Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(5)

“Like the one that was in here.”

“So you got rid of it? Thank you,” Velma said. “I’ve got a friend in Louisiana who might know an antidote. Called the operator to set up a long-distance call a quarter hour ago. Should be coming through the line any minute now, but he’s getting worse.”

Everyone gathered around the downed bootlegger. With disheveled hair falling across his forehead, Mr. Magnusson lay on the floor with his eyes shut, groaning. Looking down at him, Aida thought he really did look like a giant, and that she wouldn’t be surprised to see an army of tiny men scurry over him to tie him down with ropes.

Hurried footfalls drew Aida’s attention to the doorway as a slender Chinese boy burst into the room. Dressed in a well-tailored cedar green suit and a newsboy cap, he couldn’t have been a day over twenty, twenty-one. His face was pleasant, his body sinewy and strung tighter than a guitar, bouncing with energy.

“Aida, meet Bo Yeung,” Velma said. “Bo, this is Miss Palmer.”

Bo turned a friendly face her way and touched the brim of his cap in greeting, then tilted his head as if he’d just worked out a crossword puzzle answer. “Oh, the spirit medium,” he said, looking her up and down with a quirky smile. “I’m Mr. Magnusson’s assistant.”

“A pleasure.”

“Bo,” Winter mumbled from the floor, attempting to prop himself up on one elbow and failing. “Did you get a chance to have the symbols on the paper deciphered?”

“Yes, boss,” Bo said coolly. “Unfortunately, it seems you’ve been poisoned with Gu.”

THREE

AIDA HAD NEVER HEARD OF SUCH A THING. “GOO?”

“Gu. Black magic,” Bo elaborated. “Old Chinese myths say sorcerers can make a magical poison to manipulate a man. Different kinds of Gu for different things.”

Velma waved a small circle of paper filled with green symbols. “This particular magic is drawing ghosts to you, Winter. If we don’t get rid of it, you’ll be the Pied Piper with a herd of ghosts following you around.” She turned to Bo. “You sure you don’t know anyone around town who could do this kind of magic, Bo?”

The bootlegger’s assistant scrunched up his nose in irritation. “Only magic worker I know is you, conjurer. And it seems to me that you’re the one with the reputation for curses that kill. Maybe you want to hex Winter.”

“Why in God’s name would I want to hex my own supplier?”

Winter grunted from the floor. “If you ever want to kill me, Velma, do it to my face—no riddles or hexes. And give me fair warning.”

“Believe me, Winter, if I’m gonna kill you, you’ll be the first to know.”

Merriment danced behind Winter’s dazed eyes as Bo laughed.

Velma frowned. “I don’t specialize in Chinese curses, but if you can think of anyone who might, Bo, you need to tell us now.”

“You think I know every Chinaman in the city?”

She put a hand on her hip. “I think you know a little about everyone. Why else would Winter pay a scrawny, orphaned thief a better salary than my own manager makes?”

“I can’t help it if you’re miserly,” Bo deadpanned. When Velma shot him a murderous look, Bo winked at her. “Look, I really don’t know anyone other than the person who interpreted the Gu symbols. I can ask around. I’ve heard rumors about restaurant owners cursing one another—maybe they learned tricks from someone. But it might take me a few hours to get a name. Maybe longer.”

“My source will be quicker.” She stared down at Winter. “You came to me for advice, so I’m going to give it to you. Best I can piece together, that old woman you claimed accosted you in the street? She was a witch sent to lay a spell on you that opened your eyes to ghosts, and the Gu poison was administered tonight to draw them to you. Sounds to me like someone is trying to frighten you.”

“Who?”

“You’d know better than me. Let’s just hope my source can help me with a cure. In the meantime, I can do something to help ease the jinx. Why don’t we get you upstairs to my apartment. Aida, you might as well stick around and help, just in case he attracts more ghosts.”

Aida briefly wondered if she was going to receive extra pay for all this.

Two bouncers peeled Winter off the floor. Velma led them all down a short passage to a locked stairwell. Up a short flight of stairs, they entered Velma’s private living quarters through a warm yellow hallway. She pointed her men into a room halfway down the hall, swinging the door open wide to reveal a spacious bathroom, where a black-and-white checkerboard pattern covered the floor and an enormous claw-foot tub sat in the back.

“Boys, you manage Winter.” She turned to Bo. “And you, run a bath. Cold water only.”

“A bath?” Bo shot her a bewildered look.

“Not for cleaning. For unhexing. Don’t put him in until I come back. I need to mix something up first.” She crooked a finger at Aida. “Come with me.”

Aida followed her boss’s rapid path through the apartment to a bright sitting area filled with dark wood and buttery chintz silk. Next to a fireplace, Velma unlocked a nondescript narrow door and beckoned her inside.

The scents of spice and wax filled Aida’s nostrils. A single bulb hung from the rafters of a tiny square room with no furniture other than a long table butted up against one wall. The walls were lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, crammed with books and candles and bottles of every size, shape, and color—a few of them old liquor bottles with the labels torn off. Bundles of dried herbs dangled from long nails that had been hammered into the sides of the shelves.