There were some boos and hisses in the mix, but I was surprised at the number of people who applauded.

Over the course of the next half hour, various citizens spoke for and against appealing the verdict. A lot of people were just flat-out scared of the repercussions of losing an appeal, of the mounting legal fees.

The meeting had started at five thirty, and it was about a quarter past six when Lurine sauntered up to the podium. While the rest of us huddled in our coats to ward off the chill, Lurine was wearing a form-fitting sheath dress of black satin, a pearl necklace, and a pair of Louboutins with five-inch heels, and appeared oblivious to the cold.

Given that she regularly swam in Lake Michigan in midwinter in her true form, I suppose that wasn’t a surprise.

A few men in the audience whistled as she adjusted the microphone. “Why, thank you, sweethearts.” Lurine smiled. “Tell me, are any of you gambling men?”

“I’ll take a gamble on you any day!” one of them shouted.

Her smile deepened. “Aren’t you cute? Well, I like a good gamble from time to time myself. Now that I’ve heard both sides of the argument, I’m willing to gamble on a little thing I like to call the American justice system—not to mention my dear young friend Daisy—which is why I’m offering to underwrite the legal expenses of an appeal.”

The hall burst into spontaneous applause.

“She waited long enough to make her offer,” Stefan murmured in my ear, sounding amused.

I smiled. “It takes good timing to make an entrance.”

“Thank you,” Lurine said sweetly when the applause died. “Now, I’m confident that we’ll win the appeal and recoup our legal fees in full, having had some experience in these matters, but . . .” She raised one hand. “In the very unlikely event that I’m wrong, I promise to personally spearhead the fund-raising effort to settle the damages. And I do still know a few people in Hollywood with deep pockets,” she added.

More cheers erupted.

Lurine shifted to address the board and council members. “Now, just to be clear, that offer is contingent on your decision to appeal this ridiculous verdict.”

“It’s a generous offer,” Mayor Jason Hallifax said sincerely. “I think I speak for all three municipalities when I say thank you, Ms. Hollister.”

“Of course, you’re very—” Lurine began.

At the back of the hall, the doors opened unexpectedly. A warm breeze swept into the room. It smelled like summer, like newly mown grass, like apricots ripening in the sun, sweet and golden and indolent. It was a scent that suggested an idyllic afternoon, dozing in a hammock in the deep green shade in the hottest part of the day, the sound of honeybees droning in the background.

I felt myself relaxing without thinking about it, the room’s chill driven from my bones. Everyone did.

Well, almost everyone.

At the podium, Lurine stiffened, her gaze taking on a basilisk stare as she whispered something under her breath.

The woman escorted into the Pemkowet City Hall by a contingent of security guards in black jackets and trousers was, hands down, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life.

And based on the profound sense of presence that charged the summery air, a sense I’d never encountered anywhere but Hel’s throne room in Little Niflheim, she was also a goddess.

A goddess, walking aboveground. That wasn’t supposed to be possible.

A miasma of fruit hung in the air: apricots, nectarines, apples, pears, and plums, ripe and succulent. Sun-warmed grapes hanging in clusters on the vine. But there was another note beneath it, rank and poisonous.

Beside the goddess gliding into the hall strode Daniel Dufreyne, grinning like a shark.

I glanced around me, but everyone in the hall sat transfixed in their seats as the impossibly beautiful woman approached the podium.

Lurine’s eyes flashed as she breathed a name, her voice filled with ancient hatred. “Persephone.”

Persephone.

Duh.

That damned Dufreyne may have been splitting hairs, but he’d told the truth. It wasn’t Hades who was interested in Pemkowet. It had never been Hades.

It was his fucking wife.

Standing on her tiptoes, Persephone whispered in Lurine’s ear. Lurine shot me an anguished glance before closing her eyes and listening. After a long moment, she bowed her head in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Lurine murmured into the microphone without looking at anyone. “My offer is withdrawn.”

I wanted to cry.

      Forty-six

Moving like an automaton, Lurine returned to take her seat beside my mother. Seeing her so defeated hurt me inside like I’d swallowed a mouthful of ground glass, and beneath the hurt was a building tide of anger.

“Daisy.” Stefan touched my arm. “You need to keep your wits about you.”

“I’m trying,” I hissed at him. “But that’s a goddamned goddess up there!”

“I know.”

Any semblance of an ordinary town meeting had gone right out the window. With Dufreyne’s assistance, Persephone’s security brigade took over at the front of the hall, setting up an easel and propping a foam-board-mounted map of the Pemkowet area on it. It looked a lot like the map Lee had shown me months ago.

Throughout it all, the goddess herself stood with her hands clasped before her, gazing beneficently at everyone and no one.

I stood up. “Excuse me, Mr. Mayor,” I said to Jason Hallifax. “But um . . . point of order? This is a town meeting for residents of the Pemkowet tri-community area. Are you and the other members just going to let a bunch of outsiders take over?”