Hope knew who the power belonged to, which god it would be. Priska’s direction made sense now.

“She’s not there anymore.” The male spoke with a musical lilt to his inflection. “She’s standing right beside you.”

Hope looked up at her side but saw nothing. She glared at the god. “That was unkind.”

Hermes shrugged. His bronze hair was exactly the same shade as his son’s. “Just because you can’t see her doesn’t mean she isn’t there.” He indicated the body on her lap. “The soul separates at death. Her body will stay here in the mortal realm, but as a demigod, I will take her soul to Hades for judgment.”

“You will be her guide?”

He inclined his head. “It is her right.” His gaze unfocused for a moment, as if he were looking at the air around her. “As it will be yours someday, Immortal.”

Two thoughts coalesced in her mind. “Did you escort my mother?”

He raised his brows. “What type of monster are you?”

He couldn’t tell? “I thought the gods were omniscient?”

Hermes chuckled. “Whatever gave you that idea?” He pointed at Priska’s body. “Why did she sacrifice herself for you? She’s a demigod . . . ”

Fresh tears sprang to Hope’s eyes, and she had to swallow the lump caught in her throat before she could choke out an answer. “So that you would come. I . . . I need a guide to the Underworld.”

Hermes clenched his jaw, and his hazel eyes flashed fire. “I don’t run a guide service. Now, what is your name, Monster? Who cursed you?”

“My name is Hope. I’m the Sphinx.”

Hermes’s jaw went slack, and he paled. “Where is my son?”

The fact that he hadn’t escorted his son to the Underworld meant Athan wasn’t dead. “I . . . I left him at the conservatory.”

Had it only been a week ago that they’d been attacked? It felt like an eternity. Had he woken up from the Skia wound?

“What do you mean, you left him?” The god pulled back. “Is he all right?”

Hope stood. “We were attacked, not too far from here actually.”

Way too late, Hope thought about how Priska had repeatedly said Pike Place Market was always swarming with Skia. Guilt settled deep in Hope’s chest. She should’ve known what Priska was planning . . . Should’ve put it together . . . If Hope had only known . . .

Feeling completely disconnected from the reality around her, Hope faced Athan’s father and said, “He’s recovering in the conservatory.”

The god of thieves and travellers narrowed his eyes. “There is more you’re not telling me, Sphinx.”

She could think of no reason to lie, so she told him. Everything. Ending with Priska’s request that he take Hope with him. Searching for a way to make it right, Hope asked, “Do you think Hades will let Priska come back?”

The psychopomp god cocked an eyebrow at her, as if the question had taken him by surprise. Certainly, with all the travel back and forth between realms, he’d been asked this before.

“No,” he answered. “She was killed by Skia, and she was quite old. Hades is all about balance and order.” He studied her for a moment. “In the Underworld, you’d do well to remember that.”

A small spark of possibility flickered in Hope’s chest. “Wait. Are you saying—?”

“I will take you there.” He grimaced as if the idea was distasteful. “It would give me immense pleasure to thwart the god of the sun.”

The two Skia hiding in the shadows stepped back into the darkness and disappeared with Hermes’s declaration.

Hope kissed her aunt’s cheek, the body still warm despite her soul having left.

“I love you,” she whispered, straightening Priska’s clothes.

Hermes cleared his throat. “She’s ready to go, so save your goodbye. We’re all going to cross into the Underworld together.”

Hope crossed over to him, her heart still aching for Priska’s sacrifice. Maybe Hermes was wrong. Maybe she’d be able to get her back. “What do we need to do?”

“Follow me,” he said as he stepped into a dark shadow, his leg disappearing. He waved for Hope to follow.

The darkness smelled of compost and overripe fruit. Hope followed Hermes through, but she couldn’t help looking around for Priska as they crossed over into the realm of the dead.

Dusky, dark rock extended as far as Hope could see, the opaque inky stone of the Underworld just shy of black. Above her, in what Hope thought of as the sky, pale green dots, reminiscent of stars, glowed. The stench was overwhelming, and Hope covered her nose with her sleeve as her eyes watered.

“You’re close to the Acheron, where Charon ferries the dead.” Hermes directed her with a wave of his hand. “Hades’s palace is on the other side of that river, through the barren barrier, over the river Lethe, through the Fields of Asphodel, and then you can go through or around Persephone’s gardens. If you go through the gardens, you’ll find Elysium, just to give you a heads-up. It’s on the other side of that.”

