Bitter Spirits Part 35

Her brother, who eschewed all sentiment and warned her time and time again about the pitfalls of love and marriage . . .

Sam fell in love.

Her world tilted sideways. "How can this be?" she mumbled.

"Winter hunted down Mr. Lane."

"What's that?" She looked up to see Jonte standing behind her.

"Emmett Lane, I believe."

"How?"

"He lives in the city. Winter was upset about something you lost in the fire, so he tracked down your brother's things."

She picked up the dog tags and squeezed the cool metal inside her fist as she stared at the footlocker in disbelief. "He did this for me?"

"Yes."

Sniffling, she folded the telegram form and sandwiched the photograph inside, then with Jonte's help, stood on weak legs. "Does he want me to go?" she asked, blinking up at him.

The driver gave her a patient smile. "I think you already know the answer to that."

Pink and gold streaks of morning sun lit up the fog covering Union Square. Wrung out and exhausted, Winter could barely keep his eyes open. He climbed in the backseat and Bo sped away from Shreve and Company.

They'd left the s.h.i.+p more than an hour ago. Most of the liquor had been recovered. Paulina's coffin had been hauled away and was on a boat back to Oakland. The tong leaders had seen to the rest. The San Francisco police department would take control of it now; it cost him a small fortune in bribes, but his name would not be connected with the gruesome scene.

Now he just wanted to go home. An even bigger fight than Yip and his demented logic might lie before him there, and he only had a couple of hours to win it.

"If I ever need a good deal, I'll remember to show up in b.l.o.o.d.y 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 d.a.m.n 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 seance 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 G.o.d-awful expensive ring, and you will wear it, and you will not spend another night outside of my bed."

He plucked out the square a.s.scher-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 d.a.m.n 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."

EPILOGUE.

EARLY JANUARY, 1928-CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO AIDA ACCEPTED THE BOX OF ALMOND COOKIES WITH A WEAK protest. "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 gla.s.s 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-SeANCES-EXORCISMS -SPIRITUALISM ADVICE She'd been performing in-home seances 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 prost.i.tutes as clients. First it was only Sook-Yin, with whom Aida had come to share a friendly, if not odd, relations.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p, 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.

"The holidays were stressful," she told Mrs. Lin, "and I have a lot of things to manage at home until the spring." It wasn't entirely untrue.

"Spring? Why so long?"

She would actually be on hiatus until summer, but she wasn't ready to give Mrs. Lin the details yet. "Mr. Magnusson's brother is coming back from Egypt today, and-"

"Oh, the archaeologist, very exciting. You will meet him for the first time."

"Yes. I'm a little nervous about that."

Mrs. Lin gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "He should be nervous to meet you. But I understand"-she narrowed her eyes suspiciously-"I think."

"You have the phone number at the house and pier. Call me anytime you need me. And if Winter gives you any grief, tell him it's an emergency."

Mrs. Lin laughed. "All right. And you tell Bo Yeung the girls at the restaurant are missing his charming smile."

"And his big tips, I'm sure." Bo hadn't spent much time at the apartment he kept in Chinatown since the fire in her room; lately, Winter had been keeping him busy at the pier. "I'll tell him when I get home."

With a smile, Mrs. Lin patted her hand, then bid her good-bye as she left.

Not a minute later, right on time, a silver Packard pulled up by the curb. Aida watched two boys go out of their way to walk around the big man who exited the driver's door, and chuckled to herself as they looked over their shoulders to study him from a safe distance.

Winter strode to the door, pausing to tip his hat to the owner of a neighboring tea shop, where mah-jongg tiles clicked for hours every afternoon.

The bell above the door jingled when he stepped inside. Aida's stomach fluttered at the sight of his giant body. Wearing a new falcon gray suit with a claret tie and his best winter day coat, he glanced down at the shop's security protection as he wiped his feet on the doormat.

"How's my good boy?" He bent to scratch the glossy brindle coat of a mastiff that spent days in her shop and nights curled up in front of the fire in their bedroom. The great dog had shown up one night at the pier with an injured eye. Though he'd never admit it, this won the dog Winter's instant empathy, and after he nursed it back to health, he gave it to her with the promise that he'd dismiss the man he'd hired to watch the shop.

Not that she needed protection of any kind, really. After the brutal onslaught Winter led that night on Doctor Yip's s.h.i.+p, not a soul in the city from Chinatown to the Presidio would think about touching one hair on her head.

He stood and gave her a beautiful smile. "h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Magnusson."

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Magnusson."

"I don't see your sign." He nodded his head toward the door.

She held it up. "I need tape. I meant to walk up to Woolworths at lunch, but it became too hectic to get away."

He sauntered around her desk, looking her up and down with an approving gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but good."

His gloved hand spanned her ballooning stomach. Three months pregnant, she'd only barely started showing a week ago, and the black s.h.i.+ft dress she wore covered the small b.u.mp, but it wouldn't for long.

"You look very handsome today," she said. Enough to make her pulse speed, especially when he was standing so close.

"Mmm," he replied, preoccupied. "Your b.r.e.a.s.t.s are getting bigger."

She looked down. "They are not."

"Cheetah, there are few things I know with absolute certainty," he said, sliding his hand up to cup one breast in his palm. "And one of them is the exact size, weight, and feel of your b.r.e.a.s.t.s." He gave the one he was holding a gentle squeeze.

"Stop that," she chastised. "People can see us from the sidewalk."

"My property, my wife. They can look all they like."

"My property," she corrected. The shop had been purchased with money from Emmett Lane's check, in fact. "And if you're going to tease me, don't be selfish. Hurry up and give the other one attention."

He grinned down at her and fondled both b.r.e.a.s.t.s at once, sending a pleasant warmth through her. She shuddered appreciatively, then captured his hands and pulled them away as she stood on tiptoes to request a kiss. He chuckled against her mouth and obliged.