"Maybe that's for the best," Bo said. "Now you can ask her out to dinner and not feel conflicted."

"Doubt she'd agree to that at this point."

"She did say you were the most handsome man she'd ever met."

Winter looked askance at his a.s.sistant.

"Hey, I tried not to listen," Bo argued, "but you were both shouting and . . ."

Winter stomped off into the street to retrieve his hat, then rammed himself into the backseat of the car and slammed the door.

Bo climbed into the driver's seat. "Home? Pier?" he asked. "Or do you need to hit something?"

Hitting something sounded beautiful. And after Bo dropped him off at the boxing club, he spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that.

And the next afternoon.

And the next.

But it didn't help. His h.e.l.lfire mood only worsened.

He busied himself with work, visiting his warehouses and overseeing deliveries. He spent an entire morning taking apart a small boat engine and putting it back together. His employees began looking at him as if they wanted to toss him in the bay. He didn't give a d.a.m.n.

He'd nearly convinced himself that he never wanted to see Aida Palmer again-that he'd be just fine if he didn't, because a woman like her would only drive him to violence, what with her insisting that he tell her every G.o.dforsaken thing about his life, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his orderly routine, making him feel guilty.

Making him hope.

On the fifth afternoon, Bo breezed into his study carrying a box under his arm. "I just had an interesting conversation with a butcher in Chinatown."

Winter lay on his leather sofa, one arm and leg dangling off the side, staring at the ticking grandfather clock his father had shipped over from Sweden. "If it's not about Black Star or those symbols, I don't want to hear about it."

"It's not directly about Black Star, but it might be."

The pendulum on the clock swung several times while Winter waited for Bo to elaborate. "You going to tell me, or make me guess?"

"This butcher says that his cousin joined a secret tong two years ago. He said that no one knew the name of the leader, where it was based, what it controlled. But his cousin underwent a strange initiation that involved enduring insect bites."

Now Winter was interested. "Insects? Like the Gu poison?"

"Maybe, and remember the tong leader killed by bees? I've heard of blood initiations, but this . . ."

"It does sound strange," Winter admitted.

"There's more. The cousin said that the leader of the tong claimed to be a descendant of a mystical group of Chinese rebels from the Han Dynasty. A military group. Their leader was a necromancer."

"What is that? Black magic?"

"Calls up the dead. Could be nothing but legend, but it's the first connection I've heard between sorcery and a tong, and it's awfully strange."

"d.a.m.n right it is. We need to talk to the butcher's cousin who joined this tong."

Bo shook his head. "The night after he spoke to the butcher, he turned up dead in a gutter. The butcher thinks the tong killed him for blabbing about the initiation ceremony. The butcher also said after his cousin's death, he was so worried the secret tong would come after him and his wife that he moved his business to the opposite end of Chinatown."

"Christ. A secret tong with mystical roots . . . This has to be it, Bo."

"I'll keep my ear to the ground and let you know what else I can dig up."

Unease wormed its way into Winter's gut. Bo was savvy and sharp; he knew what he was doing. But Winter had already lost too many people in his life. If anything happened to Bo while he was slinking around Chinatown's alleys, Winter would never forgive himself. "Tread carefully," he told him. "If any of that is remotely true, and if they're connected to this Black Star, G.o.d only knows what they'd do if they thought someone was poking into their business."

Bo flicked the cap on his hat and winked. "I'm always careful."

"I mean it, Bo."

"Your concern for my well-being is touching. I will agree to be careful if you agree not to bite my head off for giving you this." He handed over the box. "A courier dropped it off."

Winter walked to his desk and dug around in a drawer for a letter opener to cut the strings. When he lifted the top of the box, he found himself staring at the gown Ju had made for Aida. The pain he'd been nursing for the last few days reared up, making his chest tight and hot.

"Helvete," he swore under his breath.

Not the gaudy yellow fabric, but the color he'd wanted, so delicate, like silver and sand. At least Ju had some sense. It was finely made. Looked like something a G.o.ddess would wear. He imagined Aida wearing it, and the unending hollowness he'd felt since their fight grew wider.

