You need me to forgive you before you leave, or have you forgotten already?”

Calliope gritted her teeth. Of course she hadn’t forgotten, but as far as she was concerned, Ingrid was never going to forgive her. Even if she did, Calliope doubted every girl she’d killed would, as per Kate’s ruling, which meant she would likely be stuck in the Underworld for eternity. That was longer than Calliope was prepared to wait. “Unless you want me to attach your feet to the ground, you will stay,” she snapped.

“You can do that?”

Calliope didn’t bother answering. Instead she headed toward the fog and away from Ingrid, who at least had the decency not to follow her. The farther from Ingrid she got, the dimmer the meadow became, until Calliope was surrounded by rock—the real face of the Underworld now that there wasn’t a dead soul around to inf luence its appearance.

Now that she was closer, she could see that the fog wasn’t really fog after all. Instead it seemed to shimmer in the air, a thousand tendrils of light reaching for her. Calliope reached back, and the moment her f ingers touched the strange glow, she understood why it had called to her. At last, after decades of waiting, he was awake.

Calliope smiled, and a rush of power so ancient it didn’t have a name spread through her. With Ingrid nothing more than a distant memory, she stepped forward, and the anger she’d harbored for so long f inally found its purpose.

“Hello, Father.”

CHAPTER ONE

RETUR N TO EDEN

When I was a kid, each fall my teachers had the class write and present one of those horrible “What I Did Last Summer” essays, complete with pictures and funny anecdotes designed to make a classroom full of bored students pay attention.

Each year I sat and listened as my classmates in my New York City preparatory school talked about how they’d spent the summers in the Hamptons or in Florida or in Europe with their rich parents, or au pairs, or as we grew older, boyfriends and girlfriends. By the time we reached high school, I heard the same glitzy stories over and over again: escapades in Paris with supermodels, all-night parties on the beaches in the Bahamas with rock stars—every student vied for attention with exploits that got wilder every year.

But my story was always the same. My mother worked as a f lorist, and because most of her income went to paying for that school, we never left New York City. On her days off we spent our afternoons in Central Park soaking up the sun.

After she got sick, my summers were spent in the hospital with her, holding her hair back as the chemo attacked her system or f lipping through the television channels looking for something to watch.

It wasn’t the Hamptons. It wasn’t Florida. It wasn’t Europe. But they were my summers.

The one after my f irst six months with Henry, however, blew every single summer my classmates ever had out of the water.

“I can’t believe you’d never swum with dolphins before,” said James as I drove down a rough dirt road that didn’t see much use. We were back in the upper peninsula of Michi-gan and surrounded by trees taller than most buildings. The closer we got to Eden Manor, the wider my grin spread.

“It’s not like we had a ton of them in the Hudson River,” I said, nudging the accelerator. We were so far from civi-lization that there weren’t any posted speed limits, and the last time I’d been down this road, my mother had been too ill for me to risk taking advantage of it. But now, after the council had granted me immortality, the only thing I risked was my old beat-up car. So far, I liked the perks. “I’m more impressed with the volcano erupting.”

“No idea why it did that,” said James. “It’s been dormant for longer than some of us have been alive. Might have to ask Henry about that when we get back.”

“What would he have to do with a volcano?” I said, and my heart skipped a beat. We were so close now that I could almost feel him, and I drummed my f ingers nervously against the steering wheel.

“Volcanoes run through Henry’s domain. If an old one’s going off like that, then something’s up.” James bit off a piece of jerky and offered me the rest. I wrinkled my nose.

“Suit yourself. You realize you’re going to have to tell him about everything we did, right?”

I glanced at him. “I hadn’t planned on otherwise. Why?

What’s wrong with that?”

James shrugged. “Nothing. I f igured he wouldn’t be too thrilled with the idea of you spending six months in Greece with some handsome blond stranger, that’s all.” I laughed so hard I nearly drove off the side of the road.

“And who was this handsome blond stranger? I don’t remember him.”

“Exactly what you should say to Henry, and we’ll both be in the clear,” said James cheerfully.

It was a joke, of course. James was my best friend, and we had spent the whole summer together touring ancient ruins, vast cities and breathtaking islands in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Maybe one of the most romantic, too, but James was James, and I was married to Henry.

Married. I still wasn’t used to it. I’d kept my black diamond wedding ring on a chain around my neck, too afraid of losing it to wear it properly, and now that we were only a mile or so away from Eden, it was time to put it back on.

I’d struggled to pass the seven tests the council of gods had given me to see if I was worthy of immortality and becoming Queen of the Underworld, and because I’d won—only barely—Henry and I were now technically husband and wife.