Leona never thought that one day she would place her hopes on ghosts and spirits.
But she did start to have frequent interactions with Boyd, trying to extract more information about mediums from him.
To be fair, Boyd was a person worth associating with. He was gentle, polite, humorous, and witty. His fingers were long, slender, and pale, and his body was lightly scented with perfume.
Even if he wasn't a medium, she would still be willing to make friends with him.
Boyd told her that mediums were very cautious and wouldn't easily receive guests.
"You have to understand that even now, some places still retain the tradition of burning witches at the stake," Boyd said. "Every medium, especially female mediums... are precious assets of the spirit world in the human realm. We must protect them."
"But rest assured," he said softly, "when the time is right, I will definitely introduce you to them and help your friend find a way home."
Leona didn't know if she was just grasping at straws.
She was very clear that what Boyd said was more of a rhetoric than really listening to her "spirit" complain.
For example, most people who sought mediums were desperate.
Since they were desperate, they would inevitably feel frustrated.
Moreover, there were still bruises on her neck left by Eric.
Her neck was bruised purple, so of course she felt scared, which was why he was so confident in saying, "Your spirit is very scared."
What she really cared about was that sentence, "Let me guess, you don't belong here."
But her accent, tone, movements, dressing style, and walking posture were all out of place among the surrounding ladies.
It was normal for him to conclude that "she didn't belong here."
After much thought, Leona decided it was better to "believe rather than not believe."
That day, she had lunch with Boyd and then went to the theater to watch a performance.
She actually didn't really want to go to the theater, thinking of the movie plots.
Boyd thought she didn't want to see an opera and explained with a smile, "This is a small theater, there are no opera performances. The audience here comes to watch magic shows, acrobatics, and listen to singing stars."
Leona thought it over and agreed.
Maybe in the end, going back to her old profession and learning about the current performance styles in the theater wasn't a bad thing.
Boyd was a regular at the theater and led her directly to a deep red box to sit down.
He took out a pair of opera glasses from his bosom and handed them to her. "Use these, you can see more clearly."
The opera glasses were warm from his body, making her feel uncomfortable.
Perhaps it was just her imagination, but when she took the opera glasses, he gently stroked the back of her gloved hand with his thumb.
Leona couldn't help but frown.
Maybe because everyone's breath was intertwined, the theater was extremely stuffy.
Leona broke into a sweat within less than ten minutes of sitting down. The sticky sweat slid down her neck, like insects crawling.
For some reason, she always felt as if there was a warm breeze blowing on the back of her neck, as if someone was breathing behind her.
At this moment, Boyd suddenly said, "That female singer has gone mad, cutting her hair as short as a man's."
Leona just wanted to go out for some fresh air and didn't care what he was saying. "Hmm?"
"Hair has a spirit," he said softly, "When I treat those female guests, I always advise them to protect their hair well. A woman's hair is also part of her spirit... Cutting off hair is equivalent to cutting off one's own spirit, which will attract ghosts to invade."
Leona finally realized he was talking nonsense: "How could hair be part of the spirit? Wouldn't men's spirits all be disabled spirits?"
Boyd didn't speak. After a long while, he stood up, walked behind her, and pressed down on her shoulders.
Leona felt even more uncomfortable and struggled a little: "You—"
"Don't move," he bent down and whispered in her ear, "I won't hurt you. I just didn't expect that after knowing each other for so long, you still don't believe that I can see spirits... Let me prove it to you."
He reached out his hand and gently stroked the side of her neck: "Did you feel it? Your spirit is moving along my fingers... It's very scared, afraid that you will be choked by someone again and leave terrifying bruises. But it's okay, I will heal it—my blood has magnetism, as long as you stay in the same room with me and are honest with each other, everything will be healed—"
Leona's mouth twitched slightly, and she suddenly stood up.
...Too embarrassing.
As a modern person, she had been associating with a swindler for so long.
She guessed correctly; Boyd's words were all lines, aiming to seduce women.
She didn't know how many wives and misses he had deceived with this trick—naive women might really feel numb all over due to his touch, mistaking it for spirits moving under their skin.
Boyd looked at her in surprise: "What's wrong, Miss Leona?"
Leona really wanted to turn hostile.
But these days, she had been in and out with Boyd, and Boyd already knew she was staying in the hotel and had seen the room number on her key.
She was really too careless, thinking that Boyd looked like a gentleman and believing he was a good person.
If this were modern times, she might have already kicked him away.
But this was the 19th century, in New Orleans, America.
The police force was scarce, and investigative methods were limited.
Boyd was also related to Tricky Tre—the manager sold Emily to Tricky Tre for money, and Tricky then "euthanized" her and sold her to needy "scientists."
When she met Tricky, she had just escaped from the circus, thinking everything was over, completely forgetting that Tricky was just as dangerous as the manager!
Leona's palms were sweaty, and a chill rose from the soles of her feet.
Boyd and Tricky were birds of a feather; he was very likely to do something as extreme as Tricky.
She was currently at a disadvantage and needed to stay calm and stabilize him first.
Leave here later.
Leona swallowed, stepped back, and reluctantly said, "It's too stuffy here, I'm having trouble breathing. Let's watch the performance together another time."
Boyd raised his eyebrows, knowing that she was afraid of his actions.
But he had seen this side of female guests many times and didn't take it seriously.
