Page 86 of In the Garden of Monsters

She materialized before us, wearing a gauzy gown of white, cinched at the waist with a metallic belt, and her auburn hair was piled high upon her head, entwined with a thin golden rope. She was breathtaking, and I remembered all the reasons why I had once spent eons as her lover. Around her neck dangled a pendant shaped like a wheat stalk, a symbol of a love that once was—a love that had instigated this never-ending cycle of joy and sorrow. I had given it to her in the early days of our romance.

Pluto tightened his hot grip on me. “Say your piece, and say it fast,” he urged Ceres, the undercurrent of his voice carrying a challenge, a boundary. “I would be all too happy to banish you from this place, and with no small amount of pain.”

“I wanted to acknowledge that you won.” She gazed intently at us, her eyes searching our faces. “In my bitterness and pain, I thought my love for Proserpina was unparalleled, all-consuming. But seeing the love that you two share, a love that has survived countless lifetimes of separation and heartache... I was wrong.”

A complex mix of emotions crossed her features—regret that to me seemed tinged with relief. “And so, my curse is undone. I relinquish its hold over you.”

I found I had no anger toward my former lover, only something akin to pity. But one thing galled me. “You didn’t have to kill Lillian, you know.”

“I suppose it was rather cruel,” she responded. “But you were starting to figure it all out, and I was loath for my game to be over. I never thought you’d solve the riddle in just three millennia.”

Her eyes flickered to Pluto. “I have to admit, it was brilliant to take on the guise of Aidoneus, to convince Giulia to inspire her husband to create the Sacro Bosco. And all those monuments to help with your familiarity—Orcus, Cerberus, your bench. As soon as I got wind of that—” she broke off and looked at me, as I was the one who needed the explanation, not my husband “—I planted the seeds within Vicino Orsini to create my own statue. And, of course, found a local goodwife to call my own.”

“The servant, Demetra. What did you do with her?” I asked.

“She’s home and no worse for the wear. And you didn’t even know she was right under your nose.” She snickered at Pluto.

Heat rose around us. Pluto’s patience was low, and he was ready to cast her out. But I stayed him with a hand on his arm. There was one thing I had to understand.

“The curse wasn’t enough for you, though. You changed our story. Why?” I understood why Ceres cursed Pluto and me, but she had planted the seeds of rumor that I was her daughter and had been forcibly ripped from the world. Her subversion of the myth that humans ended up passing along through the centuries was baffling to me.

“Would you want to be remembered through eternity as the jilted lover?” Her nostrils flared with anger. “No! You wouldn’t have. And I still don’t. It was Jupiter who introduced his brother to you, and for his role in tearing us apart, I demanded he change the memory of our love in the minds of gods and men. Mine would be the plight of a mother in distress.”

“Jupiter can do that?” I marveled.

“He had some help from Gaia herself, who called upon her daughter.”

Gaia, one of the primordial deities. And while she had many sons and daughters, Ceres was speaking of Lethe.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of people thinking I’m your daughter,” I said.

“Too bad,” she sniffed.

“I tire of this,” Pluto said, his ire at a peak. “You have your answers. Begone, and never come back.”

“I should have listened to Venus,” she said, her voice softer, forgiving. “When she heard what I had done, she told me that true love would win. I doubted her. But neither of you gave up.”

Then she was gone.

“Come, I want to show you something.” I took Lillian by the hand.

“Oh! It’s the garden! But everything seems so pale, so dull,” she said as we left the dark stars of my sacred grove and the Sacro Bosco materialized around us.

“You are spoiled by Elysium,” I told her. “There is more color there.” It was her first time out of the Underworld, and I had forgotten how strange that might feel for a mortal who had passed.

We stood on the path between the statue of Ceres and theorco.The garden was different—rejuvenated, restored.

“Is this the past?” Lillian asked.

“This is the future,” I said with a smile. “See?” I pointed at a young couple standing near the base of theorco. “That’s Giovanni and Tina Severi Bettini. Remember I told you that we filmed at thetempietto? They saw Dalí’s film and were inspired by the garden, and upon visiting, they fell in love with its magic. The Bettinis will dedicate decades to Bomarzo’s renewal. Each sculpture will be meticulously restored. Gravel paths raked smooth, hedges pruned, the chaos tamed. They’ll open the gates so people can experience this sublime place for themselves.” I waved my hand and the garden transformed again, statues repaired and cleaned of their moss, vines neatly trimmed back from weathered inscriptions. Visitors strolled in awe along paths once overgrown.

“It’s not so creepy now. It’s mystical, magical even,” Lillian said in wonder. “Thank you for showing me this.”

Next, I took her to one of Dalí’s exhibits in New York, at the Museum of Non-Objective Painting on the Upper East Side. There was one painting I wanted to see, and I thought she might too.

I propelled her to a gallery in the back of the museum, where a crowd had formed. Salvador Dalí stood in the center of it, gesticulating wildly with a white staff topped with a golden dove. He wore a flower behind his ear and his mustache was exceptionally long and curled upward. Gala stood to the side, flanked by three young men vying for her attention.

Lillian’s eyes widened. “Dalí!” she exclaimed. A flicker of something complex crossed her face—nostalgia mixed with an uncomfortable familiarity. “He is such a living paradox.”

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