“What you want?” said a whispery voice from inside.

“We’re looking for Anna,” I said.

“What you want with Madam Anna?”

“We just have some questions,” I said.

“You the two men she expecting?”

I looked at Horace.

“What two men?” he said.

“A young one and an old one.”

“I suppose, then,” said Horace, “that would be us.”

The door opened wider. A thin old woman with wild, straggly hair and one milky eye stepped forward into the light. “Tell me your names.”

“I’m Victor Carl,” I said. “He’s Horace.”

“Come on in, then, Victor Carl. And you, too, Horace,” she said, stepping aside. “You got any cell phones, you better turn them off now. Madam don’t like radio waves slipping into her home. They interfere with her readings.”

I took out my phone, pressed the off button until the light went dead, and followed her inside.

We were swallowed by the gloom of the apartment’s parlor. Pushed to the walls were a pair of shaggy couches, a passel of old chairs, a high and heavy breakfront. A hooked rug lay like a beaten corpse in the middle of the floor. And all of it was covered by a thick layer of dust and the twining scents of must and incense. It was a room for meetings of unnameable associations, for bizarre sacrificial rites involving roosters and snakes. I looked around for any sign of a child’s presence, dolls or toys or small shoes; there was none. But if this Anna had actually been expecting us, then maybe Horace had slipped up in his inquiries and she knew what we wanted. It wouldn’t be a trick to clean the place of the girl’s presence for our visit.

“Wait,” said the woman, standing now at the far side of the room. We waited as she slipped through a doorway. A moment later she came back out, leaving the door open for us. “Have a seat, and Madam Anna will be with you shortly.”

She watched us carefully with her one good eye as we stepped through the opening, and then she closed the door behind us.

The room we found ourselves in was small and dark, devoid of windows, with two doors. The walls were painted a glossy maroon and covered with strange symbols painted in yellow: swirls and stars and staring eyes. Set in the middle of the room, surrounded by four chairs, was a round table painted a pale blue, with the same yellow symbols. The flames of three thick candles, each placed in the center of a yellow star on the table, provided the only light. A stick of incense smoldered, the air thick with mystery.

I looked at Horace T. Grant in the flickering candlelight, tilted my head, widened my eyes. “I see dead people.”

“Shut your mouth, boy. This place gives me the creeps enough without you adding the horror of your sense of humor.”

We both pulled out chairs and sat and waited. And waited. I checked my watch. I sneezed at the incense. I tapped my foot. Horace, sitting next to me, was literally twiddling his thumbs.

“How do you do that?” I said.

“It takes talent and coordination,” he said, “which means you can count yourself out.”

I was about to get up and go looking for her when the far door opened and a woman stepped inside. She was wearing a shimmering green robe, her eyes were closed and her feet were bare, and she was chanting softly in some language that sounded like it was long dead. I swiveled my head and looked at the door we had come in, then turned back to the chanter. It was the same straggly-haired woman who had greeted us at the front door. Madam Anna, I presumed.

“You couldn’t have just come in with us?” I said.

“I was preparing for our session,” she said as she sat down across from us at the table, “and it helps for me to get a sense of my visitors.” She spoke now with a slight accent that I couldn’t quite place, as if she had been born somewhere in the ocean between Haiti and West Philly. “Now, you said you have questions.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Of course. We all have questions. And I know what it is you are seeking.”

“You do?”

“You have lost someone. Someone you care about very much. And you’ve come to me to find this person.”

“How do you know?”

“It is my business to know. Just as I knew that you were coming. Take off your shoes, please.”

“Our shoes?”

“Oh, yes. It is very important. Our reception from the other world comes through every part of our bodies, including our feet.”

“You want us to take our pants off, too?” said Horace.

“Just the shoes.” As I untied my wingtips, she said, “I will also need an offering of good faith.”

“What kind of offering?”

“Something to show that your heart is pure, your intentions honorable, your search sincere.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “How much?”

“Two hundred dollars for our first contact.”

“You must be confused,” I said.

“But it is you with the questions, so which of us is confused? The offering is not a gift to me, it is a gift to the spirit world in which we will be looking for answers. It is not easy to enter the world of the dead. But before we can discuss the offering, we have business to finish.” She turned her milky eye to the old man beside me, lowered her voice into a schoolmarmish snap. “Horace, you haven’t yet taken off your shoes.”

“I don’t take off my shoes for no one,” he said. “I didn’t take them off in Japan, I didn’t take them off in Korea, I didn’t take them off in my Aunt Sally’s house with all them stupid white carpets, and I’m not taking them off here.”

“You must humble yourself, old man.”

“I’m too old to be humble and not old enough to be called old by the likes of you.”

“Madam Anna,” I said, “I think you have the wrong idea about us.”

“You’re not lost souls?”

“Well, maybe you’re right about that part.”

“And you don’t want to communicate with the dead?”

“Who wouldn’t, actually? But that’s not why we came to you. We’re looking for a missing girl.”

“And you want me to ask the spirits to help the search. It is not what I normally do, but it can be arranged. Though the offering will of course be higher.”

“We’re not here to ask the spirits, you half-blind witch,” said Horace. “We’re here to ask your sorry ass.”

I put my hand on Horace’s biceps to calm him down, squeezed hard to remind him that I was to do the talking, was surprised at the thinness of his arm.

“What my friend means is that we are looking for a missing girl and we hope that you can help us. Her name is Tanya, Tanya Rose.”

She didn’t move after I said the name, didn’t so much as twitch. She stared at me with her one good eye as if trying to banish me with only her gaze. Then she closed her eyes and started her chanting once again. It was strangely beautiful, her chant, strangely haunting, but she could sing all she wanted, we weren’t going anywhere.

After finishing, she opened her eyes and saw, with a flash of disappointment, that we were still at the table. “Who are you to her?” she said.

“I’m her lawyer,” I said.

“How does such a girl have a lawyer?”

“A judge appointed me to find her, to make sure she is all right.”

“I can’t help you.”

“You mind if I look around?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, frankly, ma’am, I don’t.”

“She’s not here, I promise you that.”

“But you know where she is.”

“What would you do if you found her, Victor Carl? Would you send her back to the mother that gave her away? Would you send her back to that man who lives with her mother? Would you feel she is safe, her with him?”

“She’s my client. I’ll do whatever is in her best interests. And I have the law behind me.”

“Where was your law when the mother was trying to toss her aside?”

“You took her, didn’t you?”

“I did what I could for her.”

“And if she’s not here, you gave her away. Again. But I’d bet it wasn’t free. I’d bet there was one of your offerings involved. How much did you sell her for?”