I spent the rest of the late afternoon reading and making notes. Every single book that mentioned Medea was marked up, passages underlined with pencil, notes scribbled in the margins. She was a devotee of a goddess called Hecate, Guardian of the Crossroads, Keeper of the Keys. She had a hundred names, and her mythology went back even further than Medea’s, to a time before the gods in Greek myths even existed. Hecate and Medea were always mentioned in connection with each other.

Mo stuck her head in my room. “You okay? You’ve been in here awhile.”

I checked my phone. It was almost eight o’clock.

“I lost track of what time it was.” I jumped off the bed. “I told Mom I was gonna help clean. I’m sorry, I got caught up in these old books I found.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We got plenty of time to clean. I wouldn’t choose cleaning over a good book either, love. As long as you’re okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’m good,” I said. “I have a question though.”

“Shoot,” she said.

“You know anything about Greek mythology?”

She pursed her lips. “I studied business in college, love. Greek mythology wasn’t something I was really into, but I had a friend who was. She was a curator at the Brooklyn Museum for a few years. I don’t know if she’s still there but I can get you her email.”

“That would be perfect. I found all these old stories. There’s this woman named Medea, and—”

“Like the Tyler Perry ‘Madea’?”

“Uh, no,” I said, grinning. “Not Madea, Medea. She was the daughter of a king, and I think a devotee of a goddess, and Circe has pictures of her all over the place. It’s kind of weird, but I wanna look into it.”

“A lot of things are weird around here,” she said. “That guy out back? Weird. I wonder if they’ll arrest him when he recovers if they haven’t already.”

“He’s kind of old,” I said. “I don’t think we should press charges or anything.”

Mo sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to Mom. In the meantime, I got pizza and some organic root beer that probably tastes like ass. It’s downstairs.”

The doorbell rang. I heard the front door creak open, and then Mom called out.

“Briseis? There’s someone here for you.”

“Is it young Trevante?” Mo asked, peering into the hallway.

“His name’s Karter,” I said, checking my phone for a missed text or call.

Nothing.

The stab of disappointment I felt caught me off guard. I was looking forward to hanging out with him again. I went downstairs with Mo trailing behind me.

As I peered around my mom, I recognized the person standing there.