finitor | j. grace

prologue

ON THE NIGHT POPPY ARRIVED, it was raining. Sonoma Valley had been blanketed in clouds all day, and even though it was now too dark to see them, the absence of the stars was a good enough indicator. That, and the inability to look up for very long before being deterred by the heavy drops of water. Poppy's eyes burned when she gazed up, maybe for a sign; then she remembered where she was from and looked back to the muddied grass beneath her feet.

Three-year-old Poppy, for the past two weeks, had been the only one on this very long journey from Los Angeles to Sonoma Valley. Go to Sonoma, Poppy, her mother had said simply as the little girl left the garden. Fate will take you from there.

Years later, Poppy would look back and realize this was where her distaste for the idea of fate was rooted. The four skeletal men stood together on the edge of the garden, which was always saturated in the darkest of colors. Poppy's mother didn't wave goodbye, farther away than ever before.

The men led her through the only world she knew. Poppy, so small and so young, didn't know much at all. In fact, her entire understanding of herself could be reduced to five things: her name was Poppy, she was born from the pomegranate in the sixth month, she was a Roman, the flowers spoke to her, and she would save the world one day.

They walked together to an edge of the dark, barren world to a staircase of onyx. At the top, there was something shining brightly. Poppy climbed the staircase by herself, and when she made it to the top, she realized it was light. It was sun. It was the world she had only heard about from the souls passing by.

The men had not followed her; she was alone now, in her embroidered overalls and bright striped shirt, a small backpack on her shoulders. She climbed out of the hollow tree she had risen from, the light brightening her dark brown hair. Her pale skin tasted sunlight for the first time as her brown irises grew around her pupils.

And that was when she heard the calls.

Mothermothermother, it came from around her, the plants all whispering together joyously as she entered this world of color and of light for the first time. Mothermothermother, use your gifts. Bring us more life and all of eternity and everything in between, pleasepleaseplease.

For the first seven days of her journey, Poppy didn't understand why they loved her so, unlike anything else in her life. Why the ferns wiggled toward her as she walked by, why the tree bark crackled at her touch, why the birds followed her with never ending songs.

Prophecy child, they sang in a melodious unison. Pomegranate girl. You are the wild. Come rule our world.

Why hadn't she heard these songs before? That was what troubled her. But on the eighth day, she learned, when she buried the old squirrel by his tree. He went to where she had come from; a place without the trees and the sun and the bugs. There were no songs for Poppy in the Underworld; here, though, there were infinitely many.

The two weeks of travel were treacherous. Some nights, she stayed in empty alleyways that reminded her of home. Other nights, she stayed in caverns built by large trees as though they had been built for her—that's what they told her at least. Mothermother, we've been waiting. She took nine buses and a couple nice ladies offered her short rides.

Where are your parents? they always asked her.

That way, she learned to tell them, pointing toward Sonoma.

But finally, after those long days and nights, she finally appeared at the Wolf House on that rainy night.

There was a rustling from around her, and she was suddenly surrounded by a pack of wolves. They didn't growl, but Poppy could see their teeth, and she knew what teeth could do.

"Welcome, Poppy Jackson," a voice said. It was a woman: strong, powerful, biting. She appeared in the figure of a wolf. "You've survived the first part of your journey. Come inside."

Poppy followed her instructions, moving inside of the structure, where there was no rain.

"Son of Jupiter," the wolf-woman said, turning just slightly. "You may approach."

A boy appeared at her words, coming into Poppy's view. He was just as small as her, with light blonde hair that was illuminated by whatever sliver of light was left in the world. His eyes were wide, curious, a glorious shade of sky blue, and there was a small scar on the corner of his mouth.

"This is Jason Grace, the son of Jupiter," she said to Poppy. "He arrived ten days ago." She then turned to the boy. "This is Poppy Jackson, the daughter of Proserpina."

The two children evaluated each other curiously.

"The two of you will either be the greatest of friends and the saviors of Rome." A chill ran down Poppy's back. "Or the worst of enemies and the destruction of it."