Goddess in Time by Tera Lynn Childs Page A

surrounding world ofdeath.
    “We have to find the Hall of Springtime,” I tell Xander. According to Offerings to the Gods, the ruby pomegranate seeds are inlaid within the mosaic wall that spans one side of the hall. It’s supposed to be a beautiful scene of flowers and birds and animals and everything that represents springtime in the world above—a huge, artistic reminder for Persephone so she doesn’t get too homesick during the nine months of every year she’s stuck down here.
    “How are we supposed to find it?” he asks. “This place is huge.”
    None of the sketches in any of the books did this place justice. It’s expansive. If I hadn’t read so many descriptions or studied the one rough sketch of a map we found in an ancient scroll, I’d be intimidated.
    “This is how.”
    I pull a copy of the map I found out of my back pocket and scan the route Troy and I marked.
    “We’re somewhere near here,” I say, pointing to a small side entrance to the palace. “We just have to get inside, follow this red line, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”
    “That easy?” Xander asks, skeptical.
    “Probably not,” I reply, stuffing the map back into my pocket. “But a little optimism never hurt anyone.”
    I walk up to the normal-sized door, reach for the handle, and—despite my attempt to think positive—fully expect it to be locked. After all, why would breaking into Hades’s palace be as simple as walking in?
    When the handle turns and the door swings inside, I exchange a shocked look with Xander.
    He shrugs. “Guess the optimism is working.”
    “Or it’s a trap.”
    “Yeah,” he says, eying the hallway within. “Or that.”
    Well, whatever the case, I’m not waiting around to find out. I want to get in, get out, and get back to the world above.
    Pushing aside my concerns, I step through the doorway and into the palace. Nothing happens. No blaring alarms or three-headed dogs or even a squeaky floorboard. Nothing.
    Looks like we’re in the clear.
    “Time to follow the red line,” I whisper.
    I lead the way down the hall, making sure my boots don’t squeak or clomp on the floor. Xander moves just as silently behind me. We reach the end of the narrow hallway without incident—without seeing another soul, living or dead. When the hallway opens onto a larger one, I peer around the corner both ways before declaring the coast clear.
    As I hurry through this hallway, heading for the entrance hall that will lead to the ballroom that will lead to the Hall of Springtime, I notice the similarities—and differences—between this palace and the other two I’ve visited recently. In many ways it is just as opulent, with expensive finishes, priceless art, and classical touches everywhere. But where Mount Olympus was painted with gold and Poseidon’s palace painted with silver, this palace seems to be painted with black. But not a normal black. The black accents gleam, like they’re carved from shiny stone.
    “I’ve never seen so much obsidian,” Xander says as we turn down another hall.
    Obsidian. That’s it. The shiny black stone is actually volcanic rock, polished smooth. Which makes sense, since the underworld is swimming in lava and volcanoes.
    “We’re almost there,” I whisper as we reach the entrance hall.
    The tile floor is a red-and-black checkerboard, framed within a border of glittering rubies, garnets, and stones that look like black diamonds. I swear, a good thief could live a lifetime on a square foot of stones from one of these palaces. The gods should really use their wealth for more than a disgusting display of expensive things.
    At the far end of the entrance hall stands a pair of steel gray doors covered in carvings of mythological creatures. At the center of each door panel is a carving of Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards the underworld from intruding humans. Twin three-headed dogs doesn’t seem the most inviting entrance, but hey, who am I to judge?
    “It’s