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.