11/365

The first time Bianca saw the man in black, he was standing outside of her window, chewing on a donut, and taking pictures of her on his phone. When she told her mother, she'd been pulled away from the windows and watched as the curtains had been swept shut. Then, again, the man in black had been outside the living room window, in the bushes, phone out, this time just watching. Again the curtains were closed. The door had been heavily knocked on at three in the morning. Bianca's father had gone to check. She'd watched from the stairs, unable to sleep, and saw the man in black asking for directions because he was lost. They'd locked eyes again. He'd smiled thinly at her and adjusted his sunglasses, then spun on his heels and whistled away down the sidewalk, hands in his black pockets.

She'd been running for thirty minutes, and there hadn't been a single second when he wasn't behind her.

Bianca's sneakers beat against the concrete. Her hair swept across her back with each stride, snapping at her neck. Heart racing. Face sweaty. She breathed through her mouth and let her lungs flare with heat and strain. Her headphones remained fixed to her ears, her phone tight against her bicep. She licked her lips. Spat saliva. Bit down on her tongue and pushed a little more, a little further, gunning up the hill that left her house shrinking into the distance behind her. Urban sprawl came next, starting with closed stores, empty streets. Packs of dogs roamed the alleyways, and gangs of cats picked through spilled trash. Ghost town. The gods had come down from their thrones in the stars and taken away her favorite coffee spot. It didn't mean Harper and Victoria weren't still waiting there.

Harper scrolled through her phone, wearing a red hoodie with Rylee's lightning bolt scribbled onto the chest, looking more unkempt than Bianca had ever seen her. Victoria was crouched, stroking a tiny orange kitten and trying to feed the mousey little thing bits of a protein bar. They both looked up when they heard her sneakers.

Harper pushed off her pink sports car and slid her sunglasses up onto her forehead. Bianca tried not to wince. She'd been trying to do a lot of things lately—reacting was one of them. Ringed, dark eyes that no amount of makeup could fix had sunken into her face. Harper had been crying. A lot. More than Bianca had. But Bianca had run out of tears and sadness a while ago, and what was left behind was… She'd rather not think of what's inside.

Her reflection told her this morning to calm down and put on a smile, because hey, the sun was out.

So she slowed down, still breathing heavily, and put on as wide of a smile as she could. She hugged Harper and fist bumped Victoria, then slid off her headphones and watched as the black sedan slowly rolled past the trio.

She wanted to throw a brick through the window and cave his fucking skull in.

No, Bianca didn't want to do that. It wanted to do that.

She unclenched her hands and slid them into her tracksuit hoodie's pockets. "Sorry for taking so long," she breathed, as Harper clutched her phone to her chest. "I hate getting up in the morning. Freaking weekdays, right?"

Victoria said, "Have you harmed yourself recently?"

Harper shot her a look, then gently took Bianca by the arm. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a sec?"

Bianca stopped suddenly. Harper almost jerked. That was also something new, something different that Bianca didn't want to think about. Too many bent doorknobs back home. Too many dented holes in the drywall in her bedroom covered by band posters. Her knuckles were still raw from this morning. "I'm not backing out of this."

"But it's—" The same fucking sedan, now going back down the other side of the empty street. The tiny slice of cul-de-sac was wealthy enough to have its own coffee store and mini mart and play areas for the kids who stared at the sky all day long, asking their parents when the butchers will be coming back. Harper snaps her fingers. Bianca blinks and looks at her. Pretty, cheerleader Harper. Billionaire father and ex-superhero mother, Harper. She stood there, slightly shorter than Bianca, somehow still so pretty in her anguished ruin. "Did you zone out again?"

"My mind is all foggy," Bianca said, shaking her head. "I barely slept last night."

Victoria was right there next to her, nose twitching as she said, "Because you were—"

"Vic!" Harper hissed. She looked at Bianca, her face softer. "We shouldn't do this. I shouldn't do this."