He crammed the box top back on, crushing one side of it in frustration. He should just throw it in the trash. She wouldn't take it anyway.

"It's a beautiful gown," Bo noted.

Yes. Ju's girls had gone to a lot of trouble making it, and it was exceptional work.

A shame to let it go to waste.

Maybe Astrid would want it. Then again, if she ever wore it, it would likely just remind him of the spirit medium.

Only sensible option was to just give the d.a.m.ned thing to Aida. She might not accept it. He wasn't going to get his hopes up-he knew better now. This was just the logical thing to do, that's all.

Someone pounded on Aida's apartment door when she was getting ready to leave for her late show at Gris-Gris. Who would be calling on her at seven on a Friday night? And why did it make her so angry? Everything made her angry lately, and it was all Winter Magnusson's fault.

She was ill-physically sick to her stomach. She'd lost her appet.i.te and had spent the last four nights rolling around on her narrow bed, feeling every spring, kicking the covers, cursing Winter's name.

Even one-way conversations with Sam about the matter, usually a comfort, gave her no support or relief. She tried to recall a Sam-ism that would apply to the situation and only remembered warnings about the uselessness of love, which she didn't care to consider-maybe because she was weaker than he'd been when it came to these matters.

It was ridiculous, all this anger and disappointment Winter stirred up inside her. She wasn't mad at him anymore about Sook-Yin, now that the shock had worn off. She wasn't even secretly mad about his dead wife, because that would be petty and selfish of her to be mad about something like that. It was none of her business, and he was obviously struggling with grief she couldn't fathom, and it would be silly to be jealous of a dead woman.

She was, however, still angry.

Because he'd given up on the two of them.

And if he could just give up without a fight, then he wasn't losing sleep like she was. And that meant she was lovesick over someone who didn't give a fig, and that made her furious. It was a self-loathing kind of fury, yes, but it was easier just to blame him. Much easier.

Feminine laughter seeped into her apartment from the hallway. Maybe one of the other tenants needed something. Aida opened the door to find a striking girl, not quite collegeaged, with ringlets of blond hair peeking beneath a soft pink hat. She stood next to a young black girl about the same age. Both girls were giggling, both carrying shirt boxes.

"Hiya," the blonde said brightly, a little breathless. She looked familiar, but Aida couldn't place where she'd seen her. Nor could she figure out why she was standing outside her door. Maybe they were here to call on someone else and got the apartment numbers confused.

"I'm Astrid Magnusson," the girl said. "Winter's sister."

Aida's chest tightened. "Oh. Uh . . . oh." What in the world is she doing here?

"The woman at the restaurant counter let us come up. Your apartment is a h.e.l.lish hike."

"No elevator."

"Someone needs to get one installed, and p.r.o.nto. Can we come in? This is Benita, by the way."

Benita smiled over the big shirt box. Her hair was bobbed a little shorter than Astrid's, and she wore a pretty blue plaid dress with a bow at the neck under her coat. Aida greeted her and ushered them both inside.

"Benita's my seamstress," Astrid explained. "She can alter anything that doesn't fit. She's a genius. Gosh, this is a tiny apartment." She deposited her box on Aida's bed and looked around, wandering to the window. "Oh, but you can see the entire street. I love Chinatown. It must be so exciting to live here. Bo tells me stories all the time about growing up here."

While Astrid chatted, Benita hefted the largest box onto the bed. It was stamped with a gold I. Magnin logo, a high-end department store downtown at Geary; Aida had gazed at their window displays, but she'd never been inside.

"Astrid?" she said.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

Winter's sister smacked gum while giving her a crooked grin. "Winter sent me. He said you'd ripped your coat when he hurt his shoulder last week, something about a taxi hitting a telephone pole. He's terrible at explaining things. He always leaves out the interesting parts."

"That's an understatement," Aida murmured.

