Jenn Bennett - Bitter Spirits

“These are the men who accosted you yesterday?” Ju asked. It took Aida a moment to realize he was speaking to her, not Winter.

She glanced at the first man’s bandaged nose and the discolored burn on his companion’s cheek. “Yes, that’s them.”

Ju motioned to the guard holding them, who immediately pulled out a revolver and stuck the muzzle against the head of the man she’d burned. “Do you want his death as payment, Miss Palmer? I will gladly do this.”

Good grief! “That’s not necessary,” she said.

“Are you sure? It is within your right. They acted out of turn and insulted you.”

“I was just hoping I’d never see them again.”

Winter put down his chopsticks. “If Miss Palmer doesn’t mind, I’d like to propose a trade.” Aida nodded her consent. Winter continued. “Instead of their lives as payment, maybe you can give me some information.”

“What kind of information?”

“The private kind.”

Ju dismissed everyone from the table but one guard, and Aida let out a long breath as their attackers were marched out of the room.

When they’d gone, Winter asked, “Have you heard of a fortune-teller named Black Star working at a local joss house?”

Ju’s brows shot up. “A fortune-teller? Why do you need to know this?”

“Because another tong is using him to try to scare me. Do you believe in superstitious things, Ju? In spirits and ghosts?”

Ju chuckled nervously, looking between the three of them. “Are you teasing me, or is this an honest question?”

“It’s honest. Someone’s playing around with witchcraft, and I need to hunt them down.”

“The alleys of Chinatown are crawling with dark magic. There are some things I don’t want to stick my nose in, and that is one of them.”

“So you won’t help me find this man?”

The tong leader considered it and let out a heavy sigh. “I should refuse, but you’ve been good to me. If I do this for you, and another tong catches me, I will ask for your protection.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Then I’ll see what I can learn. Might take me a few days. I’ll need all the details you already have.”

“Thank you.”

Ju sighed and said something to his guard while pulling a silver cigarette case out of his pocket. “That is all you want? Just the location of this man? Usually I’d offer you something else, but in light of your company—”

Winter made a loud growling noise.

Ju held up his hands. “I was only going to suggest something for Miss Palmer. My dear, would you like a new gown? My ladies can make beautiful things.”

“That’s not necessary,” Aida said.

“Go on,” Winter encouraged. “They do nice work.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Ju said. He fired off another string of Cantonese commands to someone. Several minutes later, two women carried bolts of silk into the room. “Sook-Yin will take you to be measured and show you gown styles.”

Winter’s face was blank. Should she be worried?

“It’s a high honor,” Bo whispered as he gave her an encouraging prod. So she followed Sook-Yin and her two girls into another part of the home. Someone’s bedroom. It looked too feminine to be Ju’s. The girls unwound measuring tapes and deftly coiled them around her—bust, waist, hips, wrists. You name it, they measured it. Sook-Yin spoke to her while they worked.

“I have seen freckles on the Irish women’s faces and arms, but never so many.”

“Yes, I hear that a lot.” She suffered through Sook-Yin’s brash inspection as the girls worked, jotting down figures after each measure. “I’m not Irish.”

“I wondered why Winter had not visited me in so long, but now that I see you, I guess I understand.”

“Pardon me?”

“You are to be the new wife, yes?”

“New wife?”

“Second wife.”

Aida stared at her. “You were married to Winter?”

Sook-Yin’s eyes widened, then she laughed. Loudly. “Me? I am Ju’s woman. You do not know Ju’s business?”

“Sewing?” Aida guessed, unhopeful.

“The other business.”

Aida stared at her.

“I am a paid woman,” Sook-Yin said. “All of Ju’s women are paid.”

“Prostitutes?” Aida squeaked.

Sook-Yin held her chin high. “I am one of Ju’s honored women. These girls”—she gestured to the girls taking her measurements—“are whores. They are lower than me. They have no choices. Ju tells them to work in the factory, they work. Ju tells them to work in the bed, they work. But I have choices—I can say no, and I earn more money. Do you understand?”

“You’re a concubine.”

“Yes, you could call me that. I only choose the best men. Winter was one of my favorites.”

Aida studied Sook-Yin, seeing her in a different light. She was pretty, her figure slim. It was hard to tell her age, but she was fairly certain the woman was many years older than her. Maybe older than Winter. Aida’s stomach knotted painfully. She worried she might be sick. “Were you in love with him?”

