“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.”

Aida was mildly embarrassed that he was speaking to her about this. “Well, that’s too bad, because I like you. Thank you for helping me. I’ll just need to find a cheap hotel somewhere close by.” She thought of her financial situation and reconsidered. “If you’d let me sleep here on the couch, I’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

He didn’t answer.

She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. “I lost everything I own. My clothes. My savings . . . I can’t believe it’s gone. Every penny I scraped together for the last three years. All I have is a few dollars in my handbag.” Tears slid down her cheeks, but that seemed strange, because she wasn’t crying. “Every time I try to plan for the future, the world conspires against me and rips it away.” She tried to gesture, but it took too much effort to raise her arm. “Look at me. I don’t even have shoes. I’m right back where I was when I was a child.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “What can I do but start again in New Orleans? I’m not happy about leaving, in case you think I am.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have to earn a living.”

“Get a job running a switchboard. A secretary, maybe.”

“I have no experience. Can’t even type. And could you do a job like that after working for Winter? After the freedom he gives you?”

He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.

• • •

When Bo left the room for a third time, she lost track of time and fell asleep. The next thing she knew, she was being jostled down a flight of stairs, carried in someone’s steely arms, crammed against a warm, hard chest.

“Mind your feet.” The familiar cadence rumbled through her shoulder.

“Winter?”

“I’ve got you.”

Her voice was weak and far away. “Guess what? I’ve been drugged.”

“And injured. We’ll get your foot patched up when we get back to the house, okay?”

“I rescued the coat.”

“I see that.”

“I just don’t understand why this happened.”

“Someone wanted you dead, and they went to great lengths to ensure that they didn’t kill you directly. And I’ll wager it’s no coincidence this happened after our visit to the temple. We were seen together.”