sprint and entered the park.





CHAPTER NINE


Rachel barely waited for the library door to close behind me before she said, “Patrick needs us to go downtown.”

It was Monday, and I had spent the rest of the weekend curious about Lingraf’s tarot research, wondering if it was appropriate to reach out to him, if he would even respond. But then, I would have to explain how I had ended up with so many of his papers; he wouldn’t believe it was by chance. I had fingered the shiny black peony seeds that I had worn around my neck since seeing Leo and decided to keep my father’s secret, at least for now.

“I don’t know how long it will take,” Rachel continued, “but it might be a good day to be out of the library anyway.” She hooked a thumb in the direction of Patrick’s office. “He’s not interested in having us underfoot at the moment.”

It was true, Patrick had been increasingly on edge during our meetings. His expectations growing unreachable as we continued to encounter dead ends in our research.