Just past two A.M. on New Year's Eve, Louisa stepped off the motor-launch ferry she used for the nightly commute from Nassau. It had been a raucous night at the twenty-one table, but a lovely trip back over dead-flat inside waters, along a golden path laid by a lopsided three-quarter moon.

But she had grown more disturbed with each passing minute. In the cabin she had spread her cards. They told her nothing.

She longed for her mother, whose wisdom transcended all. But her mother had died the year before in Port-au-Prince, and if her loa, thought to be a wide-winged man-of-war bird, was aloft over Bahamian waters, there was no sign.

Louisa felt evil in the night. Papa Jacques was casting a spell. She had felt it leaving Potters Cay dock in downtown Nassau, and more strongly as they passed abeam of Nassau Light.

If only she had listened to her mother more carefully, she would understand more. It had been une folie to ignore her teachings, neglecting them for the things that had amused her as a child.

Now she could dance and sing, and had read Proust and Camus, and what good was it all? She couldn't even concoct an avé love potion good enough to trap Jake.

As they approached Whiskey Cay her apprehension grew. The feeling of impending evil was heavy in the air. She stepped to the bow and looked at the island, sleeping like a basking shark in the moonlight.

Where the eye of the shark would be, at Masthead Point, she saw a flash of light. She felt instantly that it was the focus of the evil. Papa Jacques was there. She knew it as certainly as if she were there herself. And Michael Brody's family was at risk.

The fool! To hurl a houngan's asson at the sea! It would be better for Michael if he had strangled the witch doctor where he stood; had Papa Jacques's loa become a diab from hell, and an eater of men, it was hardly more dangerous for Michael and his family than Papa Jacques's mortal, breathing soul, which was consumed with hate.

She stepped off the ferry at the Prince George Town dock and walked to her little VW. She slipped inside and started the engine.

Then she sat drumming on the wheel. She was frightened of Papa Jacques; more than anyone on the Cay, she thought, she realized his power and his evil.

And she was tired, and Jake would be anxious—she hoped if—she was late.

That Michael Brody was in danger was none of her business: Louisa had done what she could for the child. She had a deep and gloomy conviction that Jake's friendship with Mike was dangerous for him and would come to no good end. So why should she risk a spell on herself for a family of fat-cat whites?