Bitter Spirits
Page 91

Aida waited until their footsteps faded, then rolled off the bunk and crawled to the tray of food. She lifted the napkin and found the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
Her silver lancet.
THIRTY
WHO SENT THE LANCET? VELMA? WINTER? WHOEVER IT WAS, someone knew where she was—or at the very least, knew how to send something to her.
Reeling with hope, she spent several minutes considering how to hide the lancet, and decided to wedge it under her garter, as it was less likely to be found and taken than it would be if it were palmed in her hand.
No one returned for her, so she began inspecting the food. The beer was capped. She smelled it, poured some out to inspect the color, then tasted it in incrementally larger amounts, until she was as certain as she could be under the circumstances that it was untainted. Once it was finished, out of sheer desperation, she relieved her aching bladder in the rusting sink. Not her finest moment, and she cursed Yip’s name for treating her like an animal.
An hour after the food was delivered, the big man returned with a partner. He held up the tin with the noxious cloth as a warning before herding her out of the room. A terrible rush of anxiety rattled her nerves as she was led down the corridor. But instead of heading back to the booze storage, they took her to a room with double doors. The metal plate on the wall, stamped with both Chinese characters and English, read FIRST-CLASS DINING ROOM. They entered.
“Ah, Tai,” called a cheery voice in the distance. Yip. “Bring in Miss Palmer.”
Her eyes darted around the expansive room. Like the rest of the ship, it lacked electricity, but lit lanterns had been set upon round tables. She could imagine those tables, when the ship had seen better days, covered in white linen and silver tableware; now, they were pushed to either side of the room to make an aisle, broken chairs piled near the walls. Two other sets of doors had been nailed shut with boards.
A large chandelier hung in the center of the room. Some of the bulbs were broken, and a few dripping candles had been stuck in their place. The candles cast a meager golden light on two tables below that had been shoved together. A long, dark box sat atop them, and behind stood Doctor Yip.
“Come, come,” the herbalist said, waving her closer. “I hope you’re well rested now, and you’ve eaten.”
Aida didn’t answer.
He gave a command in Cantonese to the big man, who dismissed his partner, and closed the doors. Yip spoke to her again. “Tai will mind the door while we talk, yes? Step closer, please. I have something marvelous to show you.”
No need to panic, she told herself. She was armed, and by calling her forward, he was putting several yards between him and Tai. She’d be alone with him, and the lancet sat snug against her leg.
He should be the one frightened.
Steeling herself, she slowly approached the doctor, but didn’t make it halfway before she halted.
“What’s on the table?” she said.
“It’s a coffin, my dear.”
“An empty one?” The second the words were out of her mouth, something putrid and foul wafted. She recoiled and clapped her hand over her mouth. Something crunched under her shoes: dirt and gravel. A line of it led to the coffin.
Yip chuckled. “You would think someone with your skills would be less wary of the dead. Though, I do forget that your talents are different than mine. Not accustomed to graveyard work, I take it?”
“No,” she managed.
“It’s not pleasant, I’ll admit. But you must remind yourself that it is just a body.”
“Whose body?”
“Come closer, and I’ll show you.”
Another smell hung over the stench of death. “Are those herbs? More of your spellwork?”
He laughed. “No, that’s to help with the odor of the body. If I wanted you drugged, I would’ve already done so. I’m trying to show you something, please.”
She stepped closer, giving the coffin a wide berth as she tried not to breathe through her nose.
“Let us be frank,” Yip said, wiping his hands on a soiled handkerchief. “I know you have been seeing Mr. Magnusson. I also know you are booked in New Orleans, so I am assuming your time spent with the bootlegger is merely a dalliance.”
“It’s none of your business, is what it is.”
He waved a hand, dismissive. “I don’t care about that. What I’d like to talk to you about is a partnership.” He tipped his head her way. “All hives have a queen, yes?”
She nearly choked. “What?”
“I don’t suggest anything physical. I am referring to a working partnership. An indoctrination into my organization.” He held up a hand when she balked. “Now, hear me out. We are cut from a similar cloth, you and I. We both can call spirits from the beyond. My powers are stronger, but you are able to do something I can’t, which is to speak to them. I cannot do this, I confess. I can bring them back and command them—and truly, this gives me more power than you.”
“Truly,” Aida muttered.
“You’ve seen my results, yes? Mr. Magnusson’s murder victims? I think he’s been using you to get rid of them.”
“It’s a fine trick, luring them with the coins and buttons,” she said.
“I knew it! You can send them back. Is this a skill you’ve been taught?”
She didn’t understand why he was so excited, and she wasn’t going to admit that she hadn’t been able to send them back—at least not when she tried it on the bloated ghost in the tunnel under the street. “So you basically channel spirits into dead things instead of yourself.”