I start down the stairs. “Ma’am…ma’am,” I say in the loudest whisper I can manage. “You need to quiet down. Is there someone I can call for you? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

My concern is met with a wall of water as she whirls and splashes me full in the face.

“What the hell?” I gripe. “Hello? I’m trying to help you. Someone’s going to call the police.” I don’t know why I’m bothering; she must be drunk. Or high on something. But I keep thinking of the night I found my mother down here dancing and how I’d want someone to be kind to her if they found her this way.

The woman’s slip is soaked and plastered to her body like wallpaper. I can see the lines of her butterfly tattoo through the fabric above her hip. I’m not sure where her dress went. I see a pair of heels on one of the tables and a small bag with pearl handles. Again, she splashes water in my face.

“Hey!” I say a little louder this time. “Seriously, quit that.”

I reach for her arm, but she slips away from me like a pink eel. “What’s your name?” I ask, trying to get her attention.

“What’s your name?” she echoes.

Damn this city, I think coldly. I go to her purse and open it, but there’s nothing inside except a wad of twenty-dollar bills. I snap it shut again and hold it up for her. “You’re going to get robbed,” I try to tell her. “You can’t just leave cash like that lying around here.”

“Hey, that’s mine,” she says, stumbling toward me. At least I finally got her attention.

She climbs out of the fountain and snatches her purse from my hand, only to toss it back onto the table. She grabs my hands in hers and tries to drag me to the fountain. “Get in,” she says playfully. “Get in with me! It’ll be fun.”

With some effort, I pull my hands out of hers. I’m not sure what to do, and I’m not sure why I care, but I do the only thing I can think of in a moment like this. “Come upstairs,” I tell her. “I’ll find something dry for you to wear.”

She just stands there, blinking at me. I realize then how undeniably beautiful she is. Her skin is flawless. Her eyes are wide and bluer than hydrangea blossoms. Her hair reaches past the small of her back. She can’t be more than ten years my senior, but she seems ageless. She’s no High Priestess, but I also doubt she is just a stray.

“I have food,” I say in another attempt to lure her inside.

That gets her attention. “I’m starving!” she declares and reaches for her shoes.