I backed away and bumped into the center pole. The whole wide, unwalled space was closing in on me, pressing my skin against my muscles, muscles against protesting bones. I heard my breath entering and leaving in bursts. The back wall wavered under my eyes.

I heard a voice, not loud, but I didn’t see the speaker; I smelled ozone and a thick, watery odor, like the banks of a pond. My tongue was thick in my mouth. A ball of panic swelled in my chest.

A voice — the same one? Come with me. I felt an arm around me, guiding me. Then I was sitting on the grass under the trees, and a glass was pressed against my lips, holding something that gave off fierce fumes. I swallowed, almost prepared for it: rum.

The face above me belonged to China Black, as did the voice that said, “Well, cher, are you sickening for something?”

I took the glass of rum from her and had another sip. “What is that?” I said, nodding at the building.

“It’s the hounfor.” I must have looked blank, because she added, “Where we dance, and call the spirits.”

“I’m sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t have gone in.”

I thought, if she could have raised the silver eyebrows, she would have. “Why not? There’s nothing there to harm anyone, or do harm to. Were you afraid?”

“Not until… No.”

She studied me; then she took the glass out of my hand. “Hmh. Come along. Yes, back inside, nothing will happen to you.”

We came to the center pole, and she laid a hand on it. “This is the poteau-mitan. The spirits rise through it to us. The altar looks pretty, and we do our work there, but this is the source.” She stopped at the altar. “Kneel here. On the platform, yes.”

“Why?” I said.

Her dark face radiated tried patience. “Because it will make me happy. You do not believe in this. So what can it do to you?”

I knelt, which put everything on the altar at eye level.

China Black lit a new candle. “Legba,” she said, her voice peremptory, “are you listening to me? Here is one of your children, Papa Legba, a child of the crossroads. Are you watching out for this one, Papa?” She took a rough gray stone off the altar and handed it to me, along with the glass of rum. “Take a little and rinse your mouth with it,” she said. “Then spit it on the stone.” I did. She set the stone back on the altar. Then she handed me the mirror I’d noticed. “Do the same to this.” After I did, she took the mirror from me and set it on the altar to reflect my face. Distorted by the rum, the image reminded me of Frances’s catalog of my features, back in my apartment. I shivered and closed my eyes.

“Legba, you were thirsty, and we gave you rum. Now you see your child, Papa,” China Black said. “You will watch over this one, and play your tricks on the enemies of your servants. And we will make a meal for you, to show you we are glad that you have listened.” She tugged me to my feet, and led me out of the hounfor.