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 weird,” Xander says as we move quickly to the ballroom doors. “We haven’t seen a single person since we got here.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, reaching for the handle of the door on the right and finding it, thankfully, unlocked, “I guess Hades isn’t quite the social hot spot it used to be.”

I don’t take time to look around. And I don’t bother quieting my bootsteps in the empty space as I race across the room to the curtain-covered back wall. Stopping at the center, I peel back the heavy red drape, looking for the alcove that—according to the map—contains the door to the Hall of Springtime.

Instead, I find only a solid black wall being guarded by sleeping giant.