Chapter 20

It suddenly occurred to Bo Li that Eric had been taking her to performances so often these past few days—could it be because she’d said she wanted to build a circus?
There were only the two of them now. If they really wanted a circus, they’d need to recruit more performers.
Bo Li had an epiphany.
No wonder he kept dragging her to shows. He’d been scouting talent for her.
Thank god she’d watched every act seriously. If one day he asked her on a whim which performer she liked best and she couldn’t answer, she’d be finished.
She wanted that lady-in-menswear singer, plus an animal tamer, a disfigured “freak” performer, and a paired act—a giant and a dwarf.
As for why she wanted the disfigured performer, she had her reasons.
Even now, Eric still hadn’t told her why he wore a mask.
She had a faint sense that whatever lay behind that mask would be a major turning point in their relationship.
But she couldn’t exactly say to him, *I know you look terrifying—take it off.*
She needed a disfigured performer as a softer message: *I don’t mind what you look like.*
Whether Eric would understand…she didn’t know.
With a diligent employee’s sense of duty, Bo Li planned to wipe herself down and then go back to write a formal proposal for Eric.
But when she returned to the room, Eric was gone again.
Bo Li couldn’t help letting out a breath.
Being with Eric was thrilling, but like salt—delicious in small amounts, lethal in excess.
She stopped a waiter, gave him a bit of change, and asked him to buy her a few notebooks.
The manager’s wallet had been thicker than she’d expected. At this time, a male laborer working all year might earn only a little over three hundred dollars. Yet the manager had a thousand dollars in cash—without counting the foreign currencies.
Back then, Bo Li had had to take several deep breaths to keep from grabbing the money and running.
Ten minutes later, the waiter returned with the notebooks—and a letter. He said a gentleman had asked him to deliver it.
Bo Li had a bad feeling, but she didn’t show it. She took the notebooks and the letter and said, “Thank you.”
Obviously, it was either from Tricky Terry—or from Boyd.
Regret pricked at her. Eric moved too fast. If the letter was meant to sow discord, what then?
If Eric were beside her, she could have simply shoved it into his hands and let him decide.
With mixed annoyance and reluctance, Bo Li broke the seal.
Whatever. Read first. If it felt wrong, she could always give it to Eric later.
“To Miss Polly Clément,
I must apologize for not contacting you for some time. I was involved in an accident: a violent criminal cut off my fingers.
These days, I have been grief-stricken beyond measure and keenly aware of myself as a maimed man. I did not wish to step outside my door again. It was Mr. Terry who persuaded me to see daylight once more.
Even in such grief, I have not forgotten what you entrusted to me.
This Saturday, a gathering will be held at Mrs. Healy’s home. All invitees are renowned mediums. I have secured one place for a lady companion, and I hereby invite you to attend with me.
Address enclosed: No. 128 Garden Villa Street, New Orleans, Louisiana.
—Lawrence Boyd”
Bo Li hadn’t expected Eric to spare Boyd’s life—only to cut off his fingers.
Maybe because she’d brushed death so many times since crossing over, a certain coldness had settled into her. She felt a man like Boyd didn’t deserve pity.
Who knew how many women he’d tricked with that medium routine?
And not all of them would have been wealthy ladies. Some might have been poor girls with nowhere else to turn.
Throughout history, mediums have never helped people for free.
Which meant Boyd had probably been cheating people out of both money and sex.
The women’s movement already existed in the nineteenth century, but it mostly called for the vote, reading circles, women’s unions, and so on.
Not until the 1960s would attitudes about sex really begin to shift.
—For now, women were freer in mind than in body.
Like the ladies in menswear. On the surface, they could cut their hair short, wear suits, play gentlemen onstage.
But the moment they stepped offstage, they had to change back into dresses—or risk being arrested for “offending public morals.”
You could imagine what happened to the women Boyd had swindled—out of money, out of their bodies.
So no, she didn’t think he deserved to live.
Bo Li lowered her lashes, tucked the letter into a drawer, and started on her circus proposal.
Toward evening, when the waiter brought up her dinner, he also delivered two more letters.
Bo Li’s face didn’t change as she opened them.
“To Miss Polly Clément,
I know you’ve read my last letter. As I am too ashamed to face you now, please forgive me for continuing to speak to you in writing.
In your heart, have I already become a charlatan?
But please believe me—I am a true medium. The day I touched you, I saw incredible things in your blood. You have a mysterious origin.
Sadly, my knowledge is shallow. I couldn’t interpret those strange visions. That is why I invited you to the mediums’ gathering—so others might help ease your burden.
Those mediums are all truly gifted women, quite famous in the spirit world. I hope you won’t let your opinion of me blind you to their achievements.
—Lawrence Boyd”
The other letter was from Tricky Terry.
“Dear Polly—or is it Polly?
Don’t worry. I keep secrets very well. I won’t tell anyone you dress as a man, and I won’t be calling the vice squad to arrest you.
If I’m not mistaken, Eric’s the one who cut Boyd’s fingers off, isn’t he?
You’re a naughty girl—keeping company with a devil and never saying a word about it.
But you’re so pretty that I’ve decided to forgive you—and tell you something even your former employer didn’t know.
Eric’s past is nothing like what you think. He’s not some pitiful waif, a boy beaten and abused.
His face may be like a demon’s, but his experiences…would frighten a demon.
You may have heard he’s a master of trapdoors. But do you know he was once a rising star in the Persian court?
The Persian who let him go told me this: any perfectly ordinary house, after Eric’s touch, becomes a death trap. Everything you say and do inside is overheard or carried away by hidden echoes. 1
Even long after he leaves, the people there are afraid to speak out loud—for fear he’s still listening.
Think about it. Every move you make watched by him. Every word you say heard by him. Wherever you go, he follows like a shadow—
You’re a clever girl. Tell me: do you truly want to keep company with someone that terrifying? Do you really think you’re safe around him?
Want to get rid of him?
128 Garden Villa Street. Don’t be late.
—Tricky Terry”
When she’d finished, Bo Li put all three letters away, ready to hand them over the moment Eric returned.
They wanted to drive a wedge between her and Eric? Make her doubt him?
Not a chance.