"I'm going," Corey said. In the video, bad-a.s.s Morpheus was pulling himself free of his mind-control drugs and chains, running toward Neo's waiting helicopter in a hurricane of bullets.

Sean put down theVibe magazine he'd been flipping through at the other end of the sofa. "I'll get my jacket," he said. For some reason, he'd changed his mind about going too.

The walk to The Spot wouldn't be easy in the dark, Corey realized. He'd taken his parents out here a few days ago, but at night it was a different story, a blanket of darkness shrouding everything he recognized. He and Sean brought flashlights, but a tunnel of ghostly tree trunks hovered in their beams, penning them in, hiding the trail. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Corey leaned on the wooden staff he'd brought from the junk room for his ceremony, digging hard into the soil with each step. They walked slowly, taking their time.

Around them, the woods were having a party. There were so many insects hissing, rustling, chirping, and humming, Corey wondered how the noise outside his window didn't keep him awake at night. There was nothing quiet about the country. His street in the suburbs was a lot quieter than this at night. But even now, when talking might have put him and Sean at ease, they didn't make a sound as they walked.

Finally, the tree trunks vanished, and the sky opened up. Crisp white stars and a half-moon shone above them like rescue lights. They were at The Spot, the clearing. There was a little more light here, but not much. From where they were standing, Corey couldn't see the trail, and he couldn't tell if it picked up again on the other side. He swept his flashlight beam over the ground, trying to get his bearings. He found a circle of stones covered by a grill. Good. He knew exactly where they were. He and his parents had grilled hot dogs out here, another family outing that had seemed more like a fantasy than real life.Please let them work it out, Corey thought again. "We need to start a fire," he said.

"Great minds think alike. Bet you're glad I carry a lighter now,hombre."

It took fifteen minutes to get a good fire going because the wood they found at the edges of The Spot was damp, but persistence paid off. After only smoking for the first few minutes, their fire finally burst to life within the tower of twigs and branches. It cast so much light in its glowing circle, it reminded Corey of twilight, orange-yellow and beautiful. Moths circled the fire-pit, and the wood popped and spat embers at them.

Once the fire was going, Corey admitted to himself that he'd been getting spooked in the dark. He didn't want to be jumping at shadows all night. He needed the firelight.

Corey breathed deeply, enjoying the air. This air wasn't the same as daytime air, and it wasn't the same air from downtown Sacajawea. It was so sweet and heavy, he had to close his eyes and appreciate it for a while. He could see why people would like sleeping outdoors, breathing this air all night. This was air for a gourmet, someone who took breathing seriously.

"What time is it?" Corey said, not ready to open his eyes to check his watch yet.

"Eight 'til," Sean said.

"Let's do this." Corey's supplies were ready, waiting on the ground beside the fire in the duffel bag he'd brought. He'd rehea.r.s.ed this ceremony in his room for three nights, recreating the different stages, and he could do it in five minutes flat. Less than that. Gramma Marie said he had toconclude the ceremony at midnight. It was almost time.

"You in?" Corey said, rubbing his hands above the fire although his fingers weren't cold. Summer nights were cool here, but not cold. Still, the raw heat felt good against his skin.

Sean nodded. From where he stood at the other side of the fire, he could be a pale phantom.

"Tell me what you want to bring back," Corey said. Without realizing it, he'd dropped his voice to a whisper. It was almost midnight, and it seemed right.

Sean whispered back. "Before she vanished for good, my mom sent me a letter when I was little. But I got p.i.s.sed and threw it away when she stopped calling. There was a picture, too, wallet-sized. It's the only one I had. I want them back."

"I saidone thing."

"They came in the same letter. Technically, it's one thing."

Corey was surprised to realize his hands were shaking slightly, the way they had when he'd found the satchel in the closet. Standing close to the fire so he could see, Corey took the readied page from the satchel. In the firelight, the paper looked golden. He had to start now.

Before any ceremony begins, you must ask permission of Papa Legba to speak to the otherlwas.As I have written earlier, Papa Legba is the doorkeeper between men and spirits, and you must take great pains not to offend him. Our history has been a stormy one, as you have read. When you speak to Papa Legba, speak from your heart with all the reverence that is due to him. Speak to him with love, as it is only love he craves.