“You’re not going to take me?” Her stomach clenched.

The god laughed, a mirthless chuckle. “Of course not. Your plan is hopeful at best, but more like naïve foolishness. I want no part of it, for me or my son.”

“Then why would you bring me?”

“If you are here, Apollo cannot get you. It will drive him mad.” He turned as if to go.

Hope glanced away from the god . . . and saw Priska. “Wait!”

Her aunt’s mouth moved in silent speech, and Hope couldn’t control the tears. She wanted to demand her aunt make this better. She wanted to yell at her about her sacrifice. But in that moment, Hope knew this was her one chance at goodbye.

She ran to the woman she’d known her entire life, the only family she had left, and wrapped her arms around . . . nothing.

“It is her soul only. She will not be corporeal here until after judgment.” With that departing comment, Hermes grabbed Priska’s wrist, and the two of them disappeared.

Hope collapsed, crumpling down on the uneven ground, and let the mists swirl and eddy over her. Burying her face in her hands, the dam burst and she sobbed. It could’ve been minutes or hours or even days that Hope spent releasing her grief. She screamed until her voice was hoarse, cried until her eyes were dry, and even then her heart mourned.

When her muscles ached and her eyes were no longer swollen, Hope decided she needed to move. She would not be a victim. She would not be a tool. She would not let Priska’s sacrifice be for nothing.

Hope kicked at the ground, stirring up the dark mist, and muttered, “Stupid gods.”

Someone behind her chuckled.

Hope turned and dropped into a defensive stance, her arms coming up to guard, as she readied for attack.

The man staring at her was pale, like he’d spent too much time indoors. His skin was a stark contrast to his inky-black hair, and his thin frame was clothed in soft grays. His eyes danced with amusement.

“Do you think you can take me?” His voice was like the rasp of snake scales rubbing over each other as they coiled. He cocked his head to the side and studied her.

Hope dropped her arms and stood straight. “Probably not.”

She started walking toward the river Hermes had indicated she would need to cross.

The man appeared beside her and matched her stride. “Smart girl. Much more so than I would’ve thought.”

His arrogance settled it.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He raised his brows but didn’t answer.

“Which one?” she asked, then she counted them off on her fingers. “Hypnos, Thanatos, Hades, Charon?” Were there any more she’d forgotten? She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Look, whoever you are, I’m really not in the mood for—”

He held up his hand with another dark chuckle. “I’m Thanatos.”

God of death. He’d killed her mother. Ripped her soul from her body was what Athan had said. Hope tripped and stumbled forward.

The god of death did the one thing she least expected. He cupped her elbow, steadying her, and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Death honestly didn’t sound all that much worse than how things were going anyway. She let out a deep breath and coughed on the humid stench.

His skin was cool and dry, and as soon as she was upright, he pulled away and frowned. “You are the Sphinx.”

Deep within, she knew she should be afraid. Terrified even. But her emotions had been tested to the limit, and every bit of her reserve had been drained. “Gods! I’m so sick of that. Do you even know what it’s like? No one, and I mean no one, ever sees me for who I actually am, only”—she made air quotes—“the Sphinx.”

A slow smile spread across the god’s face. “Actually, my dear, I know exactly what you mean.”

And then he disappeared.

Hope threw her hands up in the air and cursed into the void of the Underworld. As the sound of her own voice faded, she realized it wasn’t silent. The sound of waves washing ashore was faint but distinct. With a whoop of triumph, she ran toward the sound.

The banks of the river Acheron were crowded with the dead. Souls paced near the water, and after only a few seconds Hope had the distinct impression that something was wrong. Not necessarily incorrect, but more amiss, unethical, damaged . These people were in various states of frustration, agitation, or anger. Many of them had their mouths open, their faces distorted with hostility, as they silently screamed at each other.

The stench of the air was marked with the weight of despair.

A small skiff broke through the mists of the river, a tall, cloaked figure standing at the back. With a long pole, he guided the ferry. As he maneuvered the wood shaft, a hand rose from the black water.

Hope watched in horror as the pale limb grasped the edge of the vessel, and then the head of a person—no, it couldn’t be called a person. This thing was like out of a zombie movie. Oh gods, what was it? Stringy hair hung from its scalp down a pruney, pale back. Pieces of skin hung, torn away from the muscle underneath, and the eye socket she could see was empty, just a black hole surrounded by the bony prominence of what was once his or her . . . cheek.

