At the door I hesitate for only a second—I don’t allow myself any longer—and then push my way inside.

Sliding the door shut behind me, I scan the temple interior. The mosaic murals covering the walls on all sides depict major events in mythology. The battle between the Titans and the Olympians. The Trojan War. Hades kidnapping Persephone. Clearly, all the high points.

I walk over to the one depicting my ancient ancestor getting carried away into the underworld, hanging over Hades’s back like a sack of stupid potatoes. How is it possible the dimwit and I share blood?

“Stop stalling,” I finally mutter, forcing myself to turn away from the mural.

Time to get this over with.

I walk to the center of the temple, close my eyes, and shout, “Persephone!”

I shake my head as I open my eyes, bracing myself for my first conversation with my ancestor goddess. Nothing happens—no bright light or puff of smoke. The temple remains as empty as when I walked in.

“Persephone!” I shout again. “Here, dummy, dummy, dummy.”

Nope.

I try a dozen more times, a dozen different ways.

Nothing.

Oh my gods, I have the dumbest ancestor in the history of all mythology. She doesn’t even come when one of her own calls for her.

I keep shouting her name as I make a tour of the temple, yelling for her at every corner and column.

“Listen, you dumb cow,” I shout, reaching the end of my admittedly short rope, “I need your help. Trust me, if I could do this any other way I would. Aaarrgh!”

Did I really expect anything more from the idiot queen of the underworld?

I stop in front of her mosaic—the depiction of what should be her greatest shame—and just stare. Other than our blond hair, I have nothing—nothing!—in common with her. I would never let myself get kidnapped. If I did, I would never agree to stay with my kidnapper. And I would never, ever, no matter what, abandon my friends or family when they need me.

With a primal scream, I slam a combat boot into her mural.

“Come on,” I scream one last time. “Don’t you want to get away from the underworld for a few minutes?”

“Why would I?” a lyrical female voice says from behind me. “It is, after all, my home.”

I spin around—stunned, relieved, and furious to find Persephone standing at the center of the temple. She is a vision in a flowing golden gown, her hair piled up in a mess of yellow curls.

“I—uh—”

My mind goes blank for a moment. I’m stunned silent.

Persephone closes the space between us, moving so smoothly that it looks like she’s floating. Who knows? Maybe she is.

“Why did you call me to the temple?” she asks, a confused but kind look on her face. “What can I do for you, child?”