When I got to the clearing, I scanned the entire area. As far as I could see, no one was lurking in the shadows. I was alone aside from the trees and flowers, but I didn’t really feel alone. I was meant to be there. I didn’t know how or why, but it had to be true.

In front of the gate I stood on shaky legs as the carpet of black bat flowers curved toward me like they were waiting anxiously for me to open it. A thousand thoughts tumbled through my head. I didn’t know what was behind the gate or why Circe felt it was so important that I find out, but I couldn’t walk away from this.

I held the key that had been taped to the map in my trembling hand. As I put it in the lock, the bougainvillea curled down and encircled my wrist, twisting around it gently before snapping itself off, leaving me with a beautiful bracelet of purple blooms. Few things shocked me when it came to what foliage might do around me, but this left me in awe.

The lock clicked open and the vining plants gripped the gate’s iron bars, pulling them apart. I took a few tentative steps inside.

The gate suddenly clanged shut and I almost jumped out of my skin. The trees righted themselves, covering the entrance so that I couldn’t see through the gate’s bars. No one would be able to follow me, but what exactly had I walked into?

Dead leaves crunched under my feet as I followed the path through a stone corridor that terminated in a sharp left turn, like an entrance to a maze. I rounded the corner and found myself looking at a large rectangular courtyard. A tree stood in the center, its gnarled trunk—as wide as a car—led up to a canopy that fanned out like a giant umbrella. Pressed into the inner walls of the stone enclosure were metal pegs that held rakes, small shovels, and coiled hoses. Several watering cans of various sizes littered the ground. A rusted spigot stuck out of the wall.

Raised beds filled the courtyard in a checkerboard pattern, each divided into quarters by wooden planks. Every bed was full of plants, but they were all dead, their leaves yellowed, their stalks broken. A short wooden pillar with a plaque affixed to the top stood in front of each bed. I walked to the closest one and scraped off a thick layer of green moss to read the words under it.

ANGELICA

Angelica archangelica

I weaved my way through the beds, cleaning off the other signs. Each of the dozens of plots had a label that matched one of the jars from the apothecary. I studied the map again. The rectangles represented the raised beds, and a thick black line drawn through the center represented a wall that divided the front of the garden from another area behind it. I followed the path, passing under the enormous tree.