"Anyway," Astrid continued, "he told me he'd promised to buy you a new coat, so he sent me out to find one. Bo helped me. He's got an eye for fashion. Whenever I go shopping, he waits outside the dressing room and gives me his opinion when I model things for him." She hesitated, grimacing. "Umm, don't tell Winter about that. Not that there's anything wrong with it-it's not as if Bo sees me undressed or anything."

Benita made a small noise.

"Hush," Astrid told the girl, looking mildly embarra.s.sed, but probably not as much as she should be. "That was an accident."

Aida raised a brow.

"Anyway, all I'm saying is . . . well, I've forgotten now. Come on, take a look at what I picked out."

"Astrid, this is really kind of you, but things may have changed since your brother asked you to do this."

"He just asked me a few hours ago."

"Oh." Aida's heart pattered inside her chest.

"Believe me, even if you've already found a new coat, this one is better. I'm so excited I can barely stand it. Don't worry, I've got excellent taste." The girls bent over Aida's bed together. "Oh, I almost forgot. Let's show her the gown, first."

"Gown?" She was incapable of doing anything more than repeating Astrid's words.

"I didn't pick it out, but Winter showed me. He called it a 'G.o.ddess dress,' and he's sort of right. It's gorgeous. Hold on." Benita untied the string on the smaller box and wiggled the top off. After pulling back layers of crinkly tissue paper, the girl lifted out a delicate oyster-colored sleeveless gown. It gathered over the shoulders with gold-threaded cords tied into long bows, and draped around the hips like a Greek chiton. Tiny freshwater pearls and golden beads danced across the sheer bodice.

Astrid and Benita both looked up at her with happy, expectant faces.

"It's stunning," Aida admitted.

"Look, the bodice is silk crepe-georgette. Two layers," she said, slipping her slender fingers behind the fine, diaphanous material. "And when you look at it in the right light, you can see tiny peac.o.c.k feathers embroidered on the skirt."

Aida's heart skipped a beat. She leaned in to inspect the fabric. Yes, it was Ju's. The fabric Winter had liked. She never expected . . . well, she didn't know what she expected.

"It's beautiful, but I can't accept this."

"Winter told me you'd say that. He also said you might be offended, angry, or stubborn."

"Oh, did he now?"

She held up her hand. "Before you say anything else, let me show you the coat I found. If you say no to cashmere and fox, you're either a fool or an idiot."

Good grief, the girl had a mouth on her, didn't she?

"Look, my brother thinks you hung the moon, so I hope you're not planning on breaking his heart," Astrid added, giving her a cool look. "He's been through enough already."

Aida had never broken anyone's heart. She never stayed in one place long enough for that to happen, and if she did, she certainly wasn't heartbreaking material.

"He's not a monster," Astrid added. "He likes to think he is, but he wasn't like this before. I mean, he's always been arrogant, but he used to be happy and fun to be around."

"Before the accident."

Astrid shook her head. "Before Paulina. The accident just made it worse."

If the girl was trying to make Aida curious, she'd done a fine job. "Why didn't Winter come here himself?"

"He did. He's waiting in the car downstairs."

FIFTEEN.

AIDA STARED AT ASTRID FOR A MOMENT, HEART POUNDING, THEN walked to the bed. "Where's the fur? Here?"

Benita quickly unpacked the coat. It was cashmere, all right, a soft camel color. And the collar was made of the longest, thickest, softest deep brown fur she'd ever seen. Aida could barely look at it, the thing was so ridiculously lovely. She averted her eyes and looped the coat over her forearm. Her apartment keys sat on the bedside table. She grabbed them and headed toward the door. "You coming?" she asked the girls, who scrambled to follow her out, Astrid begging to know if she liked the coat. Of course she liked the coat. That wasn't the point.

Mrs. Lin waved at them as they marched through the front door of the restaurant, Astrid complaining and fussing the whole way. Aida saw Bo on the sidewalk first, then Winter. He was lounging back against the Pierce-Arrow, ankles crossed. She thought she saw a flash of surprise in his eyes when he noticed her stalking toward him, but it quickly cooled.