They were in the library, lights turned low, the fire glowing in a bed of ash and one of Tim’s eternal ragas on the stereo, just settling in, just waiting for the neural fireworks to start, when an unaccountable sound—a buzzing, it seemed like—began to intrude itself under the cascading flights of the sitar. She heard it and then she didn’t. Heard it again and then didn’t. She was sitting cross-legged on the carpet with Ken, Fanchon and Susannah in a little group apart from the others and they’d been talking about the Light, the ecstatic allbright light that obliterates your field of vision and announces the presence of God, a light each of them in turn admitted they’d never yet seen, but were hoping to, maybe even tonight—when the buzzing started in again and she interrupted Susannah, who was saying that it wasn’t the First Light you were ultimately seeking but the one it gave rise to, the Second Light, which appeared only to the very highest adepts and opened up God and the universe to them for all of time and the time beyond that. Which seemed to Joanie a dubious proposition, as if you could put God on order, and of course to do that would mean that He actually did exist, for which she’d yet to see the evidence—or intuit it. But anything was possible . . . wasn’t it?

“Do you hear that?” she asked, interrupting.

“What?”

“Oh, wait,” Ken said, “I hear it—a buzz, right? Or is that just the drug coming on?”

Something made her push herself up and go out into the hall to investigate. It was supremely interesting to be on her feet—she felt inexpressibly light, as if her shoes weren’t touching the floor at all, as if there were no floor or ground beneath it either. There were shadows everywhere. Cutouts of witches on brooms ascended the walls and a pair of jack-o’-lanterns glowed on either side of the door. Jack-o’-lanterns. With slit eyes and pointed fangs. Inside them was molten lava, a whole volcano’s worth, and suddenly it was pouring out all over the room and she realized that she was in the experience now, deep in it, except for that buzzing, which was . . . which was . . . the front door! Wasn’t it? Yes. The front door. Definitely the front door.

No one had expected trick-or-treaters. Here they were all the way up at the far end of the village and with a mile-long drive to boot, but wouldn’t it be a surprise—a treat, a gas, as Charlie would say—to see kids in costumes? That would be the ultimate. She would love that. She went to the door expectantly, took hold of the handle, which seemed in that moment to be melting under the touch of her skin, and pulled it open.