I’m sitting on the floor in the center of Ezra’s living room, waiting for Bea to finish preparations for the ritual. My wrists are tied together, and my hands are resting in my lap. The furniture is shoved and stacked against the walls to give us as much room as possible. I’m encircled by flowers and herbs that make my skin crawl and my nose burn. Bea has lit several candles and half a dozen large cones of incense. The scent is earthy and pungent.

I send a tentative ...