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
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.
I stifled a laugh. “You thought I was joking when I said she’s never made a waffle in her life?”
“I did, actually,” he replied.
I led Karter down the hall and as we rounded the corner into the kitchen, we saw Mo wearing a full-on chef’s uniform: the white coat, the hat—everything.
“Yikes,” I said.
Mo’s head whipped around.
“Watch and learn, baby girl,” she said. “Watch and learn.”
“Where’d you even get that outfit?” I asked.
Mo waved me away. “Don’t worry about it.”
She laid out all the ingredients she was going to use on the counter. Karter and I sat at the narrow table at the rear of the kitchen as Mom walked in and immediately took out her phone. Mo mixed the ingredients together and poured the batter onto the waffle iron. It made a loud hissing sound.
“Is that smoke?” I asked.
“It’s steam,” Mo said.
A half hour later, our blackened waffles were in the trash and the windows were open so the wispy clouds of gray smoke could escape. Mo drove into town to pick up breakfast under the condition that we would never speak about her waffle-making skills ever again.
After breakfast, Karter and I went outside. It was barely midmorning but the warm summer air was already heavy. The combination of a full stomach and the heat made me feel lazy as we circled around to the back of the house. I eyed the entrance to the hidden path.
“You gotta give Mo an A for confidence,” said Karter. “She was convinced she could make that breakfast. You really don’t know where she got the outfit?”
“No idea,” I said, laughing. “I feel bad, but she’s really good at lunch and dinner. I don’t know why she can’t get the hang of breakfast. We usually get bagels.”
“Probably a good idea.” He put his hands in his pockets. “So, what now? Are you guys staying long-term or . . .”
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t think we would. I didn’t want to come up here at first.”
“Why?” Karter asked.
“I was worried. This is a big change and the city is . . . familiar. Being out here is all new.”
“I get that,” said Karter.
“But I kind of fell out with my friends,” I said. “Maybe ‘fell out’