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“Finally I stopped in the ballroom that at night was the Heart of Water. My side ached from running and sweat prickled across my face. I sat down heavily and leaned back against the gold-painted wall to stare at the ceiling. Overhead, Apollo leered at Daphne, who fled from him in stylized terror; Persephone's silent screams looked much more genuine as Hades dragged her down to the underworld. But at least she had a mother who did not rest until she'd saved her.”

“It's autumn," I said. "I can see the trees turning through the windows." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's going to be the Day of the Dead soon," I said. "Sounds gruesome." "It's a festival." I looked at him over my shoulder. "The only one that gentry and peasants share. We celebrate Persephone going down to Hades for the winter, they remember Tom-a-Lone getting his head cut off by Nanny-Anna. Everybody makes grave offerings, then there's a great sacrifice to Hades and Persephone, and that night there's a bonfire and they burn a straw Tom-a-Lone dressed up in ribbons.”

“I picked up the glass and swirled it, staring at the dark liquid. The thought of eating and drinking here suddenly filled me with dread. Persephone had tasted the food of the underworld just once, and she was never able to leave. But then, I was never meant to leave here anyway. "It's not laced with blood or poison." His smile flashed; apparently his amusement at my fears was inexhaustible. "I may be a demon, but I'm not Tantalus or Mithridates." "That's a pity," I muttered, and sipped my wine. "I wouldn't mind Mithridates. Then I'd get a quick death or a useful immunity.”