In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright #3)(66)

“Leo,” I asked, “did you say that Noriko is pregnant?”

He put his hand over his mouth. “We aren’t telling people yet. It’s only six weeks.”

“I won’t let on I know.”

“Darn it,” Leo said. “She wanted to tell you herself. Noriko’s going to ask you to be the godmother.”

“Me?”

“Who else would be a better godmother than you?”

* * *

Simon Green saw me to the airport. “I know our relationship hasn’t always been the best—probably most of that’s my fault,” I said before we were to part. “But I truly appreciate what you’ve done here. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Well, I’ll be in New York in October,” Simon said. “My birthday. Maybe we could get together.”

“I’d like that,” I said. I realized that I meant it.

“I’ve wondered,” he said, “what’s happening with Mr. Delacroix’s job?”

“Are you interested in it?”

“I love San Francisco, but New York is my home, Anya. Even with the terrible things that happened to me there, nowhere else will ever be home to me.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. I hadn’t decided what I wanted to do with Mr. Delacroix’s job, but I promised Simon Green that I would keep him in mind.

XXVI

I DISCOVER WHERE THE ADULTS ARE KEPT; DEFEND MY OWN HONOR ONE MORE TIME BEFORE THE END

BY OCTOBER, THE WEATHER had cooled in New York, and Japan had begun to seem like a dream. I did not hear from Win, though I’m not sure I expected to. He had said he would wait for me to contact him, and he was keeping his word. I did not talk much to his father either, though I saw him a great deal. His face was on the sides of buses once again.

From my desk at the Dark Room, I could hear what I thought of as the symphony of my club: the blenders whirring, the shoes dancing, and, occasionally, the glasses breaking or the couples fighting. I was thinking how I loved this music more than any other when a siren began to wail.

I rushed out to the hallway. Through a bullhorn, an official-sounding voice announced, “This is the New York City Police Department. By order of the Department of Health and the laws of the state of New York, the Dark Room will be shut down until further notice. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to the nearest exit. If you have chocolate on your person, please surrender it to the trash cans by the door. Those displaying signs of chocolate intoxication should be prepared to show their prescriptions on their way out. Thank you for your cooperation.”

To get a better sense of what was happening, I pushed my way to the main room of the club. People were flooding out in every direction, and the flow of the crowd ran opposite to where I wanted to be. Peripherally, I saw one policeman checking a woman’s prescription, and another putting a man in handcuffs. A woman tripped on her dress and would have been trampled if Jones hadn’t helped her up.

I found Theo by the stockroom. He was gesturing wildly at a police officer who was using a dolly to wheel away a sack of cacao.

“You have no business stealing this,” Theo said. “This is property of the Dark Room.”

“It’s evidence,” the police officer said.

“Evidence of what?” Theo countered.

“Theo!” I yelled. “Stay cool! Let them have it. We can get more cacao once we sort this out. I can’t afford for you to be arrested.”

He nodded. “Should we call Delacroix?” he asked.

I had yet to hire another lawyer, but I didn’t think we should call Mr. Delacroix. “No,” I said. “He doesn’t work with us anymore. We’ll be fine. I’m going outside to see if I can get some answers from whoever’s in charge.”

Jones stood guard near the front. “Anya, I don’t know why, but the cops have blocked the door from the outside. It’s making people panic. You’ll have to go around.” I pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I could hear a rhythmic banging coming from the other side. I had counseled Theo to stay cool but I was starting to feel not very cool myself.

I forced my way through the crowd and out the side doors. I ran—or I should say I did what passed for running for me, more like hopping/limping—back around to the front. Police jammed the steps, and reporters had begun to arrive, too. Barricades had been erected. Several wooden boards were being nailed across the front door.

I pulled myself awkwardly over a barricade. A cop tried to stop me, but I was too quick. When I got close enough, I could see a different cop was posting a sign that read: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

“What is going on?” I demanded of the man who was nailing my door shut.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Anya Balanchine. This is my place. Why are you closing it?”

“Orders.” He pointed to the sign. “I’d stay back if I were you, lady.”

I wasn’t thinking; I was feeling. My heart was beating in the jaunty, familiar way that let me know I was about to do something stupid. I lunged toward the cop and tried to grab the hammer from his hand. For the record, it is never a great idea to try to grab someone’s hammer. The hammer smacked me in the shoulder. It hurt like hell, but I was grateful it wasn’t my head and besides, I had gotten quite good at pain management. I stumbled back a few paces, at which point I was immediately pinned to the ground by several police officers.