IN THE
GARDEN OF MONSTERS
Author:
Crystal King
ISBN: 9780778310570
Publication
Date: September 24, 2024
Publisher:
MIRA Books
A Goodreads Most Anticipated Historical
Fiction Book of Fall 2024
“A sinister romance and hypnotic Gothic fairytale—surreal and luscious with
a fascinating twist on the story of Hades and Persephone.” —Jennifer Saint,
bestselling author of Ariadne
A woman with no past. A man who seems to know her. And a monstrous garden
that could be the border between their worlds…
Italy, 1948
Julia Lombardi is a mystery even to herself. The beautiful model can’t remember
where she’s from, where she’s been or how she came to live in Rome. When she
receives an offer to accompany celebrated eccentric artist Salvador Dalí to the
Sacro Bosco—Italy’s Garden of Monsters—as his muse, she’s strangely compelled
to accept. It could be a chance to unlock the truth about her past…
Shrouded in shadow, the garden full of giant statues that sometimes seem alive
is far from welcoming. Still, from the moment of their arrival at the palazzo,
Julia is inexplicably drawn to their darkly enigmatic host, Ignazio. He’s
alluring yet terrifying—and he seems to know her.
Posing for Dalí as the goddess Persephone, Julia finds the work to be
perplexing, particularly as Dalí descends deeper into his fanaticism. To him,
she is Persephone, and he insists she must eat pomegranate
seeds to rejoin her king.
Between Dalí’s fevered persistence, Ignazio’s uncanny familiarity and the
agonizing whispered warnings that echo through the garden, Julia is soon on the
verge of unraveling. And she begins to wonder if she’s truly the mythical queen
of the Underworld…
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Excerpted from In the Garden of Monsters by Crystal
King © 2024 by Crystal King. Used with permission from MIRA/HarperCollins.
Prologue
Bomarzo, Italy, 1547–1560
It took me years to find Giulia Farnese, but no time at all
to win her confidence. I did so with an unassuming cherry rose tart. It had
been nearly a hundred years since I last looked upon her face, but from the
moment she pulled the golden tines of her fork away from her lips and she
looked to me, not her husband, I knew my influence had taken hold.
“You truly are a maestro, Aidoneus,” she said, closing her
eyes to savor the sweet, floral flavors. “And a welcome addition to our
kitchen.”
“Madonna Farnese, you flatter me.” I gave the couple a
polite bow, my gesture more fluid than human custom, and turned back to my
earthly duties.
“It seems you will eat well when I am gone,” Vicino joked
behind my back. “But don’t eat too well, my beauty, or you won’t fit into those
lovely dresses.”
Giulia laughed, and my heart warmed. Oh, she would eat well,
I vowed. Very well.
* * *
The next day, as Vicino Orsini gave his wife a peck on the
cheek and vaulted onto his horse, I watched from the rooftop terrace, my gaze
lingering on the horizon where earth met sky—a threshold I knew all too well.
Then, with a flick of the reins, he led his men down the road into the valley.
They were headed to Venezia to escort the Holy Roman Cardinal, Pietro Bembo, to
Rome. Afterward, Vicino would depart for Napoli and Sicilia on business for
Papa Pio IV.
Jupiter had blessed the region of Lazio with a warm spring,
and a week after Vicino left, Giulia asked me if I wanted to take a walk. I
suggested we explore the wood in the valley below the palazzo. She readily
agreed, which did not surprise me. It was impossible for her to ignore the
aphrodisiac qualities of my food, let alone the timbre of my voice, and the
brush of my hand against hers. The first time she startled at my warmth— no
human runs as hot as I—but she did not ask me to explain. In all the centuries
past, she never has. This alone stoked the fire of hope within me.
She led me on a thin path through the verdant tapestry of
the forest, where sunlight, diffusing through the emerald canopy, dappled the
woodland floor with patches of gold. Beneath our feet, a carpet of fallen
leaves, still rich with the scent of earth, crunched softly. We moved through
clusters of ancient evergreen oaks, their gnarled limbs reaching out like
weathered hands, and past groves of squat pomegranate trees with their
ruby-hued fruits catching the sunlight and casting a warm, inviting glow.
