I laughed. That’s the way she did everything, by feeling, by her gut.

“When you got everything together, mix it all up in the bowl. Use your hands though, not no spoon or nothin’ like that.”

“I have to use my hands?”

She laughed. “Can’t be done no other way. You fixin’ somethin’ for somebody you love, for healin’. Gotta do it with your bare hands and your whole heart. Understand?”

I didn’t need to fully understand to know she was right. If that was how she would do it, I’d take her word. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I gotta go, baby,” she said. “Tell your mama to sit her narrow behind down somewhere, and tell Mo I said Judge Mathis moved to eleven in the mornin’.”

“I will,” I said.

“You take care. Be careful. I dreamed about Mama Lois. She only comes around when there’s about to be a problem. Nothin’ strange goin’ on up there, is it?”

My heartbeat ticked up. Mama Lois was Grandma’s grandma, and she’d been dead since way before I was born. When Grandma dreamed about her, it meant something was off. “Not yet, but I guess we’ll find out.”

There was a long pause. “I love you, baby girl. Call me on the weekend, okay?”

“I will. Love you more.”

I hung up and finished mixing the herbs and oils together in the bowl, pressing them together with my bare hands. I added the ingredients until they formed a sticky paste that resembled the thickness of the batch my grandma had made for my mom last summer. As I sank my fingers into it, warmth bloomed in my palms. The dried calendula turned from brown to vibrant yellow and the pungent, earthy aroma of the petals wafted up. My grandma was right. Everything came together and something in my gut told me it was ready.

I washed my hands and carried the bowl to Mom.

“This is it!” she said excitedly. “Baby, you did it!” She turned to Mo. “Babe, get a paintbrush. You about to paint every inch of me with this.”

Mom kissed me and took the bowl with her as she waddled up the stairs. Mo looked like she wanted to scream.

“I guess I’ll be upstairs, painting your mom,” she said.

“That’s y’all’s business,” I said, laughing.

“You staying up, love?”

“Yeah, for a little while,” I said.

She hugged me and went upstairs mumbling something about not having a paintbrush.

I muted the volume on my laptop. As soon as I heard their door close, I crept up the stairs, past the portraits and pictures that seemed to come alive in the darkness. The black dog’s big yellow eyes followed me as I hurried by. I went to the turret with a million questions tumbling through my head. Was there really a safe behind the painting, and what could possibly be inside that warranted this kind of secrecy?

A single bulb illuminated the cramped space now that the sun had set, and the portrait of the woman Circe called Medea hung on the wall, looking more ominous than she had in the daytime. Her expression was serious, maybe even angry and her eyes were steely, painted in a way that made me feel like she was looking at me no matter where I stood. I lifted the painting off the nail and set it on the floor. Behind it was a silver wall safe with a combination lock.

I turned the dial. Right, left, right. 7–22–99.

It popped open.

“Please let it be a million dollars,” I said to myself.

A single folder sat inside. It wasn’t thick enough to have a million dollars in it. I was disappointed. I took it out and sat in a rocking chair under the light bulb so I could see.

There were three envelopes in the folder. Each one had my name, and they were numbered one through three. It was the same handwriting as the letter Mrs. Redmond had given me. Clearly this woman, my birth mother’s sister, wanted to communicate with me, but I hesitated. Circe was a stranger. She didn’t know my favorite color, or my favorite food, or that I couldn’t sleep if I had socks on. She didn’t know anything about me and I didn’t know she existed until a few days before. The house was going to help my family, but these letters, whatever they were, felt like a burden I didn’t want.

I shoved the envelopes back in the safe and rehung the picture. As I reached up to turn off the light, something outside the window caught my eye.

There was someone standing in the dark, looking at the house.

I moved closer to the window to get a better look. It was a young woman with a crown of silver-gray hair, blown out in a way that made it look like her head was surrounded by a luminous cloud. I had to blink a few times to make sure I was really seeing her.

She met my gaze like she knew I’d be standing there, staring down at her. She smiled, and I bolted downstairs to tell my parents there was a stranger in the driveway.

CHAPTER 7

I knocked on my parents’ door.

“Come in,” Mom called.

I opened the door a crack. “There’s someone outside.”

“What?” Mo called from the bathroom. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I know, but she’s standing in the driveway. I saw her from the window upstairs.”

Mo came barreling out of the bathroom in her tank top and sweatpants.

Mom jumped up and pulled her taser from her purse. She pushed the button and a bolt of static electricity split the air with a loud crack. “I’m not playin’ games. Get in the closet.”

“Mom! I’m not going in the closet.”

I quickly turned and followed Mo down the stairs before Mom forced me to hide. Mo went to the window next to the front door and peered out. She reached for the doorknob.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mom asked as she came racing after us.

“I see somebody,” Mo said.

“You just gonna open the door?” Mom asked, peeking through the window next to her. “Investigating weird people in the driveway will get your ass sliced up, Angie. You’ve seen Us. Come on now.”

“She could be hurt or something,” Mo said. She unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack. “Can I help you?”

I didn’t hear an answer.

Mom sighed. “ ‘Can I help you?’ Really, Angie?” She brushed past Mo and wrenched open the door. She hit the button on her Taser again. “You’re on private property!” Mom shouted. “You ain’t never met nobody like me—” She stopped short.