The shadowy path led us to the back side of the iron fence, where two overlapping pieces didn’t quite connect. Marie slipped through the opening and waited on the other side. I hesitated.

“A little farther,” Marie said.

I squeezed through the fence and followed Marie into the thicket behind the graveyard.

“This is the site of the original cemetery,” she said. “Watch your step.”

Grave markers, most of them level to the ground and so broken they lay in heaps among the brush, dotted the ground. I stumbled trying to keep from stepping on them. Marie came to a sudden stop and I bumped into her. She set her hands on my waist to steady me. I lifted my head to meet her gaze but her eyes were downcast. I followed her mournful stare. There, among the weeds, overgrown grass, and twisted roots, was a small white headstone.

CIRCE COLCHIS

OCTOBER 31, 1970 –JANUARY 12, 2020

My attention was drawn to the grave next to Circe’s. It was covered in hellebore, a poisonous black flower with a bright yellow center. They crowded the grave marker.

I bent and brushed them aside. The cold tingling rushed over my fingers and then faded. I didn’t immediately look at the name on the marker. Did I know who it would belong to? Is that why I had bent to clear it without hesitation? I gathered myself and looked at the name.

SELENE COLCHIS

SEPTEMBER 8, 1977–DECEMBER 24, 2007

I set the flowers I’d brought with me against the headstone, and the hellebore coiled around them. An overwhelming sadness enveloped me, stole my next breath, and brought a torrent of silent tears.

“They were always close,” Marie said solemnly. “Like I said, they were private, aside from the business of the apothecary. I think it makes sense that they would’ve wanted to be here together, with the rest of their family.”

I gazed bleary-eyed at the other markers. Every single one that was still readable bore the name Colchis. Perse, Danae, Ares, and all with dates of birth and death ranging from the mid-1800s and some even older than that.

One of the headstones didn’t have a date but read Persephone Colchis and was so crumbled and broken that it probably wouldn’t be legible for much longer.

“They’re all here,” said Marie. “This has been their plot since they came to this place. The house you live in was built on the site of their original homestead. They’ve been here ever since.” Her eyes misted over. “Even after Circe closed down the shop, she was still there like a ghost, walking the halls, mourning every minute of the day.”