Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(71)

Mrs. Lin shook her head dismissively. “All the girls are out. We have insurance. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you—I should have done something about the fire escape.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Oh, but I did,” she said, distressed. “My mother warned me to repair the fire escape last time you channeled her for me. I should’ve listened.”

Wailing sirens announced two fire trucks. Everyone craned their necks to watch the men setting up wooden ladders to reach what was left of the fire escape so they could drag a hose up to the window. Across the street, Aida leaned against a brick wall, half dazed, watching the fog-capped neighborhood fill with cars and gawkers.

Police arrived. Mrs. Lin dragged an officer to Aida, who took down her story with the nub of a worn pencil: no, she didn’t see a face, nor did she know how the fire was started or why. Someone else chimed in, saying he’d spied two men jumping from the fire escape into the bed of a truck that idled at the curb, but it took off before he could make out the model.

Early morning wind rustled her hair and sent shivers through her, even inside the fox coat. Nothing made sense. Why would someone set fire to her apartment? Thinking about it hurt her head. She started to close her eyes, just for a moment, when she heard her name again.

“Aida!”

Strong hands gripped her shoulders. Shook her. She opened her eyes to Bo.

Why was he here? How did she get on the sidewalk? She must’ve slipped down the wall.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

She repeated what she’d told Mrs. Lin and the police officer, but the words weren’t coming out right. Light from a dragon lamppost cast triangles across Bo’s face, highlighting his sharply chiseled cheekbones. His normally perfectly combed-back hair fell into his eyes, reminding her of Winter in bed after sex. “You’re very handsome, Bo,” she heard herself saying.

“What’s wrong with you? Your face is flushed.” He leaned in close. Was he going to kiss her? No, that was all wrong. She tried to back away, but he held her firm. Sniffing, not kissing. That still didn’t make sense. He opened up the front of her jacket and looked at her nightgown. She tucked in her chin and did the same. A reddish brown stain coated the front of her gown.

“Where did that come from?” she said. “Is that the sweet taste in my mouth? I woke up tasting honey. Bitter honey. And brandy. I think I might be drunk, but I don’t remember drinking.”

He said something in Cantonese.

“What?”

“Laudanum,” Bo translated. “Opium.”

Her eyes widened. “N-o-o.”

“Someone didn’t want you leaving that room.”

“That’s . . . wait—why are you here?”

“I keep an apartment a block away. Can you walk? Let me take you there. You’re freezing to death out here.”

“Mrs. Lin—”

“She’s the one who told me what happened and pointed you out. Let me tell her where we’re going. Come.”

Bo’s place was in a tiny apartment building squeezed between a furniture maker and a tea shop. He didn’t lead them through the front, however. Instead, he hustled her down a side street, through a door that led into the furniture maker’s storage room, and finally into the apartment’s empty lobby. Very sneaky, that Bo. The stairwell was musty, but his room on the second floor was clean and sparse: only a small unmade bed, a tiny table with two chairs, and a love seat, on which she collapsed.

“I don’t stay here often,” he said, before making a hushed phone call. When he was done, he left the room for a few minutes and came back with a mug of something warm. “Drink. All at once.”

Her throat was dry. She took a gulp from the mug and made a face. Warm salt water.

“All of it. Hurry.”

She drank half, then felt her stomach constrict violently. He placed a ceramic bowl in front of her face, and she promptly began vomiting. When she was done, he gave her a wet towel to wipe her face and a drink of cool water to rinse her mouth out.

If she was weary before, she was doubly so now. He left the room again, taking away the bowl and the salt water, then returned empty-handed.

“You can see Golden Lotus from your window,” she noted as she watched the firemen in a sleepy haze. The fire was extinguished. She wondered what was left of her room.

“I eat there sometimes. The Lins are good people.”

That surprised her, but she was too drugged to make sense of it at that moment. “Best landlords I’ve ever had. I can’t believe this happened.”

“I should’ve been watching. Winter’s going to be furious.”

She looked up at him, puzzled. “He has you watching me?”

“Sometimes. Just to make sure you get home okay from Gris-Gris. It’s dangerous being out so late.”

“I’ve managed just fine the past few years, and I’ll manage when I’m in New Orleans.”

He sat down next to her on the love seat. “You’re breaking his heart, you know.”

“Who?”

His dark eyes narrowed in irritation as he cast an incredulous look her way. “He’ll never admit it, and when you leave, he’ll go back to being mad at the world. So I don’t like you very much right now.”