Bitter Spirits
Page 31

He stepped behind the counter and faced them. “I can try. What do you need? A remedy?”
“Information,” Winter said as he propped up the closed umbrella and removed his gloves.
“About . . . ?”
“Black magic.”
“Black magic,” Doctor Yip repeated, drawing out the words dramatically. “Sorcery? Spells and things? Can’t say I know much, I’m afraid. I’m a healer, not a sorcerer.”
“We don’t need a spell,” Aida clarified. “Something’s been done already. We’re wanting to know how to stop it.”
Curious eyes blinked at Aida. “What kind of something?”
Aida said what she’d rehearsed with Winter on the walk. “We have a friend who’s been cursed. A sorcerer used a spell to open his eyes to the spiritual world—ghosts and things of that nature. And now he’s being haunted by ghosts that have been manipulated by magic.”
“Oh my,” the herbalist said. “Very interesting.”
“Do you believe me, or do you think I’m crazy?” Aida asked with a half smile.
“Strange things happen every day. If you say it’s true, I believe as much as I can without having witnessed it myself. I’ve felt things that I couldn’t explain. I am a Shenist. Do you know what that means?”
Aida nodded. “Mrs. Lin says it’s the old Chinese religion.”
“Most religions are old,” he said with kind smile. “I believe in shens—celestial deities made of spirit. I also believe in lower spirits, other than the ones I worship—what you would call ghosts. It is not a stretch to think that someone could manipulate a spirit of the dead. Though I wouldn’t know how, exactly.”
“Four Chinese coins were found on the person being haunted,” Winter said. “We’ve been told that’s considered unlucky?”
Doctor Yin crossed his arms over his black and gold vest. “Four is very unlucky. In Cantonese, the word for ‘four’ sounds like the word for ‘death.’ In Hong Kong, many buildings do not have fourth floors—or fourteenth, or twenty-fourth. People are careful to avoid the number four on holidays and celebrations, like weddings, or when family members are sick. Westerners call this tetraphobia. But four Chinese coins, you say?”
“Yes. Old gold ones.” Winter described them briefly.
“There is an old folk magic belief that if you leave four coins on someone’s doorstep with ill intent, you curse the home’s owner. I’ve heard stories of businessmen in Hong Kong leaving four coins under the mat of a rival’s shop to give them bad luck and steal their customers.”
“What about in regards to a spirit or a haunting?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, that I don’t know.”
Winter groaned softly.
“But . . .” Yip added. “Someone else might. One of my customers has told me about a man who reads fortunes at a local temple—what used to be called a joss house.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with those,” Winter said.
“My customer, she says rumors are that this man knows more than fortune-telling. That he’s also a skilled sorcerer.”
Aida glanced at Winter, then asked Yip, “Can you tell us where the temple is and what the fortune-teller’s name is?”
“I don’t know which temple, sorry.”
“How many temples are there in San Francisco?” she asked.
Winter grunted. “Dozens.”
“He’s right, unfortunately,” the herbalist said. “If my customer returns, I can ask for the exact temple. I doubt the name of the man is known to her, but the moniker he uses for fortune-telling is Black Star.”
TEN
AIDA FELT WHAT SHE IMAGINED HER SHOW PATRONS DID WHEN their lottery ticket number was called: excitement, disbelief, and the thrill of a small victory won. As Doctor Yip waxed poetic about Shenist and Taoist temples in Hong Kong, she half listened while exchanging looks with Winter. Doubt began creeping in. It seemed too simple. Too easy. But how many Chinese sorcerers called themselves Black Star?
Maybe it was that easy. They thanked the herbalist profusely and Winter offered to pay him for the information.
“No, no,” Yip said, waving his hands in dissent at the generous bill that Winter held out in offering. “It is nothing. Not a well-kept secret or trained knowledge. Just gossip.”
“I insist,” Winter said.
“How about an exchange for services? If you’d like to get rid of that pain you’re carrying, I’d be happy to provide some relief.”
Winter stared blankly at him.
“The arm,” Yip said, pointing. “I can see how you’re holding it that it’s causing you discomfort. If it’s an injury, I can make the pain go away and speed the healing. Bring healthy blood flow to the right spots.”
“I don’t think so. No offense, but I’ve had some bad experiences with folk remedies recently.”
“Not a remedy. Acupuncture.”
“Needles?” Aida said.
Winter frowned. “Oh, no-no-no.”
“Doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t bleed. My needles are a fine quality, brought with me from Hong Kong. Very clean. Will only take seconds to place them, then you relax for a few minutes, and the pain will be gone. I have patients who come every week. Not just Chinese, but Westerners, too.”
“Oh, go ahead,” Aida encouraged Winter. “Why don’t you do it?”