It isn't exactly hard to run drugs, if you don't look the type. I wasn't pulled over by the cops once in the three months I'd been doing it. I'd nearly had an accident more than once, because my driving had been abysmal at first, but I'd never been stopped by a cop. The invisibility spell, whatever it was, was getting easier to manage, and with practice I was learning to throw it over other things, too.
The hard part was explaining my absences to Rosanna and Ken. Sometimes I could be back in one day. My Springfield, Cedar Rapids, and Detroit routes took less than a day, and I was paid after each successful delivery. I knew better than to take more than my share. I didn't doubt Torelli would kill me if I crossed him, and I was being paid enough it wasn't worth the risk.
But things were getting difficult to hide from my roommates. I was beginning to think they suspected me, because I'd find them whispering behind my back. They hadn't failed to notice the improvement in our quality of life, either. I ordered takeout often, and I could afford the waste. Most of my diet these days was composed of gas station foods, fruit from farmer's markets, and endless amounts of caffeine. The back of my ill-gotten car looked like a landfill. I needed to clean out the Burger King bags, the coffee cups, and the soda cans.
They clearly didn't buy that I was dating. I had gone out with Nelson once since the miscarriage, but I'd glared at his forehead the whole time. I'd needed an excuse for where I'd be that night, after Ken had gotten especially pushy.
I wasn't lying when I told them I took Mercy out often. When I'd be gone for less than five hours, my downstairs neighbor often accompanied me. I felt guilty about it at first. I was dragging a battered girl out in a car filled with drugs. If I were caught, she could be punished for my crime. But as time passed, I grew cocky. No one was pulling me over. What was there to be afraid of?
Mercy's bruises had gotten worse, and I felt it was my responsibility to get her out of danger when I could. At the moment, she was sticking her head out the window with an expression of rapture, her hair flying around her face wildly.
"You look like a poodle," I snickered. She lolled her tongue out of her mouth in answer.
"Are you sure your mom will let you come with me to Saint Louis? It's a ten hour round trip. Longer if you want to sightsee."
"My papa doesn't care," she said with a shrug. "I ran away once. He didn't report me missing for two days."
The more I heard about James Pearson, the more I wanted blood. My hands clenched into fists around the steering wheel, and I could feel my anger taking physical shape. Magic. It had to be magic, didn't it? I felt the same thing when I cast my invisibility spell. Instead of my concentration, I gathered my rage and shaped it into a weapon I wanted to lob at Pearson's head.
The radio shorted out, and Celine Dion cut off mid-warble. I pressed the buttons, trying to get it to work again.
"Damn it," I muttered. "That'll be an expensive repair."
"I don't mind," Mercy said, sliding back into her seat. "We can talk instead."
"About what?"
"About you. Did you finally shake your stalker?"
I laughed again. Harry Dresden, stalker extraordinaire? It didn't fit. I bet Harry beat the snot out of guys like that. But I'd fed Mercy a lie, and I was sticking to it. I didn't want to lose a friend, on top of everything else.
"Sort of." Actually, I was sure that Harry was still looking, when he had time. If my mom had been desperate enough to hire Harry to find me after only a month, she'd be frantic now. With a pang of guilt, I realized I hadn't actually thought about my family much since taking the job with Torelli, except when I contemplated how best to escape the man they'd sent after me.
Most books you could find readily available about magic in libraries didn't' give a clear consensus on what it was and was not possible to do with it. Most of it centered on Neo-Paganism, which was less than helpful. The best I'd been able to figure from what I knew is that to defeat Harry's spell, I had three options.
One, spend all my time over running water. I didn't exactly have enough money to buy a yacht to live in, so that was out. Two, I could get rid of whatever he was tracking which was, in all likelihood, my hair. Maybe it was vain, but I didn't want to shave myself bald. So that left me with option three. Stay out of range. I was on the road almost every day, working for Torelli. He treated it like a regular job, meaning I had two days off of my choice. Most of the time, I kept the weekends for myself, and I had nebulous plans to take a week off in future. I still needed a tutor, and Torelli had been no help finding a practitioner who could help me. If I asked anyone in Chicago proper for help it would get back to Harry eventually.
