There were two narrow windows, a dresser and matching armoire, and a chest near the wall that held neatly folded blankets and sheets. A fireplace was set in the rear wall, and on the marble hearth were a dozen pots housing the remains of shriveled plants.

“Y’all look pitiful,” I said as I stirred the dirt with my fingers. They came back to life, greening up and sprouting a few new leaves. African violets, pastel pink geraniums, jasmine, and a half dozen others woke from their slumber. Lots of quiet plants, like the ones I kept in my own room back home.

I unlocked the windows and pushed them open. A warm breeze swept through the room and cleared out some of the stuffiness. I tried to see around the back of the house but couldn’t get a good view from my room. I went down the hall and peered through a window that overlooked the rear yard.

A large expanse of open grass with a few small outcroppings of trees butted up to a dense tree line. Beyond that was forest as far as I could see, with a few paths snaking into it. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach. I thought I noticed a subtle shift in the tilt of the trees. I quickly stepped away from the window.

A quick series of a half dozen sneezes cut through the air. I went back to Mom’s room to find her sneezing her face off as Mo shook out the curtains in their room.

“I’m gonna need Zyrtec,” Mom said. “Maybe a biohazard suit.”

I jumped onto the bed, sending a plume of dust into the air. Mom shrieked and pulled her T-shirt up over her face. “You tryna kill me?”

I carefully scooted off. Her allergies were a mess in the summertime and being out in the sticks was only going to make them worse.

“What are we gonna do with the extra bedrooms?” I asked.

“We can turn one into an office or something,” Mo said. “Make the other a guest room so your grandma can come visit.”

“She’ll love this place,” I said. Staying here for the summer—or maybe longer—was looking more and more like the right move.

“If we stay,” Mom added. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Just keep an open mind, babe,” said Mo.

“I’m trying,” Mom said, but there was a clear ring of worry in her tone.

“Let’s finish looking around,” I said.

I moved toward the door, but Mo knelt and looked up into the chimney of the fireplace. She reached in and pulled a short chain. The flue groaned as it opened, spilling a pile of rotted leaves and a dead bird into the hearth. Mom looked absolutely done.

“At least it’s clear,” said Mo. “We can put some logs in there, get a bearskin rug. It’ll be romantic.”

Mom rolled her eyes and shoved her hand down on her hip. “Nothing romantic about a roasted chicken in the fireplace.”

Mo inspected the twisted pile of feathers. “I’m pretty sure it’s a crow, but I’m gonna clean it up. Don’t worry.”

While they fussed, I went out to the hallway to look around. More paintings and photographs lined the walls—some in color, some in black and white, and some were paintings that looked like they should be hanging in a museum. At the end of the hall was a narrow door with a bronze handle. I pulled it open and found myself at the foot of a short flight of stairs.”

“There’s another floor,” I called out.

Mom and Mo joined me at the bottom of the staircase. A dim light streamed down from somewhere above.

“Want me to go up first?” Mo asked.

She didn’t have to ask twice. Me and Mom stepped aside to let her through.

“Man, y’all are cold blooded,” she said, shaking her head. She trudged up the stairs. A few moments later she called down to us. “Come on up.”

CHAPTER 6

I climbed the stairs, ducking so I didn’t hit my head on the stairwell’s slanted roof, and emerged in a small room with a conical ceiling.

“We’re in the turret,” I said, peering out a small oval window that overlooked the driveway.

Shelving went around the entire room. Every nook was filled with books, boxes, and a bunch of old furniture. Paintings hung on the walls, but unlike the ones downstairs they all featured the same person—a woman, her skin rendered in the warmest golden brown, her hair and eyes dark. In one gold-framed portrait, she sat at a table scattered with an assortment of strange items. A small fire burned in a dish in front of her as she poured liquid from a cup into the flames. Next to the dish sat a large green toad, an abalone shell, and a coiled red string. The woman stared out at me, her full lips parted, like she was about to say something.

“Do you think she’s related to them?” I asked. “To Circe and the other people in the portraits in the hall?”

Mo studied the painting. “Maybe. She looks a lot like them, like you.”

“We should probably start moving some of the junk out of the bedrooms and get the sheets in the wash so we have a clean place to sleep,” Mom said.

“Good idea,” Mo said. They went to the stairs.

“I just need a minute,” I said.

Mo nodded and ushered Mom down the stairs. I didn’t want to leave yet. Not until I’d had a chance to look at the other painting of the mysterious woman. In it, she was seated next to a man, her right hand extended over a small copper-colored dish, eyes fixed on her work. I could see the painter’s brushstrokes in the red of her dress. The woman looked absolutely focused on whatever was in the dish, and the man next to her sat in rapt attention, his brown eyes wide, regarding her with some mix of fear and intrigue.

I looked around, trying to imagine the people who had lived here before, what they might have been like. It was clear they loved books and had a soft spot for the woman in the paintings. I pictured them standing where I was standing, deciding which books to read and which pieces of old furniture they were going to stow in the turret. A wave of curiosity like I hadn’t felt since I was younger overtook me.

I fished the manila envelope Mrs. Redmond had given me out of my bag and opened it. Inside was a smaller white envelope. My first name was written across the front. I slipped my finger under the lip of the seal. As I pulled it open, a scream cut through the stuffy attic air.

My heart jumped into my throat. I shoved the letter in my pocket and scrambled down the stairs as the scream rang out again. The front door sat open. I raced onto the porch and jumped, bypassing the four steps and landing on the driveway’s cracked pavement. I couldn’t see Mom or Mo anywhere.