I swing my legs, making the branch bounce, hoping a little extra momentum will dislodge the fruit. The thing is not letting go of its branch, no matter how hard I pull.

“You wanna play tough?” I grumble at the gemstone pomegranate. I glance down at Xander, anxiously standing below me like he expects me to fall at any moment. “Can you catch me?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Why?”

“Get ready.”

Swinging my legs harder, I manage enough of an arc to hook one boot back up over the unforgiving limb. I place the other boot against the bottom of the branch and—when I’m ready—I release the other and push against the tree with both feet.

The pomegranate holds on for a moment and then—snap!

Ruby fruit clutched in my hands, I free-fall for the floor.

“Ooof!”

I fall straight into Xander’s waiting arms. He manages to keep us both upright, too. I’m impressed.

“Thanks,” I say as he sets me on my feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re nuts,” he says.

“I know.”

Xander and I race out through the alcove, past the blind guard, who steps back into position, and across the ballroom. If only we could autoport back to Serfopoula. But the supernatural protections in Hades make Mount Olympus look like a preschool. No one wants the dead getting back to the world of the living.

We have to return the way we came.

We hurry back through the hallways, reversing our course for the side exit.

The palace was so still, so empty on our way in, it never crossed my mind that we might run into someone on the way out. But as we race out of a side corridor, back into the entrance hall, I crash full-body into someone.

“Grnph,” I groan at the collision.

A woman screams as she falls backward onto the tile floor.

I stumble, but manage to stay upright.

As Xander skids to a stop next to me, I reach down—instinctively offering to help the woman up.

“I’m sorry,” I say as her palm connects with mine and she looks up at me, “I wasn’t—”

My words freeze as I realize the woman on the floor—the woman I slammed to the ground in my haste to get the heck out of this place—is none other than Persephone herself.

“No harm,” Persephone replies, pulling herself to her feet using my now-limp arm. “I am uninjured.”

She smiles at me, a grin that embodies all the youth and rebirth and nature we just saw in the Hall of Springtime. Her blond hair, the same golden shade as mine, falls perfectly over her shoulders and her gauzy, light-green gown. She is the embodiment of perfection. No wonder Hades kidnapped her.

“Hi,” I say lamely, with a lame wave thrown in for general all-around lameness.

“Hello,” she replies with a vague smile.