Daylight wouldn't be any better.
A three-story wood frame house stood squarely between two others. A centerpiece, white with black trim. The surrounding houses were standing open to the night, in the process of being rebuilt. The Caprice pulled into a driveway, drove around to the back. We followed, the trail car behind us.
We stepped out. I looked around as Clarence opened the trunk. High wood fence, the planks nailed solidly together. Chicken coop in one corner, a small black-and-white goat tethered. A two-car garage, doors closed.
I took the package in my arms again. Car doors slammed. The others got out. The messenger came over to us.
"Will you follow me, please?"
112
The back door opened into what had probably been a kitchen once. We followed the messenger through an entranceway into a long rectangular room. Neatly dressed men and women crowded the place. Sober clothing, spots of color on the women— a small red feather in a hat, a white scarf. The front door had a steel gate behind it.
"This way," the man said.
Down the stairs, to a basement. Under the ground, under the surface. In the blackness, I wished for Sheba. Sharp, clean smell, like cloves cooking, everything whitewashed.
At the bottom of the stairs, against the far wall, a woman. Sitting in a huge chair of dark, oiled wood, the back fanning into a seashell shape behind her. She was wrapped in red silk, loose around her shoulders, falling into a natural V at her breasts. Long dark hair, coffee-with-cream skin, dark red lips.
The messenger stepped ahead, motioning us to stay where we were. Bowed to the woman, said something in a rapid-fire language I didn't know. Sounded like some kind of French.
"Speak their tongue," the woman said, her voice darkly rich, gold-laced loam.
"We have done as you commanded," the man said in reply.
"Come forward," the woman said.
I approached, Clarence just behind me on my right. I bowed, folding my upper body protectively over the package.
"They have no weapons," the woman said.
Sounds in the darkness: a pistol taken off full cock, a sword being sheathed.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Burke."
"You have brought us our offering?"
"Yes," I said. "That and an apology."
"Your friend, he is the one who hurt one of our people? In Central Park?"
"No."
"Yes, he is the one. You would lie for a friend?"
"I would die for one," I said quietly, cursing myself, clutching the juju bag.
"Your friend is young. He did not know what he was doing?"
"He only thought I was to be attacked."
"Yes. Give what you have brought to us."
The messenger stepped forward. I handed him the bag. He placed it reverently on a dark slab of polished wood. At a nod from the Queen, he unwrapped it carefully, gently removing the plastic. Held the bag up for her to see.
"It is as it was," she said. "You will return it to the sacred place."
He bowed.
"Come closer," the woman said.
Clarence and I started toward her. "Just you," she said. "Let your friend stay— I have not asked his name."
She was younger than I first thought— hard to tell exactly. Even in the flame from the candles, I could see she was exquisite. One eye darker than the other, a black dot high on one cheekbone. Seated before me, knees together under the red silk, one hand on each arm of the dark wood chair, she looked into my eyes as if she were looking down. A long distance.
"Why did you take our offering?"
"I was looking for a missing baby. I came across your offering, but I didn't know what it was. I thought it might be evidence. Something that would help me find the baby."
"What did you think it was?"
"Witchcraft."
"You do not fear witches?"
"Yes, I fear them."
"You have known them, then?"
"One of them." Strega. Flame-haired and fire-hearted. At peace now. And so gone from me.
Her chin tilted, studying me. "Yes, you have. But not one of us."
"No."
"The juju is an offering. When one of us dies, his spirit will be doomed unless we make a loa so it can return to earth. That is what you took."
"I am sorry. Had I known…"
"Yes. Are you afraid now?"
"Yes, I am afraid now."
"What kind of man admits he is afraid standing before a woman?"
"A man who has seen things."
"Tell me about the baby, the missing baby."
"A grandmother was told her grandchild had disappeared. The baby was too young to run away. Her daughter had been with a man. A bad man, the baby's father. She believed something had happened to her grandson. Her people asked me to look for the child."
"What have you found?"
"The baby is dead."
"How do you know this?"
"The mother told me. The father killed him. Beat him to death. I was looking for the body."
"So she who loved the baby could help his spirit rise?"
"Yes. Not the mother."
"I know. You are a hunter. The young one too. It is the father you seek now?"
"The authorities are looking for him."
"Yes. Have you found the body?"
"Not yet. The father, his name is Emerson, he lived at the Welfare hotel by the airport. When he left, the night of the death, he had the baby's body with him. When he came back, he did not. I think the baby's in the water, right by the airport."
"He killed the child the same night you took our offering?"
"No. A week or so before."
"So when you saw the offering, you thought…"
"Yes. I thought the baby was in there. Parts of the baby."
The woman closed her eyes, brought hands to her temples. It was so quiet in the basement I could hear the candles flicker.
I could feel Clarence behind me, waves pulsing in the room.
Her eyes opened.
"Describe the man," she said.
I reached in my pocket, handed her the razor-cropped picture we'd taken from the hotel room.
She took one quick look. I heard a snake's hiss— didn't look around to see where it came from.
"Please go upstairs. Outside. Smoke some of your cigarettes. I must talk with my people. Then we will talk again."
I bowed.
113
I kicked a wooden match into life in the night air, dragged deep on my cigarette.
"Why'd you tell her you was scared, mahn?" Clarence asked.