The ferryman turned with a quick rap of the pole, and the creature screamed as it let go and sunk beneath the water.

Clearly, she couldn’t swim across.

The boat docked, and the ferryman stood as if waiting.

Hope watched as souls clamored around the dock. But only a few actually stepped onto the weathered wood. As the souls stepped from the short pier to the skiff, they handed something to the cloaked figure. Charon. And he would be getting an obol as payment for transport.

She watched as the boat disappeared with its few passengers, leaving the majority still milling around on the shore.

The festering smell of decomposing meat was stronger the closer she got to shore. Hope opened her mouth to breathe in an attempt to lessen the intensity of the stench, but it almost felt like she was breathing it in that way, so she endured the odor.

The souls stepped out of her way after she passed through a couple of them. All she could think was it must be just as uncomfortable for them when they touched as it was for her. Maybe. Although if they were dead, could they even feel anything at all?

She pushed through, determined to find a way to get on the next pass over the river. As she drew closer to the dock, the crowd didn’t thin, and it felt like she was walking through cold wet spiderwebs. She cringed. A fresh wave of rot hit her, and she bent over and threw up.

Her stomach wanted to continue to roil and heave, but she refused to let it. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, adding another layer of grime, and straightened. Her eyes locked on a familiar dark gaze, and she froze.

Obelia’s eyes narrowed. The demigod daughter of Hestia was dressed as if ready for a night on the town, in a bright magenta top and fitted jeans. She turned, and Hope saw the gaping holes in the back of her shirt.

Skia. Hope ground her teeth, and then she dropped her shoulders. Athan would be so upset if he knew. Maybe he did know . . . Maybe he’d been there.

Hope pushed through the crowd with a new sense of resolve. She had to know. She got to the dock just as Obelia handed Charon a coin.

“Wait!” Hope yelled.

Obelia turned, and with a raised eyebrow, she flipped Hope off.

As if Hope even cared.

“Is Athan okay?” she demanded.

Obelia curled her lip into a sneer. Turning her back on Hope, the daughter of Hestia pushed her way through the other passengers, crossing to the far end of the skiff.

Hope stepped onto the dock. She needed to get across, and she wanted to ask Obelia if Athan had recovered from the Skia attack. Hope ignored the fear bubbling up in her chest, the what-ifs, and the consequences of failure. She could do this. With a fortifying breath, Hope moved toward the boat.

A pale, bony hand extended out from the dark robe. When Hope tried to step onto the ferry, the hand firmly pushed her back.

“No,” Hope protested, “I’m not dead.”

Surely, the living wouldn’t require payment. It wasn’t like she was going to be staying.

“No fee, no service,” the god intoned. His voice was rough, like he didn’t use it enough, and the coppery smell of blood wafted from under his hood.

She gritted her teeth. “I just need to get across.”

The god continued to bar her entrance.

“Fine. At least let me talk to my friend.” Hope waved toward the front of the boat where Obelia stood.

“No payment, no entrance,” he said. This time, he brought his pole out of the water and set it on the dock in front of her.

It was ridiculous. She understood the dead were required to make a payment, but she was alive . Why wouldn’t the walking corpse get it through his head? She wanted to talk to Obelia to find out if Athan was okay, but Hope needed to get across the river.

She pushed the pole away and stepped forward.

Blinding pain cracked against her back. Hope stumbled, lost her footing, and fell forward. Instinctively, she extended her hands to brace for the impact. Sharp pain exploded from her extremities to her brain, as if she’d landed on shards of broken glass. Agony stole her breath, and Hope scrambled to stand, to get off of whatever was causing the blinding anguish. A vice gripped her wrist and pulled her forward, acid splashing on her face, burning her skin.

Oh, gods! She was in the river. She screamed and thrashed, refusing to let the water-demons take her. Bones crunched and snapped, the vice released her, and the pain briefly waned. She struggled to stand, and although it felt as though her feet were being bludgeoned, the lapping waves were only past her ankles.

She splashed through the water, the liquid searing her skin like flaming blades. It was only when she stepped onto the dry rock that she saw why she’d been able to get free.

Thanatos stood at the edge of the Acheron, his arms extended as if pushing away a foe. In fact, he was. The river and its demons were cleared from her path. He’d used his power to help her.

She wanted to thank him, but the emotional and physical turmoil had pushed her to her breaking point. As she opened her mouth, she collapsed.