Upon reaching a clearing surrounded by several large tufa
stones jutting up through the grass and weeds, I was immediately drawn to one
of the stones embedded in the hillside. The exposed side was round and flat,
and it hummed, a song of the earth, a low vibration that warmed the deepest
depths of me.
Giulia could not hear the humming, but she was surely aware
of it in some hidden part of her, for she turned to me then.
“I love this wood,” she said, her arms outstretched toward the stone. The early morning light brightened her features, making her blue eyes shine.
“I can see why.”
She twined her hand in mine. “I come here often to bask in the feeling. The moment I arrived in Bomarzo, I felt like I had been called home, to my true home. And this wood, this is why. It re-minds me of a fairy tale, or a place from the ancient, heroic myths.” It was then that I had the idea. The stone—it hummed be-cause the veil to the Underworld was thin there. Perhaps…yes… if the wood was enhanced, and energy from the darkness was better able to pierce the surface into this realm I would no longer have to spend years attuning to Giulia when she reappeared in the world. Instead, she would be drawn closer, and I would find her faster. It would work. I was sure of it.
“Vicino doesn’t like me walking here alone. Too many wolves
and bears, he says.”
I could sense a wild boar in the far distance, but no wolves
or bears. “I think we’re safe here.” I gestured toward one of the big misshapen
rocks. “Sometimes I like to imagine rocks as mythical creatures. Like that one.
It could be a dragon poised to fight off danger.”
“Ooo, I can see it. The big open mouth, ready to take on any
wolf, or even a lion.” Her enthusiasm was exactly what I had hoped for.
I waved my arm toward the large, round, smooth rock be-hind
it. “And that should be a great big orco, with a mouth wide open. And it eats
up and spits out secrets.”
“An ogre that spits out secrets?” Giulia laughed.
“Oh yes. This orco would tell all. Ogni pensiero volo.” I
made my hands look like a fluttering bird.
She wore a wide grin. “All thoughts fly! How perfect. But if
he eats up secrets, there should be a table inside this orco. It could be his
tongue.”
As we wandered through the wood, dreaming up new lives for
the monstrous rocks left eons ago by a force of nature, I was delighted to see
how invested she was in the game.
“There are so many stones,” she said, clapping her hands
together. “We could make a whole park of statues. I will write Vicino tonight.”
I did not expect it would be quite so easy. Usually it took
a long while to convince Giulia of the merit of my ideas. But the pull of the
Underworld was strong here and my influence was far greater than it would have
been in Paris, or some backwater hill town in the wilds of Bavaria or
Transylvania.
On the walk back, she paused by another enormous stone that
jutted out of the ground, the size of a giant. She leaned against it. “Can you
keep a secret?” she asked coyly.
“Of course.”
“This secret is only for you.” She leaned forward and grasped the edge of my cloak, pulling me toward her. Our lips met and she melted into me.
In the years following, as Vicino began work on the garden,
a change was palpable in the air. Each evening, as the twilight deepened, a
subtle energy began to emanate from the heart of the valley. I found
contentment not just in the evolving grove, but also in my closeness to Giulia.
Our time together, so abundant and intimate, felt different. I had never waited
so long to make my attempt, but I nurtured this earthly bond, knowing it was
essential for the garden’s growth.
The day finally arrived when Vicino ushered Giulia into the
heart of the Sacro Bosco—the Sacred Wood—the name he had fondly bestowed upon
the garden. As she crossed the threshold, I sensed it—a strengthening of our
connection, more profound than ever before. It was time.
That night, the chicken with pomegranate sauce I prepared
was met with Giulia’s usual lavish praise, although I knew she took in the
single pomegranate seed garnishing the dish as a courtesy, not a desire for the
fruit. As she savored each bite, I felt a loosening in the ethereal shackles
binding her heart. A vivid, red-hued hope blossomed within me.
Post dinner, I retreated to the palazzo’s highest balcony,
my gaze drawn to a nascent light in the wood below. The light, though barely
perceptible, was imbued with a power that seemed to bridge the realms of mortal
and divine. A faint green luminescence that whispered of unwanted things to
come. It pulsed like a languid heartbeat, beckoning to something—or someone.
I was immediately compelled to find Giulia. Amidst the soft
murmur of the salon where she played with her children, I enveloped her in my
senses and the flower of hope within me withered. Her heartbeat, steady and
unsuspecting, echoed the rhythm of the garden’s glow.
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