How long has she been past that last curve into the trees? I'm running so hard, my lungs are on fire.

   "Melita!"

   The only sounds I hear in return are the slap of my feet, the clatter of spewing pebbles, my ragged breath.

   But as I round the bend, there's a terrible new sound: a growling so deep, it's like the bottom of the ocean, a snarl from three throats joined in a fearsome chord.

   I shudder to a stop. There's Melita, up to her thighs in the dark, eddying Styx. It swirls her chiton around her legs, trying to tug her under. And on the close shore stands Cerberus, but Cerberus as I've never seen him. He's like a huge arrow drawn taut in the bow, about to be released toward its target. Six eyes flicker bits of flame; three heads bare teeth in hypnotic snarls.

   Suddenly the invisible string twangs and Cerberus leaps. The raging water parts before him as easy as air. Melita raises her hands, screaming, and Cerberus is splashing and snarling and Melita's cries soar skyward—

   And then a third voice splits the air down the middle. A voice of power. A voice of command.

   My voice.

   "Cerberus! Stop!"

   The beast pauses, ears pricked. He turns one head my way. The other two are still growling at Melita, but at least he sees me.

   "Come here. Now, Cerberus."

   He turns reluctantly, clambers out of the Styx, and trots to my side. There's still fire in his eyes, but he forces himself to sit like a well-trained hunting dog, waiting for the words that release him to capture his prey.

   I hear his hoarse panting, and the relentless river, and then:

   "Who are you?" asks Melita.

   Her eyes are full moons. Her skin has gone dead white. And she's staring, not at Cerberus, but at me. Me, standing there, my hand on the great beast's head.

   "Who are you?" she demands again.

"Persephone," I say softly.

   "I don't believe you! You're not a servant or a gardener. Who are you?"

   I say it again, louder this time. "I'm Persephone."

   I didn't think her eyes could get any wider, but they do, the instant the truth hits her.

   "You mean you're . . ."

   "Yes. I'm that Persephone."

   I cringe at what might come next. Will she fall to her knees in that surging water?

   "I should have told you," I say, almost pleading, as I watch the thoughts racing across her face—the angry eyes that call me a traitor; giving way to the gasp and lowering head that call me a queen—but suddenly her head flies back up in revelation.

   "If you're a goddess, you can save Philomena!" she says eagerly. "Fly across! Make sure she's safe!"

   I sigh, a gust of wind. "I can't go back, either."

   "Of course you can! You're a goddess. You're queen of the underworld. You can do anything you want."

   "I'll try to send a message—"

   "A message! Philomena will be dead by the time you do that. She'll never grow up or know love or have children. There's no time for a message."

   As she speaks, her face hardens with a new realization. "You don't care, do you?" she says. "I thought we were friends, but it was just a big game to you. You, complaining gods don't respect mortals, and all the time you were tricking me!"

   "I was scared I'd lose you!"

   Her words are icicle-sharp. "Demeter is your mother! You could have gone back anytime you wanted and made her stop. Then my mother would still be alive. My daughter would be safe. But you never did a thing. No, you were just pretending to care."

   Cerberus growls and I tighten my grip on the center collar, trying to find words to explain.

   "If you were ever my friend," Melita says, "if it wasn't all a lie, go to Earth and save my child."

   "Melita, I can't!" I cry. "I can't cross the Styx! I can't talk to my mother! I can't do anything!"

   "Can't," she says bitterly. "That's all you ever say. Can't even try. But it looks like there is one thing you can do." She stares at my hand on the collar. "Hold him so I can cross."

   Cerberus feels the desperation building in me. He tugs, whining.

   Melita turns against the furious water. "Me, I don't have time for can't. Show me now there was friendship between us. Hold that beast back so I can save my child."

   Once she takes a step, Cerberus can't restrain himself any longer. With an earsplitting bark he bursts from my grip and into the river.

   "Melita," I shout, "stop!"

   Cerberus lunges at her, grabbing a mouthful of floating chiton. He shakes the fabric from his teeth—a flash of white rushing downstream. She keeps struggling forward. He leaps again and this time he rakes her arm. Blood oozes up in bright red lines and starts to flow toward the roiling water. He's readying himself for the next attack and still she isn't stopping, and the blood is swirling downstream, weaving into the dark strands of the water, and I open my mouth and scream so loud the air shakes.

   "I'll do it!"

   Melita stops and turns to me. Cerberus, fangs bared, holds still.

   "I'll get Philomena," I say. "I'll make sure she's safe. I don't know how, but I'll do it. Just come back, please."

   "Promise," she says.

   "I promise."

   "Make it a vow that can't be broken."

   "I make this sacred vow. I'll return to Earth and find Philomena. I'll make sure she's safe."