Osiris uttered the spellword, hurzd, blocking the men’s restroom door from any unwanted intruders, and wasted no time starting the curse reversal. He rinsed his hands, and while his fingers dripped water, he placed both palms on my cheeks. “Close your eyes.”

I did, with relief.

“Bruud uk kema, kur sros vrecr aeui roqa baam birdam,” His eternal power flexed in the room, swelling outward, and then snapped back with a pressurized pop. “Koae muv reka.”

I didn’t feel any different when it was done. As was the way with magic, you generally didn’t notice it until it was too late. “How do I know it’ll work?”

Osiris simply smiled, dug into his tuxedo’s pocket, and handed over two battered bronze coins. “Give the ferryman my regards.”

He turned to leave.

I closed my hand around the warm coins. “When I do this…”

He paused at the door, his back to me. We both knew I wasn’t talking about the trip back home, but the deal I’d struck. Godkiller.

“I’ll have your protection from the pantheon?”

His shoulders straightened into a solid line. “You already do.”

The door clicked closed behind him, leaving me standing alone beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights. My reflection frowned back at me, concern and doubt etched into my face. “Yeah, I know. What else was I supposed to do?”

No time like the present. Filling one of the sinks to the brim, I shrugged off my borrowed jacket, rolled up the shirtsleeves, and plunged both hands into the water.

“Ovam kur ka, kur I ok uk sra oer, sra aorsr, sra resrs, omd sra dord. Ovam omd varcuka ka srruisr.” Open for me, for I am of the air, the earth, the light, and the dark. Open and welcome me through.

The lights flickered, and that was the only sign I’d get. Opening a door to the underworld wasn’t all that dramatic. No flaming doorways or blinding light. Old magic knew how to hide.

My amber-glittered eyes glowed a little too brightly in the mirror. I reached out my fingers and dabbed at the glass. Ripples shivered across the surface.

Five hundred years was a long time to walk this earth. A long time in which much could have changed back home. I hadn’t left on the best of terms.

I gripped the sink’s edge and peered into my reflection. I had changed. I hadn’t had much choice in that, but I was ready to go home. Wasn’t I?

Draining the water, I climbed onto the counter and pushed through the mirror.

For the longest moment, the crossing between realms felt like being submerged in warm water. The weight pushed in, not just against my skin and clothes, but into my mind. For a few seconds, it felt like I was drowning. There was no right way up, no sky, no ground, no sound, and no taste—until I opened my eyes and took my first breath. And there it was, the plaza. I hesitated, grounding myself.

Massive pillars held aloft a vast portico over the entrance to the Hall of Judgment, and all around pointed temples stretched into the distant, never-ending glare. The air smelled sweet, like honey, and the breeze was soft, warm, familiar, and welcoming.

Duat. Home sweet home. It had been too long.

Power buzzed beneath my skin, coming alive in my realm, and lent me a radiance I didn’t deserve. I’d spent so long in the dark that this world and its brilliance scorched.

Figures drifted in my peripheral vision, the Hall spirits. They’d remain little more than dust motes in sunlight until they wanted to show themselves. I felt their curiosity pushing at me. If they sensed weakness, they wouldn’t be nearly as benevolent. I strode on, sweeping through their numbers in my mortal clothing: black pants and black shirt, so black against the light. Fitting, perhaps.

I climbed the Hall’s steps. Cracks had split some, and others had crumbled. I didn’t remember them being so neglected. Pausing at the top, I noticed other faults in the buildings around me. Corners were whittled away and capping stones were dislodged, while some had crumbled into ruins. Yes, much had changed.

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Whispers floated on the breeze. Liar. Thief. Soul Eater, those whispers said. They were right, and the truth of it pushed down, weighting my steps and my heart even more.

The doors creaked open, and a towering burial-wrapped statue of Osiris met me. Easily five stories high, there were smaller buildings in New York. The statue was meant as a statement. Even in his absence, Osiris ruled. The crook and flail crossed against his chest were larger than my entire apartment. Feeling reduced, as was the point, I walked around the monolith and through an equally tall, narrow corridor. Hieroglyphs covered the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I reached a hand out and ran my fingertips over the colorful displays.

“Rarru.” Hello. The word sailed into vacant spaces, seeking the familiar.

