Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)(81)

Paranoid mobster daughter that I was, I made sure to scan the store before answering. “I am.”

“Yes, I thought so. I’ve been following your case closely. It’s all been very unfair to you, hasn’t it?”

I told him that I tried not to dwell on it.

On the bus back home, the aroma of roses was pervasive. I looked in my bag and found that the not-a-wizard had slipped the cacao nibs in with the chili peppers.

Since the crash, I was still a bit on edge during bus rides, but the rose-scented air suffused me with a sense of calm and—dare I say—clarity. My mind relaxed. My brain became soft and empty and then it began to fill with a picture. First, I saw Our Lady of Guadalupe, and I knew it was her because of the roses that haloed around her and because her image had featured so prominently at Granja Mañana. But then I saw that she wasn’t a real person, but a painting on a wall and underneath the painting were the words, Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the fountain of life? Is there anything else you need? And the wall was the back wall of a smallish store. And Balanchine chocolate was stacked on the dark-stained mahogany shelves. And the chocolate was right out in the open, even in the front display windows. And the sign on the store said:

Balanchine’s Medicinal Cacao Bar

Chocolate For Your Health—By Rx Only—Doctor On Premises

I sat up in my seat.

I was not my sister. No one had ever suggested sending me to genius camp nor should they have, and I was not given to brilliant ideas. If I had a genius, I’d say it was probably one for survival, nothing more. But this seemed like it could almost work. Cacao might never be legal, but what if there were legal ways around that? Things Daddy and Uncle Yuri and now Fats had never even considered.

The bus was about a block away from Win’s house. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to know what he would think. I pushed the tape to indicate that I wanted the bus to stop, and I got out.

Outside Win’s apartment, I rang the bell. Charles Delacroix answered. Win and Mrs. Delacroix were still out, but he expected them back any minute if I wanted to wait. Mr. Delacroix hadn’t shaved but at least he had dressed for the day.

Charles Delacroix led me into the living room. I was still thinking about my vision.

“How are you?” Charles Delacroix asked me.

“Mr. Delacroix, you’re a lawyer.”

“You’re very businesslike today, Anya. Yes, I am a lawyer. An unemployed one at present.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone selling medicinal cacao?” I asked.

Charles Delacroix laughed at me. “Anya Balanchine, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

“Nothing,” I insisted. I could feel myself blushing. “I only wondered if a person could sell medicinal cacao legally in the city. I’d heard that you could sell it with a prescription.”

Charles Delacroix studied me for a moment. “Yes, I suppose a theoretical person could.”

“And if that were true, could a proprietor sell a customer a chocolate health bar or, say, a hot-chocolate vitamin shake as long as there was a prescription?”

Mr. Delacroix nodded. “Yes. Though I’d have to research the matter in greater detail.”

“And if you were still acting as district attorney, would you have gone after a person who was selling medicinal cacao at a store in Manhattan?”

“I … Such a person might have aroused my interest, yes, but if they had a good lawyer who made sure everything was in order, and all the prescriptions were legitimate, I doubt we would have bothered with them. Anya, you’re looking terrifyingly bright-eyed at the moment. Don’t tell me you know such a hypothetical proprietor.”

“Mr. Delacroix…”

Win and his mother got home. “Aren’t you two looking chummy,” Mrs. Delacroix said.

Win kissed me. “Were we supposed to meet? I thought you’d still be at the GEDs.”

“I was at the market, and I thought I’d stop by to see if you were home.” I was still carrying my roses and the bag with the chili peppers and cacao nibs. I told him how my friend from Mexico had sent me a recipe that I’d been planning to try. Win’s mother wanted to know what it was. While it was one thing to pose hypothetical legal questions to Win’s father, it was another thing to admit to recreational cacao consumption in front of him. “An ancient family health drink from Chiapas,” I said.

Charles Delacroix raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t fooling him.

“It’s almost dark,” Win said. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way uptown.”

“Goodbye, Anya,” Charles Delacroix said.

Once we were outdoors, Win took my bag in one hand and I linked my arm through his.

“What were you and my father talking about?” Win asked.

I had stopped by Win’s house with the full intention of telling him my idea, but now that he was standing next to me, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to see his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse if he thought it was pure folly. I’d only been thinking of this for the last hour or so, but in that brief span, I’d already grown incredibly attached to the concept. It felt big to me, the kind of idea that might just change my life. I felt, for the first time in a very long time, hopeful.