"So what do you want to visit first?" I asked, changing lanes carefully. Our exit would be coming up soon.
"The Arch," Mercy said, bouncing a little in her seat.
"The Saint Louis Arch it is."
Saint Louis was one of the bigger cities in Missouri, but it was nowhere near the size of Chicago. It was surprisingly easy to navigate in the city, despite the traffic. After months of driving in Chicago, I'd gotten over the road rage that would otherwise have seized me in Saint Louis.
In the 1800s, cities like Saint Louis, Kansas City, and Saint Joseph were the jumping off point before gallivanting off into the untamed frontier. Nowhere except New York had as much tonnage in the water. The lifeblood of waterfront towns such as this one was the shipping trade. So, when the railroad had wanted to expand west, they'd asked the politicians in Saint Louis for permission to build the railroad across the river. They'd been turned away. The decision had been a short-sighted one. The railroad turned its attention to Chicago instead, and my hometown had become the epicenter of trade and one of the fastest growing cities in the United States from that point on. Now, it ranked third in terms of population density. Saint Louis beat us only in the murder rate of its citizens. It usually bounced around in the top five.
It was because of that troubling statistic that I felt queasy about leaving Mercy alone. I felt oddly maternal where she was concerned. That was foolish, wasn't it? She was older than me. She'd suffered worse than I had. Maybe it was her cheerful demeanor that stripped away that objectivity. It seemed fundamentally wrong that someone so innocent should suffer.
It was beginning to rain when I arrived back at the Arch. The weather in the midwest seemed to seesaw from rainy and miserable, to humid and miserable. Either way, there hadn't been much in the way of pleasant weather since I'd started this crummy job. I waited outside of the car, the hood of my rain slicker pulled up over my head, for her to emerge. When she did, she was promptly soaked. I wished I had an umbrella to give her. Her curls were laying flat for once when she finally got in the car.
"The view from up there is gorgeous," she said, pointing skyward.
"I'm glad you like it," I said, glancing at the arch. It's surface reflected the stormy sky.
"I don't see how you saw anything," I said, studying the clouds intently. If the storms were too bad, I might stop in somewhere for awhile. I did not want to get in a wreck five hours from home with a friend in the passenger seat.
"I see a lot," Mercy said knowledgeably. "Like the fact that your passenger rear tire is going flat. You should take care of that when we get back."
I rounded the car to check. "Well I'll be darned, you're right."
"Course I am," she said, giving me a wink. "Now if you'll excuse me, I do have to get my homework done."
Mercy's mother had only one condition for our little outings. I had to take her somewhere educational, and she had to finish her homework before she got back. I wished my mother had been so lax with her rules. Because of my upbringing, I was used to living in an organized chaos, half-raising the youngest of my siblings. When Mom and Dad both embarked on a mission for God, I was boss-kid number one, deputy to Father Forthill.
"Need any help?" I asked, peering over at her books. She moved the biology textbook away from me with a grin.
"I'll work. You drive."
"Alright, alright. Yeesh. Let me know if you get stuck, okay?"
"I think I know a bit more about biology than you, Molly," she snorted.
"Only about dissecting frogs," I teased. "I know much more about the anatomy of human boys."
She laughed. "Oh yeah? Going to give me a blow by blow of your lessons with that Nelson guy?"
My cheeks heated and I ducked my head a little, defeated. "Nope. Just do your homework and maybe I'll buy you candy on the way back."
In response, she chucked a whopper wrapper at my head.
Rosanna slammed the door shut, breathing hard. I glanced up from my mug of hot chocolate in shock. Mercy, sitting across from me, looked equally nonplussed. She tossed her keys on top of the kitchen counter, nearly dislodging the pile of hospital bills. I'd been right. They'd piled up substantially in the months since the miscarriage. I'd tried to pay them off discreetly, but Rosanna flatly refused to take any cash I gave her.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Drinking hot chocolate," I said, glancing pointedly down at my own glass. Rosanna's brows knit and she scowled at me.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
She kicked off her shoes and marched over to the table, taking the chair next to mine. She turned it backwards and folded her arms over the back of the chair, staring at me intently. Her nostrils were flared, and her dark eyes burned with anger. She was mad, no furious. At me. Why?
