“No, you can’t come in.” Wearing a black shawl over her white night gown, Fredeline’s stands in the wedge of her bedroom door, looking tenser than Honoré has ever seen her before. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” she says. “Maggie slipped away, that’s all.”
“But her face.” Honoré tries to see into the room. “Why is her face painted white like that?”
McGauran whispers close to his ear, “Devil magic.”
“Hush now.” Fredeline shoots McGauran a sharp look. “You have your religion, I have mine. There’s nothing evil about asking Papa Legba for a little help sometimes. Now you two go back upstairs and let me do my work.”
Honoré tries to see into the bedroom again. There’s a mirror reflecting the dance of flickering candles. “Can’t we come in? Please? We’ll be very quiet. So discreet.” He presse
