Jenn Bennett - Bitter Spirits

“If I ever need a good deal, I’ll remember to show up in bloody clothes and bang on the door before the shop’s even open,” Bo quipped from the front seat.

Winter chuckled for the first time in days. “I think he was seconds away from giving it to me for free as long as we left him alone.”

“You’re making the right decision,” Bo said in a quiet voice.

“I know,” he answered. But whether it was too late was another matter.

He dozed off during the ride home but got a second wind when they pulled in the driveway. Leaving Bo to pay the guards, he marched into the house with purpose. It was quiet. As it should be , he thought. No gunshots, no telephone ringing with bad news. He breezed through the side hallway and into the foyer.

He stopped.

The luggage was gone.

Panic fired through his sleep-deprived brain. Her train didn’t leave for hours—where were her things? She couldn’t have gone. No, no, no . . .

He called out for Greta but got no answer. He didn’t waste time trying to locate his housekeeper, just ran up the main staircase two steps at a time and bounded down the third-floor hallway. He stuck his head in the door of his study. Empty. Something clattered across the hall.

Heart in his throat, he strode to his bedroom and nearly stumbled over something just inside the doorway.

Luggage.

Aida’s steamer trunk stood open nearby. And standing in her stockinged feet a couple of yards away was Aida, straightening a dress on a hanger.

He stood still, breathing heavily as she stared at him. She was in his room. She was unpacking. He repeated these facts inside his head, a simple math problem even a child would understand but he couldn’t quite calculate. His brain was still stuck in fight mode.

“Aida—”

“No.” She pointed a finger his way and spoke in a roughened voice. “ You listen to me. I’m not leaving, and that’s final. And since you claim I’m after your money, then I’ll damn well take it. I’m not living like some kept mistress across town, waiting for you to call on me when it suits you.”

“I—”

She raised her voice. “You’ll let me live inside your home, and you’ll protect me, because being connected to you is far more dangerous than me moving around the country unchaperoned. And on top of that, I’ll need money to start my séance business, because I can’t work at Gris-Gris any longer. I got booed offstage because of you.”

“Me?”

“Because of our fight in the kitchen, dammit.” She threw up a hand and tossed the dress on the bed.

“I see.”

“Do you?” she challenged, something between anger and desperation tightening her face.

“Yes.” He stepped over the luggage and rummaged in his suit pocket. “And while we’re making demands, you should know that I just went to the jewelers and bought you this god-awful expensive ring, and you will wear it, and you will not spend another night outside of my bed.”

He plucked out the square Asscher-cut diamond ring and tossed the box on the floor. Then he grabbed Aida’s hand and slipped it on her freckled finger. The band was a bit loose, and he could only imagine how thrilled the frightened jeweler would be to have to size the damn thing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this.

She stared at the ring, lips parted. She didn’t say anything.

“Do you like it?” he finally asked. He hadn’t let go of her hand. He was a little afraid if he did, he might lose her again.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I like it quite a bit. Is this a proposal?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Ah, well, it’s probably a good thing,” she said, as if she were contemplating an everyday matter with practical intent. “Because even though I could live without you, I don’t really want to. I think that means I might love you.”

Her words melted the last of the ice around his wounded heart. He felt as woozy as a Victorian virgin crushed inside a corset in August. He snaked an arm around Aida’s back and pulled her close. “Say it again.”

She grasped his necktie with both hands, much like she did that first afternoon in his study. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “I love you, dammit.”

He leaned down and captured her mouth with his, kissing her firmly. Too firmly, probably, but he couldn’t control himself. He was drunk with joy. “Again.”

“I love you.”

Winter’s past, present, and future collided in one singular moment. And he was finally ready to live in it. “I love you, too,” he said. “And that’s final.”

EARLY JANUARY, 1928—CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO

AIDA ACCEPTED THE BOX OF ALMOND COOKIES WITH A WEAKprotest. “I think you’re trying to fatten me up like a Christmas goose, Mrs. Lin.”

Her former landlady clucked her tongue. “A little fat is good, that’s what my mother always believed.”

“Well, I appreciate them. Mr. Magnusson ate the entire last batch you brought, so maybe I’ll hide this from him.” She set the box on the mahogany desk that separated the front of the narrow room from the cozy sitting area in the back, where settees and wingback chairs were gathered around a fireplace. She’d already banked the once-cheery fire that had been burning there earlier in the day, in preparation for leaving sharply at three P.M.

Mrs. Lin glanced down at Aida’s desk. A leather appointment book sat open, her last channeling checked off half an hour ago.

“If you need to speak to your mother urgently, I can do a quick channeling,” Aida said. “But if it can wait until tomorrow, I’d be happy to stop by Golden Lotus. It’s just that—”

Mrs. Lin shook her head. “Once a month is enough. No, I was looking at the sign, here.”

The printer had dropped it by earlier. Just something Aida could affix to the inside of the glass door. It announced that she was temporarily open by appointment only, and provided the telephone number to call.

“You’re closing the shop?” Mrs. Lin asked.

“Just for a little while. I was going to let you know—Winter and I just made the decision yesterday.”

“But why? I thought this was very fulfilling for you. A big success.”

“It is.” Too successful. She adored her small storefront. It was located between a tourist-friendly tea shop and a dry goods store on the opposite end of Grant from where Golden Lotus sat. She was only a few blocks from Union Square, but still within the invisible Chinatown border—and staunchly in Ju’s territory.

Gold and black lettering painted on the front window announced her services:

AIDA MAGNUSSON

TRANCE SPIRIT MEDIUM

CHANNELING—SÉANCES—EXORCISMS —SPIRITUALISM ADVICE

She’d been performing in-home séances every weekend since the wedding, and was solidly booked with private sessions at the shop on weekdays. Admittedly, a few of them were pro bono, as she’d somehow ended up taking on half of Ju’s prostitutes as clients. First it was only Sook-Yin, with whom Aida had come to share a friendly, if not odd, relationship, then came others. They paid collaboratively in custom dresses. Not a bad deal, actually.

But between them and all the customers Mrs. Lin sent her way from Golden Lotus, and the ones Velma sent her way from Gris-Gris, Aida stayed busy. Exhaustion was taking its toll. She’d retired the lancet after that horrible night on Doctor Yip’s docked ship, which was a relief. Yet funnily enough, getting a business up and running was turning out to be more stressful at times than performing onstage.

Concerned about recent changes in her health, Winter finally put his foot down.