Gramma Marie had written many pages about Papa Legba in her book, and suddenly Corey wished he had read more about why her history with Papa Legba was so stormy. He couldn't remember exactly-it was something about his feelings getting hurt, his toes being stepped on-but he hoped ancient history wouldn't hurt his spell tonight. Corey didn't want to butcher the Creole words Gramma Marie had written, so he read the prayer's translation: "Papa Legba, open the gate for me Ago-e...Atibon Legba, open the gate for me. Open the gate for me, Papa, so that I may enter the temple...."

The fire flared brighter with a loud crackle, then ebbed back down. Corey sensed something hidden outside their firelight, and he didn't think it was his imagination. Was Papa Legba here? Suddenly, he felt exposed. It was a struggle to make himself go on. "Please accept my offerings, Papa Legba," Corey said, his voice wavering.

Corey laid out his gifts to Papa Legba in the dry soil beside the fire, as Gramma Marie had written: the wooden walking stick he and Sean had found in the upstairs closet, three shiny pennies, the last drops of rum from a tiny airplane-sized bottle he'd found in the back of the butler's pantry at his house, a pinch of tobacco from one of Sean's cigarettes, and two drum-stick chicken bones, which he crossed in an X.

Still kneeling, Corey pulled a bottle of Evian and a bowl out of his duffel bag, carefully filling the bowl with water. Then, he dug inside a pocket and brought out a handful of leaves and twigs he'd gathered earlier. These were for the spirit of the Great Woods, Gran Bwa. He brought out a second bowl and also filled it with water; his hand was so unsteady now, some of the water spilled, but he had enough left to fill the bowl halfway. The second bowl was for Madame Lalinn, the moon spirit. He found a pocket mirror he'd bought at Downtown Foods and dropped it to the bottom of her bowl, peering down to see his image. His face was dark in the firelight, but he saw his grave expression. He looked older than he had expected to.

For an instant, seeing himself, Corey hesitated. Was this a good idea?

But he'd gone too far now to stop. Corey pulled a rusted medal out of his front pocket. This had been the hardest item to find, and he'd nearly given up on it until he'd visited an antique shop on Main Street. It was a St. Anthony medal, one that had belonged to a woman whose husband never came back from World War II, the shopkeeper had told him. He hoped he would have better luck with it.

Corey laid the medal between the two bowls. He cleared his throat to speak. "Gran Bwa, Madame Lalinn...St. Anthony...please hear me tonight and return what we have lost. Please give me my mother's ring, and please give Sean his mother's letter."

"And the picture," Sean whispered, and Corey was too rapt in the ceremony and the fire's frolicking flames to be annoyed at Sean's intrusion.

The last item in his duffel bag was a sealed plastic container of chicken hearts he'd bought at Downtown Foods, still cold from Sean's refrigerator. He lifted the lid slightly and poured b.l.o.o.d.y water into the soil beside the two bowls and the St. Anthony medal. It splattered in red droplets into the earth, into a pattern that reminded him of a pinwheel. "Please accept this blood sacrifice," Corey said. "Sorry it's not a real chicken."

Sean's watch beeped. Midnight. The fire dimmed, or seemed to.

"Is that it?" Sean said, after a time.

Corey blinked. Aside from the earlier sensation that someone might be watching them, he hadn't felt a thing. "I think so," he said. "I'm not sure. Let's look around."

They turned their flashlights on, searching the ground. Nothing had changed or moved. Each item was where he had placed it.

"Do we get the stuff back right away?" Sean said.

Corey scanned Gramma Marie's page, looking for her instructions for The Lost beyond the drops of chicken blood. She didn't mention anything about how long it would take. He sighed, frustrated. "I don't know. Maybe something's messed up."

He shouldn't have done the spells out of order, that was it. He should have done the cleansing spells first, to try to banish the evil spirit Gramma Marie had written about, if there was any such thing. Why was everything so complicated? Why couldn't he just make a simple trick work? Corey suddenly felt silly, irritable, and tired. What had he expected? If there was real magic in the world, he would have seen evidence of it by now. It would be on CNN.

He poured out the water in the bowls, dousing half of the fire. Darkness fell over them as they lost some of their light, but the fire struggled to live.

"Man, let's roll," Corey said to Sean. "I don't think it worked."

