Bitter Spirits

EIGHTEEN

NOT AGAIN.

Winter stared at the bloated corpse of Arnie Brown standing several yards down the tunnel while his mind flashed back to the day he died. It was almost three years ago, right after he’d married Paulina and moved them into their Beaux Arts home on Russian Hill. He’d been fighting with her about Bo. Winter thought she was worried about Bo’s character, as she complained that things were missing around the house, and the obvious culprit in her mind was a boy who’d been raised as a thief. But there was more to it. She didn’t trust Bo because his mind and mouth were both sharp. She also didn’t trust him because he was Chinese.

Winter and Bo had stayed out late one night making a deal at the pier—rather, trying to save a deal that Winter’s father had nearly lost after berating a client during one of his manic fits. After the deal was salvaged, Bo was telling Winter he’d rather move out of the Russian Hill house than have Paulina insult him with accusations of stealing. Winter knew he hadn’t stolen anything. Hell, he knew Bo’s character better than he knew his own wife’s. Spent more time with him, too. But Bo had his pride, and Winter was caught between it and the burden of having to placate his parochial wife.

That long-ago night, as Bo locked up the back door on the pier, Winter had walked the dock and came face-to-face with the man he’d just renegotiated the deal with—Arnie Brown. Arnie had a gun and was prepared to kill Winter so he could rob the booze being held at the pier. But the bullet grazed Winter’s arm when Bo sneaked around and grabbed Arnie from behind. The three of them grappled, but it was actually Bo who shoved the man off the pier. He couldn’t swim.

And now he was slowly shuffling down the tunnel toward Winter and Aida, bloated as he was the day the police found him floating a mile down the bay.

“Coins,” Aida said, already rummaging through his coat pockets.

As they backed away from Arnie’s ghost, he checked all his inner pockets . . . pants pockets. Nothing.

“Nothing tasted funny at dinner, did it?” she asked. “You aren’t poisoned again?”

“No, no—I felt strange almost immediately last time.”

Aida pulled off his hat and felt around under the band. “Shoes?”

“I’ve had those on the entire time we were in the room together.”

Arnie’s ghost picked up speed, shuffling with greater intent.

They backed up several feet, but Winter realized now that they were trapped. Couldn’t go back the way they came dragging a ghost with them into the middle of the raid. Couldn’t go forward. He hand went to his gun holster. The last ghost was solid—if Arnie was, too, could he be shot?

“No,” Aida said when he withdrew his handgun. “You might slow him down at best, might not. Let me see if I can send him away.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes. It’s a ghost, for God’s sake. This is my territory, not yours. Let me try.”

He hesitated. Released the gun’s safety. “I’ll stay right behind you.”

“Don’t shoot me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Aida stalked down the tunnel toward the ghost a little too fast for Winter’s preference. The inexperienced woman in the hotel room was all confidence now. No fear. Winter supposed it was good that he had enough for both of them.

The ghost was grotesque, his face an unearthly color. No life behind his eyes, yet he walked. And unlike the brutal shock Winter had felt when he recognized the ghost of Dick Jepsen, he felt something different now: a slow-building anger.

A few feet from Arnie, Aida blew out a hard blast of cold air and charged forward with one hand extended. The slap of her mortal flesh against his ghostly chest echoed off the tunnel walls. White sparks shot through his form. The tunnel lights dimmed and popped on and off.

“Arghh!” Aida jerked her hand back like it was on fire and shook it out. “That hurt!”

Enough of this bullshit. Winter grabbed her around the waist and pulled her backward, away from the ghost.

“He won’t budge,” she said, breathing hard as she twisted out of his grip and stood her ground. “Feels strange—solid, but unreal.”

“Move behind me or so help me God, I’ll put you over my shoulder. And do not touch that thing again. It’s dangerous, Aida. Jesus! Here he comes again. Move!”

“All right, I’m moving.” She ducked under his gun arm and started to shuffle past him, then grabbed his coat. “Buttons . . . Winter! Four of your buttons don’t match. They’re—”

He glanced down quickly, shifting his gaze back and forth from the coat to the approaching ghost. She was right—they didn’t match. They weren’t cabochon. In fact, they were embossed with dragon heads and looked as if they’d been hurriedly sewn, with loose threads sticking out like spider legs.

Four coins. Four buttons . . .

Some rat bastard had switched them out during dinner when he’d checked his coat. He’d been so desperate to get Aida’s clothes off—and back on, when the raid started—that he hadn’t noticed. That was careless and stupid.

Aida didn’t wait for permission. Just ripped them off and spun around to face Arnie. “After these, are you?” She held the fisted buttons above her head.

The ghost’s head tilted as dead eyes tracked the magic inside them.

“Ha!” she said triumphantly. “You want these, huh?” She shook the buttons in her hand like she was baiting a disobedient puppy.

Arnie’s bloated body lunged for her. So fast! Winter’s heart nearly exploded in shock.

She jerked away from the ghost but dropped one of the buttons. It bounced off a wall and skipped across the tunnel’s uneven floor.

Winter froze.

The ghost stumbled against the wall, lumbering, then bent to pick up the fallen button.

“Goddammit, throw the rest of them, Aida!” Winter shouted.

As the ghost stood up and refocused his attention on her, she shifted her gaze to some sort of sawed-off drainage pipe jutting from the wall where it was embedded. Dirty water dripped from the pipe’s hollow mouth. “If you want them, old man, you’ll have to find them,” she said to the ghost, then clamped her hand over the pipe and forced the buttons inside. They made a horrible racket as they clanged through the pipe—first sideways, straight into the wall, then down. Yes, definitely down below the tunnel.

Pulse pounding, Winter snatched Aida backward, ignoring her protests. He brandished his gun at the ghost and they both watched him, waiting for a reaction.

Arnie Brown walked to the pipe. Turned to face the wall.

And walked right through it.

“Mother of God,” Winter whispered.

“Unbelievable. Did you see that?” Aida said, unmistakable awe in her voice.

Yes, he damn well did, and he wasn’t sticking around to find out if the ghost was going to reappear. All he knew was that he didn’t have the damn buttons to attract it back and that was enough for him. He whisked Aida through the tunnel’s length, looking back over his shoulder a couple of times. It wasn’t until they climbed the steps to the House of Shields’ storage room and shut the tunnel door that he holstered his gun and allowed himself to relax.

He’d been stupid to let his guard down. Whoever wanted to scare him wasn’t finished. Was he going to have to endure the sight of every person he’d killed? The list wasn’t long, but he sure as hell didn’t want to relive it.

It came back to him again, the memory of Arnie Brown’s death. Winter hadn’t killed him—Bo had. Was the ghost gone now that the buttons were sitting under the street? What if the sorcerer sent another set of four Bo’s way?

“Did you know him?” Aida asked from his side. “Was he like the other ghost?”

Winter nodded as another dusty memory popped into his head. After Bo and Winter had watched Arnie Brown drown in the bay, they’d gone back home to his house on Russian Hill. The police were in his parlor, talking to Paulina as she stood in her robe and slippers while they hauled Mr. Johnson away in handcuffs. It was the cook. She’d blamed Bo, but it was the cook the whole time—one she’d brought with her from her mother’s house.

“What?”

He glanced down at Aida’s confused face. Had he said that out loud? Maybe seeing Arnie Brown had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.

“Nothing,” he said. “I have to . . . I need to check on Bo.”