"I don't understand," I began. She silenced the rest of the statement with a glare.
"You do, Molly. Just tell me what you're doing, and I can help you."
"You're going to have to be more specific, Rose. I really don't have a clue. What are you talking about?"
She continued as if I hadn't spoken. "I know the signs, honey. You're out all hours. I checked for a Torelli's in the phone book. There's no such place. There's a Tony's pizza, and I checked there, thinking maybe you misheard. They've never even heard of you."
My insides tried to snake their way into my feet. She knew. Or she at least suspected. "It's not like that, Rose."
"Bull, Molly. I know it seems like fun at first, but you've gotta stop this. This has real world consequences." Her hand dropped to her stomach suddenly, and her expression twisted. "Just tell me what you're on. Is it Heroin? Cocaine? Meth?"
I stared. "I'm not on drugs, Rosanna! God, how can you even think that?"
"You've got all this money now, Molly. I didn't want to say anything at first. I mean, not to shame you or anything, but if you want to give it away for money and drugs, there are safer ways-"
My mouth popped open and my hands balled into fists at my sides. "I'm not a hooker, either, Rosanna! Is your opinion of me really that low?"
She threw her hands up. "I don't know what to think, Molly! You won't tell us the truth about where you're going or who you're with. I don't know if you're tweaking downstairs in the laundry room, or what. I just know I don't want to come home and find you've overdosed in the bathroom."
"That's rich!" It came out in a horrible, sneering tone. "Considering what I came home to find months ago, Rosanna!"
She physically recoiled from the venom in my tone, her grip on her stomach becoming tighter. Tears gathered in her eyes. I didn't stop glaring at her. I knew I hadn't been forthcoming in recent months, but I'd done my part hadn't I? I'd undertaken this whole stupid endeavor in a misguided attempt to help her. And this was the thanks I got? She was slinging ridiculous accusations at me, and in front of a guest no less.
"You have to admit you have a problem, Molly," Rosanna said. "It's the first step to getting help."
"I'm not an addict!" I gave up the fight and finally shouted at her. I was overcome by a violent urge to shove her to the floor and watch her crawl away from me with tears streaming down her face. "Projecting much, Rosie?"
"Then you're crazy," she snapped. "There's no other explanation. Everyone in the building has noticed. It's not just me. Ken, Mrs. Cook, the Robinsons, hell, even James Pearson noticed, and he's drunk ninety percent of the time."
"Noticed what?"
"You're talking to yourself Molly. And not the self-motivating kind. You're talking to people who aren't' there."
That brought me up short. "What?"
Rosanna leaned forward eagerly, pressing her advantage. My anger had evaporated as quickly as it had come, leaving me sailing in a sea of confusion.
"You're talking to yourself," she explained gently. "Mrs. Cook has heard you carry on complete, one-sided conversations. If you're using or you've snapped, you need help. You've been doing it here too for the last few weeks."
"I haven't…" I began. "I've never been alone in the apartment for the last few weeks."
Rosanna swallowed with difficulty, her eyes darting around the kitchen anxiously. They finally settled on the chair across from mine, and its occupant.
"Who do you think you're talking to, Molly?"
"Mercy Pearson, our downstairs neighbor. She's our age. I have her over all the time."
"Molly," Rosanna began in the slow, soothing tones I'd heard my father use on a spooked horse. "The Pearson's only have one kid. A son. And he's two."
For a moment, it felt like time ground to a stop. It felt like I was in the climax of Harvest where the unwary nun turned her back, sure the Scarecrow was dead. For a moment, I was frozen, too horrified to do anything but stare open-mouthed at my roommate. I finally managed to crane my neck to look.
She was still there. Her cheerful facade had slid away, and for an instant I saw a cynical expression take its place. The blue eyes I'd come to trust held only cold calculation, and a bit of disappointment. Then, her lips quirked up in a smile of amusement. A smug little smirk that seemed to mock me. How stupid of me. How naive to think I'd escaped.
"Drat."