"Shouldn't we wait to see?"

"We'll come back in the morning. We can't stay here all night."

Sean started to argue, but they both went tomb silent when they heard the sound from the woods, high-pitched and maniacal. If Corey had felt any sensation in his legs or anywhere else, he would have run. Both bowls fell from his hands, one shattering on a large stone near the fire-pit. Sean crouched, pointing his flashlight toward the woods, as wild-eyed as he'd looked when he wanted to lunge at Bo Cryer.

"Who's there?"

Corey was impressed by the command in Sean's voice, until he realized the voice had been his. He was also surprised to realize he'd picked up the stone nearest to him, ready to throw it at the first thing that moved. He grabbed the walking stick, too, gripping it hard, another weapon.

The sound was laughter, he realized. The laughter was closer to them, bizarre and childish, but so loud it seemed barely human. Corey heard leaves crunch in the woods under footfall, someone running toward them. The fear Corey had felt with Bo at Pizza Jack's a few hours ago had gotten his heart pumping, but the fear he felt now sat in his stomach like a block of ice. He was no longer Corey Toussaint Hill, high school soph.o.m.ore, about to turn sixteen in the fall; he was one faceless creature being hunted by another.

Sean yelled out, and Corey spun to look at him. He saw a crystal-clear image in his mind of something dragging Sean into the fire."Holy sh-"

What Corey really saw, though, was a girl. A tall teenage white girl had dashed out of the woods toward them, her long pale dress flying behind her, and the sudden sight of her had so shocked Sean that he'd lost his balance and fallen too close to the fire-pit. Sean backed away from the heat, rubbing his singed palms on his chest while he gaped at the girl.

She was barefoot, about sixteen. Her hair was in two neat blond pigtails, one flapping on each side of her head, and for a moment Corey thought it was the same girl he'd seen at Pizza Jack's, the one Bo had lost his mind over. But no, she was taller than that girl, and her frame was smaller. She was wearing a light blue dress with puffy short sleeves that struck him as old-fashioned, and although it was a neat dress, he noticed it was frayed at the hem, almost worn to rags. It was late June, but tonight's temperature was only about sixty degrees. Wasn't she cold?

"You should see the look on your faces!" the girl said, doubling over as she laughed.

Corey lowered his rock, but he didn't drop it. "Who are you?" he said.

She didn't answer, still consumed in her laughter. She plopped down onto the ground cross-legged beside what was left of the fire. She didn't pull her dress down over her knees to be modest, so Corey found himself staring at the yawning shadow between her unshaven pale legs.

"Papa Legba, hear my prayer!" the girl cried, mocking, and she fell to her side, laughing.

Corey and Sean looked at each other. Now that he realized his worst nightmare hadn't just come screaming to life, Sean was smiling a little. Seeing Sean smile, Corey smiled, too. He stared down at the items at his feet-the broken bowl, the St. Anthony medal, the crossed chicken bones. He had to laugh, too. A little.

"Yeah, okay, so it sounds funny," Corey said to the girl. "You shouldn't sneak up like that, though. I was about to nail you with this rock."

"You couldn't hit the broad side of an elephant with that rock," the girl said, grinning.

The smile did it. For the first time, Corey noticed how pretty she was. Her teeth were as white as the teeth of the actors who sometimes came to Mom's parties in L.A., polished and scrubbed. Her cheekbones, in the firelight, looked like a wood carving. She wasn't as cute as Vonetta at home, mostly because she didn't have Vonetta's lips, but she wasn't bad.

"What are you doing out here alone in the middle of the night?" Sean said.

The girl gathered up the folds of her dress and squatted by the fire, balancing on the b.a.l.l.s of her bare feet. "Watching my entertainment," she said. "Watching you two act like fools."

Corey replaced the page in Gramma Marie's satchel. He didn't want this nutty girl to see his spells, no matter how pretty she was. "First of all, it's none of your business," Corey said.

Intrigued, the girl shot up to her feet. She walked closer to Corey, until she was standing in front of him and he could see her eyes, almost luminescent in the firelight. Were they gray or blue? There was a quarter-moon birthmark high on her right cheek, and she was at least two inches taller than him. "Did he answer?" the girl said.

"Who?"

"Papa Legba. When you called him, did he answer?" Her deep gaze unnerved him.