As an excellent hunter, he knew that only when prey let down their guard could he reel them in.
Leona was beautiful, and although her hands were slightly rough, her speech and demeanor were unlike those of a poor girl.
He didn't mind waiting a little longer.
"It's okay," Boyd said, lifting his hat brim with two fingers, speaking gently, "Whenever you want to heal your spirit, just contact me. I'll be waiting for you."
Leona didn't speak, took off her lady's coat, and hurriedly left.
Boyd sat back on the velvet seat, crossed his legs, and drank a sip of gin.
He picked up the opera glasses and watched the performance attentively, not noticing that the door he had closed opened silently again, leaving a tiny gap.
...
Back at the hotel, Leona asked the waiter to boil hot water. She went upstairs, removed her wig, and took off her heavy dress.
Female attire was too dangerous; she would wear men's clothes from now on.
Besides, it was too hot.
The theater was small, and the box was even smaller.
Two people sitting together felt like three people breathing.
...No.
She suddenly shivered.
There couldn't really be a third person, could there?
Only Eric could do that.
But he hadn't appeared for a long time, nor did he have any reason to show up in that box.
At this moment, the waiter knocked on the door, telling her that the bathwater was ready.
Leona thought for a moment, found a pair of scissors, and cut off a cluster of her wig, planning to place it at the door of her room later.
In this way, she could tell if anyone had entered her room.
After doing all this, Leona specifically instructed the waiter not to enter her room or send anyone to clean it, and then went to take a bath.
After bathing, she returned to her guest room, crouched down, and looked at the hair at the door.
There was no change.
Was she overthinking it?
That night, she didn't sleep well—if the person in the box was Eric, he might break into her room in the middle of the night.
She put a pair of scissors under her pillow.
She held the handle of the scissors all night.
The next morning, she got up and immediately checked the hair at the door.
Still, no changes.
After the Boyd incident, she dared not be careless anymore and continued to place hair at the door.
To prevent herself from forgetting, she even took out a spare phone—turned it on, activated power-saving mode, and took a photo.
Day after day passed, and on the fourth day, the hair finally changed.
A very slight change.
It seemed that the intruder had noticed the hair she had placed at the door, messed with it, and then tried to restore it based on memory.
But he didn't realize she had a phone, and every strand of hair was captured in detail.
Leona didn't know who the intruder was—Eric or someone from Tricky's gang.
She thought for a while and realized that this question was meaningless.
Both of these people could threaten her personal safety.
What difference did it make who it was?
However, there was a voice in her heart saying—there was a difference.
Boyd couldn't fill the spiritual void she felt after crossing over.
Eric could; he made her heart race, breathing difficult, adrenaline surging, and made her feel sensitive and alert.
He made her hear her own rapid heartbeat, making her feel truly alive—truly alive.
Boyd also made her alert, but the feeling he gave her was completely different from Eric's.
Why?
She didn't know.
She also didn't know what to do now.
Should she pretend nothing happened or leave immediately?
If it was the latter, would it anger the other party and bring even worse consequences?
On the fifth day, the hair at the door disappeared. It seemed that the intruder realized she had detected him and no longer restored the hair.
This discovery made Leona shiver with fear.
She immediately went to the dock to ask several captains who were about to set sail soon if they could give her a lift.
Her actions seemed to enrage the intruder. On the sixth day, the gramophone in her guest room was turned on, playing a worn record.
The raspy singing flowed out, and it was... the song she and Boyd had listened to at the theater.
Leona felt her scalp go numb, and her chest tightened, her heart beating as if it were about to explode.
She tried hard to suppress her panic and turned to open the door, only to find that the door was locked—apparently, the other party no longer wanted to play scare games and had started attacking her.
Leona didn't hesitate; she immediately wanted to open the window, but the window was also locked.
She took a deep breath and was about to grab something to smash the window when suddenly, a dark shadow descended straight toward her—
For a few seconds, she was almost frozen in place, her heart gripped tightly by fear, only able to watch helplessly as the figure stopped in front of her, swaying back and forth.
...It was actually Boyd's finger.
She recognized his finger immediately, especially since the ring on it bore the initials of his name, L.B.
It wasn't someone from Tricky Tre's gang.
It was Eric who had broken into her room.
Knowing this, she didn't relax; instead, her heart tightened even more.
Eric's behavior had become even more unpredictable.
She had no idea why he had broken into her room or why he had cut off Boyd's finger.
The next moment, a cold knife blade gently pressed against her neck, sliding down along her carotid artery.
Eric.
He was behind her, caressing her neck with the blade, seemingly ready to slit her artery at any moment.
Would he?
—He would; he had already attacked Boyd.
Why did he attack Boyd?
—She didn't know; during this time, she had been with Boyd and didn't remember saying anything offensive to him. They hadn't even mentioned him.
But something must have enraged him.
The temperature around her seemed to drop rapidly.
Leona heard his heavy, urgent breathing behind her.
Her fearful, helpless appearance seemed to excite him a little...
This was even scarier than anger.
Leona had seen him excited before; at that time, he had single-handedly taken down the manager and the circus guards.
She didn't want to know what would happen if he got excited now.
With a bang.
It seemed that he had put down the dagger in his hand.
Leona's heart almost stopped beating.
From her angle, she could see a tall shadow approaching, slowly engulfing her small shadow—
Then, she felt warmth on her body.
He leaned forward and hugged her.