Professor Kent laughed. “Yes. Being a woman was enough to get you labeled a witch in those days, but for her, it had more to do with her talent for crafting poisons.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. My mind went in circles. “Can I—can I put together an email with my questions and send it to you? This is a lot to take in.”

“Oh, sure. Whatever works best for you. Tell Angie and Thandie I said hello, and please feel free to call, text, or email anytime. I never tire of talking about these things.”

“Thanks, Professor.”

I hung up and sat quietly for a minute. Everything I knew about Greek mythology came from watching Hercules a few too many times as a kid, wishing a little too hard to be one of the muses. I knew the story of Achilles because I shared my name with his wife and had looked into it only to find out Patroclus was the love of his life and Briseis was probably just their homegirl. And of course, I’d listened to the Hadestown soundtrack more times than I could count—but they were stories. Myths. I opened a blank email and tried to put my questions for Professor Kent in some kind of order.

Professor Kent,

1)First, you’re an expert on this. What’s your consulting fee? Your time is valuable, and I’m not asking you to do this for free. Please send me your Venmo or PayPal.

2)Greek myths were based in reality? All of them or just some? And which ones?

3)You said Medea could have been a real person, a witch? Like the Wicked Witch of the West or Sabrina?

I had other questions, but I didn’t think Professor Kent would be the right person to ask. That name—“Colchis.” It was my birth mother’s family name. It made me wonder if their interest in Medea had turned into an unhealthy obsession.

Going over everything in my head left me even more curious about what was behind that door in the Poison Garden. More paintings of Medea? More books? Something else?

I sent the email to Professor Kent and sat back against the pillows, gazing up at the canopy above my bed. If I was supposed to know what was behind the secret door, why didn’t Circe leave me a key like she had for everything else?

I grabbed my phone and dialed Mrs. Redmond. Her voice mail picked up, but I didn’t leave a message. I sent Karter a text to see if he could put me in touch with his mom, but when he didn’t text back in the five minutes I was willing to wait, I decided to ask Mom or Mo to take me into town so I could stop by Mrs. Redmond’s office. I found them in the extra bedroom, rummaging through an old wardrobe full of winter coats.

“Do you think we could drive into town?”

“Sure,” said Mo. “I need to go to the store anyway. Where do you need to go?”

“Mrs. Redmond said she might have another key for me,” I said, immediately regretting it.

“A key to what?” Mom asked.

“The closet in my room,” I lied. “It’s locked and the skeleton key doesn’t work in it.”

Mo ran to grab her keys, and I tucked my still-damp twists under a head scarf and met her in the driveway. We drove into town and parked in front of the grocery store.

“I can walk over from here,” I said, climbing out of the car. The muggy air fogged my glasses, and I wiped them on my shirt. “Wanna meet up at that coffee shop we saw the other day, the one by the candle shop?”

“Sounds good,” she said.

Mrs. Redmond’s office was two blocks over. As I made my way there, I peeked inside some of the storefronts off Market Street—a thrift shop, a pizza joint, and a place selling handmade wind chimes and birdhouses. Tucked along a side street was a small boutique with a chalkboard sign that read Lucille’s. Through the window, I saw an older woman with a head full of locs standing behind the counter. We made eye contact, and I was about to look away when I realized I recognized her from somewhere. She motioned for me to come in. I pushed open the door and ducked inside.

“I was wondering when we would run into each other,” she said. Her big brown eyes were bright as she looked me over. She pressed her fingertips to her lips.

I still couldn’t place where I’d seen her. “Sorry, but do I know you? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“I work the morning shift at the candle shop down the block. I saw you the other day across the street.”

As she grinned, the memory of seeing her with Mo that first time we’d come into town came back to me.

“I knew that face,” she said. “You Colchis women are carbon copies of one another.” She came around the counter and took my hands in hers, tracing her fingertips over my palm. She inhaled sharply. She seemed at a loss.

“I’m Briseis,” I said, gently breaking her firm grip.

“I know,” she said.

“How?”

“Word gets around. Marie was up here a few days ago gushing about the beautiful girl at the apothecary.”

Heat rose in my face and I looked down at the floor.

“Ah, young love,” she said wistfully.

“What? No. I—I don’t even know her,” I stammered.

“Just wait,” said the woman, a knowing glint in her eye. “So, tell me, is the shop back up and running? I’m low on supplies. I have to source everything individually now. Mugwort from Alabama, rue from Georgia, sweet grass from California. It’s exhausting.”

“I—I’m gonna reopen it,” I said. Now all I could think about was Marie.

“That’s very good to hear.” She winked at me. “People call me Mama Lucille. You feel free to do the same. Think you could set aside some lavender, vervain, and calendula? Do you have enough of those? Three ounces of each should work. That would tide me over until you get stocked back up.”

“I can set some aside,” I said as I looked around her shop. It was a small, cramped space, but the shelves were overflowing with candles. They weren’t the fruity-smelling kind like the ones from the bath and body shop Lucille worked at in the mornings. These candles were different shapes, sorted by color, and locked inside glass cases.

“What do you use the plants from the apothecary for?” I asked.

“Lots of things,” she said. “Load candles, add them to oils, make teas and soaps, you name it.”

“ ‘Load candles’?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

She thought for a moment. “It means to imbue a candle with a specific purpose using certain oils and herbs.”