Sook-Yin laughed. “No, but he was very kind. I always liked to make him smile. I could see he was ugly after accident, and Ju warned me that he was angry and sad, but he smiled for me. I made him forget about his wife.”

“Which wife?” Aida said carefully.

“First wife. She died. You know.” Sook-Yin used her finger to make a slash over her eye. “Accident.”

Aida tried to swallow and failed. Her mouth was dry as dust. “His parents . . .”

“Yes,” Sook-Yin said. “Mother, father, first wife. All together in automobile with Winter. All dead but him. Very sad. Last year, Winter began coming to see me. I made him forget about dead wife.”

Understanding hit Aida like a punch to the stomach. The “other” house that Bo had moved into with Winter—the house that Mrs. Beecham had brought up at the séance. The one Winter had clammed up about. It belonged to him and his dead wife.

She felt sick and confused.

“Did they have children?” Aida dared to ask.

“No children. First time I saw wife was three years ago, before accident. She was very sad. Sick and frail. Unhappy. Too serious. Not a good match for a big man like Winter. But I watched you at the dining table.” She nodded toward the front of the house. “You are much better match.”

“We aren’t a match,” Aida said weakly. “It is only a business arrangement.”

“Like me?”

“No,” Aida said angrily. “Not like you at all.”

Sook-Yin didn’t ask any more questions, and Aida was ashamed to have snapped at her. Didn’t she herself hate when people turned their nose up at her profession? What made her think that she was any better than someone like Sook-Yin?

When they finished, Sook-Yin led her back into the courtyard, where the boys were joking and talking boisterously. She glanced at Winter and felt a tumble of conflicting emotions. Anger. Pity. Hurt. Disappointment. When he lifted his face to smile at her, she turned away.

“Which silk?” Sook-Yin asked, poking her shoulder. She pointed to the bolts of fabric.

Aida couldn’t have possibly cared less. She didn’t want the gown. She just wanted to get out of that house and go back to her room at Golden Lotus, as far away from here as she could get.

“Red is pretty but would not look good with your freckles.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aida answered. Why didn’t he tell me any of this? Why? A fresh wave of anger and hurt renewed itself inside her constricted chest.

“What about yellow, like mine?” Sook-Yin gestured to her own gown.

“No,” Winter said unexpectedly behind Aida’s head, making her jump. “Use that.” He pointed to an oyster color, softer than gold, darker than cream, with a hint of gray.

“The very best silk from China,” Ju said, joining the discussion. “Magnusson has excellent taste. A peacock feather design embroidered on silk means royalty and beauty. A very good choice for you.”

Aida stared at the fabric until her sight blurred. Standing in a room with Winter’s whore, she thought. How utterly delightful. She had to get out of there, or she’d cause a scene and embarrass herself.

She glared at Winter, defiant and bitter. “I’ll take the yellow.”

AS SOON AS AIDA SLID INTO THE BACKSEAT OF WINTER’S CAR, HE rolled up the privacy window and lowered the shade.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, gee, nothing at all. What would be wrong?”

Winter shifted, stretching his legs. He removed his hat, scratched his head. Put his hat back on. Took it off again.

Oh, he knew. Of course he knew.

“I mean, what could Sook-Yin and I have possibly talked about?” Aida said, crossing her legs. “The weather? Poetry? Politics? Oh, wait. I know. How about the fact that she’s a prostitute, and you’re her favorite customer?”

“Shit.”

“Yes, shit. That’s what I thought, too, especially when she was going on about how she could make you smile—”

“Aida—”

“So there are others? This is routine for you?”

He groaned in angry frustration. “This is not routine. Sook-Yin was the only one.”

Was that worse or better? Aida honestly didn’t know. “She did brag about how special she was and seemed to know you quite well. She even asked me if I was the ‘new wife,’ because apparently there’s an old wife that nobody told me about.”

Winter said nothing. Just stared ahead at the canvas shade as the car began rolling out of Ju’s garage.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“She’s dead,” he said without looking at her. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Aida rocked her foot and opened the side shade to stare outside. “I asked you about the house and you growled at me,” she said in a much calmer voice than she thought she was capable of at that moment. “You could’ve told me. I told you things about me. I’ve told you secrets about my job—about the lancet. About my plans for the future. How many lovers I’ve had. I told you all these things, and you couldn’t be bothered—”