As she hid there in the darkness, the crowd pulsing on the dance floor in front of her, something was suddenly thrust in her closed fist. The feeling was strange and sudden—magic, she realized as she opened her hand, and found a piece of paper. Unfolding it, there was a number written in ink. 777. Below the number was an arrow, as if directing her to walk down the hallway.

She looked around and saw nothing but felt as if the whole room were watching her, even as she lurked in the darkness. Peeling away from the wall, she followed the arrow down the dark hall and happened upon an elevator, only visible because the numbers and doors were alight in red.

She pressed the button and the elevator opened soundlessly.

Inside, she noted the floors only went up to eight. She assumed that she needed the seventh floor and that the number on the paper was a room.

After the roar on the dance floor, the silence in the elevator pushed against her ears. It unsettled her and left her to focus on what was ahead—the unknown. What if Leuce was wrong about the Magi? What if they wanted something she couldn’t give? What if they couldn’t help her?

When the elevator doors opened, she was let out into a hallway that led straight to a black door. She approached hesitantly, fear warring with the guilt in her mind. Finally, she knocked and a voice on the other side directed her to come inside.

The handle was cold and made her skin prick as she entered. The room was dim and had black marble floors and dark walls. The only source of light came from the center of the room. It illuminated a raised, round platform and a large, plush chair upon which a familiar man was seated.

He was Kal Stavros.

He looked exactly like his pictures in the tabloids. He had a perfect, square face, a swath of thick, black hair, and blue eyes.

She hated his face.

Persephone narrowed her eyes, fingers tightening into fists. The surge of anger she felt at seeing this man was acute. It drove her magic wild.

“Persephone,” Kal purred.

Was it possible to reach into his mouth and yank her name from it? Persephone thought.

“I hope Alec and Cy didn’t frighten you, but I had to be sure it was you.”

So those men from the dance floor worked for him.

"I can see why Hades is taken with you," he said, his eyes trailed her body, making her feel sick to her stomach. “Beauty and spirit, well-spoken and opinionated. Qualities I admire.”

“Don’t make me vomit,” she said. “Just tell me what you want.”

He chuckled. It was villainous—a sound contrary to his beauty.

“I’m so glad you asked,” he said. “But you first—what brings you to Iniquity, the heart of sin?”