The desk itself was dusty, covered with loose papers, sketches of plants, and books arranged in neat stacks. I pictured Circe or maybe Selene sitting and studying the map and drawings. Carved into the dark cherry wood of the desk’s surface was a symbol I recognized—the same crest from the hidden door in the Poison Garden. I traced the lines and curves of the three faces with my fingers.

I swept my light to the wall behind me. There was only one other thing hanging in the musty space—another painting of Medea. It was bigger than the ones in the turret and set in a heavy, silver frame that was tarnished with age. Medea sat front and center, her big dark eyes staring out at me, her hair down, the tight coils brushing the tops of her bare shoulders. Her hands were cupped together in front of her, and in her palm sat six seeds.

I backed up against the opposite wall to take in the entire painting, and as I did, I saw Medea wasn’t alone in the frame. Standing behind her, taking up the entire top half of the canvas, was another figure. A woman dressed in billowing black robes stood directly behind Medea. Her eyes were the color of ink and her skin was like the velvety petals of the calla lily, Black and beautiful. She had a jet-black mass of thick, lustrous hair framing her head. Set among the valleys and peaks of her natural hair was a crown of golden gilded rays.

The other portraits had made me nervous, like Medea was watching my every move, but this painting stirred in me a profound sense of unease. Like she, and the woman with her, knew exactly who I was and, maybe, what I could do. Their slightly parted lips and piercing stares gave me the unshakable feeling that they were waiting for me to do something. I turned and left the room, yanked down the chain, and watched the fireplace move quietly back into place.

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14

Karter was at the front door at nine the next morning, and I had added the room behind the fireplace to my growing list of secrets.

“How’s your ankle?” I asked.

“Better. It’s just a sprain.” He pulled up his pant leg. His ankle was wrapped, but he didn’t have too much of a limp as he came in. Down the hall, a crash of pots and pans rang out. Karter jumped.

“The hell was that?” Mom yelled from somewhere upstairs.

“Mo’s in the kitchen,” I called back.

She appeared at the top of the stairs. “I was hoping she was gonna forget about breakfast. Karter, baby, I apologize in advance. You don’t have to eat nothin’ she puts in front of you.”

Karter glanced at me, clearly concerned.