“There’s an altar in this house,” Mom said on the phone. “There’s a statue of a woman with three faces.” She paused as Auntie Leti asked her a question. “Garlic, onions, black flowers, crow’s feet.” Her face relaxed as my aunt spoke. “Leti, hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.” She held the phone out. “Go ahead.”

“This isn’t my practice, Thandie. You know that.”

“I know,” said Mom. “Just tell them what you told me.”

“The triple goddess is Hecate. Also known as the Queen of Witches, Keeper of the Keys, Guardian of the Crossroads. In Greek mythology, she’s said to have aided Demeter in her search for Persephone.”

The hair on the backs of my arms stood straight up.

“She’s ancient,” Auntie Leti said. “An original goddess, or an entity that the goddess label was slapped onto because they didn’t have a name for what she was. The black flowers, the crow’s feet, black stones, candles—those are all for her. Like an offering. She’s often said to be accompanied by a black dog. She’s the guardian of women and children, so I wouldn’t be overly concerned.”

“It’s too late for that, Leti,” Mo said.

“There was a picture of Briseis on the altar,” Mom said.

There was a sharp intake of breath and a long pause.

“Take me off speaker,” said Auntie Leti.

Mom talked to her for a few more minutes, while Mo moved behind me to examine something on the wall. “Briseis, look,” she said.

Something was drawn there—an intertwined maze of twisting lines, like vines, each new leaf bearing a name. There were hundreds of branches, each bough sheltering dozens of generations beneath it. “Colchis” was painted in a flowing script at the very top, and directly underneath was the crest—from the hidden door in the Poison Garden, from the desk in the room behind my fireplace, from the drawing Mrs. Redmond had given me.

“Shine your light up there,” I said.

Mo pointed her light at the top of the wall. The unmistakable face of Medea emerged from the gloom, her dark eyes staring down at us. Her name was written under her portrait, and every branch stemmed from her. She was the founder of this family tree. I traced the branches until I found, near the bottom where the leaves were sparse, my name nested under Selene’s: Briseis Colchis.

Mom came up behind me and seemed to take in the wall in one sweeping glance. “Baby, this is incredible. Look how far back this goes.”

I scanned the wall. Near the top, directly to the right of Medea’s painted face, was another portrait—a man. His branches intermingled with Medea’s, but abruptly split off.

“What did Auntie Leti say?” I asked.