"I don't know," he said.

She smiled a teasing smile, then shook her head slowly back and forth. "Sorry...," she said in a singsong voice, her eyes knowing things she shouldn't. "Papa Legba isn't here. I'm the only one here tonight." She b.u.mped herself against him, and her loose b.r.e.a.s.t.s sank into his chest. They felt like soft, warm pillows against him, welcoming.

Corey backed up, startled. The girl laughed again, and he felt blood rush to his face.

The heat from her body drew him, nearly held him in place, and Corey felt his groin growing heavy, twitching with arousal. There were girls like this at his school, who came on to any guy who pa.s.sed their way. And this girl might be homeless, the way she was dressed, not wearing any shoes. She could use a bath, too. She didn't smell clean.

"Where do you live?" Corey said.

"Around," the girl said.

"What's your name?"

"Becka," she said.

"My name's Sean," Sean said quickly, probably feeling left out.

Becka gave Sean a quick glance over her shoulder and shrugged at him. "You're not the one I want to talk to," she said to Sean.

Ouch. That was cold, Corey thought.

"You don't live here in the woods, do you?" Corey said.

Becka shrugged again. Her eyes were back on his, that infinite gaze. "Why don't you send your friend home and stay with me tonight?" she said. "I'll show you where I live."

Sean sighed, obviously expecting Corey to leave him. But Corey shook his head. Despite a growing b.o.n.e.r that felt like a foot-long iron club as Becka inched closer to him, the situation struck him as wrong. He touched her hair, feathery and light. He could honest-to-G.o.d get laid tonight, he realized. But he didn't want to, not like this. She smelled wrong.

"Nah," he said, before he could talk himself out of his decision.

"Why not?" she said.

"Don't you even want to know my name?" Corey said.

"I know your name."

"What?"

"Toussaint," she whispered, saying the name like it was treasure. His neck thrilled.

"I go by my first name," he said. "Corey."

"Stay with me tonight, Corey. I'll teach you real magic."

"Corey?" Sean said, sounding nervous. "We better head back."

Becka's index finger poked Corey in the chest, and she let it trail downward, toward his navel. Corey's stomach fluttered violently, and he grabbed her hand. Once her hand got below his belt, his brain would shut down and he'd stay out here tonight whether he wanted to or not. Already, antic.i.p.ating her touch, his d.i.c.k was swelling in a way he couldn't remember, on a mission. His jeans felt confining, painful.

"My friend's right," Corey said, too embarra.s.sed to adjust himself in front of the girl. "Listen, you're really pretty, but we have to go. Maybe I could see you some other time?"

The smile never left the girl's face. "Why not?" she said. She backed up one step, two, then she waved and turned on her heel. She was running back toward the woods, into the dark.

"How can I get back in touch with you?" Corey called after her.

"Say my name," she said.

"Are you sure you're okay out here?" Corey called again. But the girl didn't answer. Corey watched her retreat until she was out of the firelight, and then she was gone, with only the sound of her feet in the leaves and twigs in the darkness, running.

"What the h.e.l.l wasthat about?" Sean said quietly, at Corey's side. They both watched the woods to see if she would come back, but she didn't. Her brief appearance felt dreamy to him. If Sean weren't here, Corey might have believed he'd imagined her.

"I don't know," Corey said. His heart was thrashing. He shifted himself so his jeans wouldn't pinch. Then, he slapped his rigid biceps when he felt a mosquito bite his arm.

"That's the weirdest girl I've ever seen."

"You're just jealous," Corey joked, then he patted Sean's shoulder. "No, man, I know what you mean. She looks homeless to me. I don't think anybody lives back there. I thought that was just woods."

"We should report her."

"I guess we could, but she won't get found unless she wants to be."

"You're not going to sleep with her, are you?" Sean's question was a judgment.

"Nah," Corey said, although he wasn't sure. If shewasn't homeless, that was different. She might be a little weird, but she was cute as h.e.l.l. There were worse ways to lose his virginity.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Sean said. "Remember Glenn Close inFatal Attraction . When girls you don't know are that eager, watch out. There's a catch. What's up with the way she showed up as soon as you finished that spell? I don't like it. I say we get back home."

Now that Sean had put it that way, Corey realized he was right. Itwas weird, all around.