Raku, I heard echo back. Home.

On the hallway stretched, and on I walked, passing by the depictions of epic battles, wars, victories, and defeats, all chiseled into the walls and painted in a riot of color. These halls were a celebration of life and death and how one was irrevocably tied to the other.

I couldn’t slow. If I slowed, I’d linger. If I lingered, I’d get comfortable.

I can’t stay. This had once been my home, but now…now it was something else, somewhere I no longer belonged.

I dragged my feet but kept moving and emerged inside the flooded crossing chamber, where a small wooden sailboat bobbed against its mooring. The hooded ferryman held out his cotton-wrapped fingers.

“Osiris sends his regards,” I said, dropping one coin into his palm.

I assumed the ferryman was male, though as far as I knew, nobody had ever seen his true face. There was no face beneath the hood, and no body beneath the robe—just the spirit knotted among its burial wrappings.

He made what sounded like a distinct chuckle and beckoned me aboard. The boat rocked under my weight but settled, and we pushed silently into the fog.

“It is good…you are here.” His whispers were as insubstantial as the mist we drifted through.

I peered over the edge of the boat and saw hollow-eyed faces flicker in and out of focus beneath the water’s surface. These waters were sacrosanct. I’d once—as a boy—swam with the souls. It was a secret only the ferryman knew and one that would likely add to my hefty rap sheet of sins should Osiris ever discover it.

“Many years have passed,” the ferryman said.

I wet my lips, tasting the mist and the whispers. “Seka kreak.” Time flies.

I’d left in disgrace, but in the underworld, only my mother knew the real reason I couldn’t return. The spirits of the underworld and the demon gods would assume, of course, that I’d been afraid to return. That might have been true for the first few centuries—and might still be true, if my trembling fingers were to be believed.

Another chuckle. “Your mother, weary she is.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and ran my fingers through my mist-soaked hair. “I’m sorry for that.”

“The Great Devourer speaks of regret.”

And so she should. It was one thing to banish your son, and another to hand him over to Osiris. I knew punishment, and that sentence did not fit my crimes.

Dragging a hand down my face to clear the memories, I peered over the ferryman’s shoulder into the fog. Massive columns rose out of the nothingness, reaching like mountaintops through the clouds. Like Osiris’s statue, the Temple of Light towered higher and farther than anything manmade. Even the gods were reduced to ants inside its walls. A wary warmth spread throughout my chest. Whatever happened, whatever I’d done, whatever I was about to do for Osiris, I was glad my path had brought me home.

The ferry gently nudged the steps. I thanked the ferryman, sparing his hooded face a smile, and jogged up the steps. The heavy doors swung open, and the warmth in my chest turned to ice.

The receiving chamber statues were toppled and shattered. Cracks sundered the marble floor. Who could do this? Who would dare? I drifted forward and winced at the sound of glass and stone crunching under my shoes.

“Amy?” My voice echoed into the quiet. The quiet was always thick here, like a living, breathing thing, but now I felt nothing in the silence—no life, just a hollow emptiness.

I strode on, paces lengthening, icy rage spreading in my veins. Every fallen column, every shattered dais—it would have taken an army to do this, or a god.

Where was Amy? She never would have let this stand.

I was running when I rounded a corner and slipped in a pool of blood. Bright red splashes had fanned up the marble walls and left dripping streams. Their source, the body of a young boy, ripped open from groin to gullet. It was so unexpected, so out of place, that for a few moments, I did nothing, just stared at the boy’s glassy, unfocused eyes. I hadn’t known him, but the same family had served these halls for as long as I could recall. I knew his blood, now painting the floor.

I knelt down and touched the boy’s neck. No pulse—I hadn’t expected one—but his skin was warm. Whoever had done this could still be here, carving through my home, violating the sanctity of the temple.

Magic broiled, seeping from the air and the ground. It gathered around me like a cloud of darkness. My home. My magic. Rage burned bitter and sharp at the back of my throat. Old words fell from my lips, and here, in the halls, they quickly stirred the power residing in my soul.

This attack would not go unpunished.

“The Soul Eater has returned.” I stepped over the body, pulled the darkness around me, and headed deeper inside my home. “And I’m hungry.”