"Fine," Bianca said. "I'll do it on my own. Just hand me the keys and I'll interrogate your dad myself."

"Interrogate?" Harper said. "That's the word we're using now? You're making him sound like a criminal."

"He's on the same board of trustees who created that Olympia clone," Vic said, plucking the circling kitten off the ground and nuzzling the side of her face into its ribs. "Whether he's a criminal depends on the time of day."

Harper shot her another look, then folded her arms as a breeze danced down the street. "He's my dad."

"And he has an answer I'm looking for," Bianca said. "It's urgent. You know that, Harp."

"If I keep pushing his buttons, B, I'm totally going to end up homeless. He already hates the fan club, and he even tore up my Olympia flag a few days ago. What do you think is going to happen if I keep annoying him?"

"I've got a spare bedroom and a dad who'll buy you a new flag." Bianca put out her hand. "Keys?"

"What'the hell's up with you?" Harper whispered. She looked Bianca in the eyes for a long time, long enough for the wind to blow again and that fucking brand new sleek black sedan to slowly crawl past them. This time, Victoria stared at it, same as the cat cradled in her arms. "You look like you saw a bunch of ghosts last night."

Bianca had seen a lot of things last night. A lot of things. None of them had been ghosts.

"I'm fine, Harp." The smile. The easiness in her shoulders. Her reflection had taught her how to let the tension in her neck spill down her spine and vanish. Easy, calm, focused Biana. Yes, that's what she was. Focused. "I'm sorry for saying it like that, alright? Interrogation isn't the right word. How about…interview? Better, right?"

"I guess," Harper muttered, and then she sighed. Bianca smiled some more. "Fine. Just stop looking at me like that, B, it's bugging me out." She went and popped open the sports car's front door. "He leaves for work in a couple of minutes so if you want to talk to him about whatever, then you're going to have to do it now. Daddy doesn't pick up phone calls after he leaves the house. All you'll get is his assistant telling you that he's busy."

Victoria put down the kitten and walked directly onto the street. Bianca watched as the sedan, coming back up the avenue again, tried to swerve out of the way. He wasn't driving fast. No. He wanted Bianca to see him. Watch him. Force herself to imagine his sick little smile as he ambled past, knowing he wouldn't stop so she could catch him. Then Vic flicked her hand and light curled around her fingers until that brilliant golden sword of light was firmly cradled on her palm. The car stopped right in front of her. Harper got out and pulled off her sunglasses.

"Vic!" Harper said. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of the street."

Vic pointed the sword at the car, stone-faced, eyes narrowed. She was pretty. In a slightly intimidating kind of way, like how Harper used to be in high school. Strong shoulders. Toned arms. The loose red soccer t-shirt on her shoulders didn't hide any of the strength underneath, and maybe it was her face—the face of an Olympian the entire world had thought was dead up until the end of last year. Maybe that's why the guy paused. Maybe that's why he froze and stopped the car—or maybe he was smart enough to know that Victoria's sword would've stopped him, too.

She'd watched one of her arrows slam into a skull and split it in half.

Her sword would've gutted the car open with him inside of it.

Bianca slowly made her way to the car, hands in her pockets and sweat soaking into her running gear. She unzipped her hoodie, leaving her stomach exposed to the balmy morning air. She bent and knocked on the blacked out window. Then waited. She could hear him. If she shaded the window just right, she could probably see him, too.

She heard him slam the automatic into reverse. The car jerked backward, tires squealing as he swung the car back around. The black sedan stuttered, and then it was gone, racing back down the hill and far, far away again.

He'd be back. Probably. He never left her alone.

If he wasn't careful, she'd give him a reason to leave forever.

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Bianca bit down hard on the edge of her tongue. Hot iron spilled down her throat. She swallowed. Hated the taste it left behind. But it was hers, she was here, and she had to breathe and roll her shoulders and quietly sigh.

The closed bakery in front of her was dark, empty—shelves swiped clean with a sign on the door that said, Shut down until the world doesn't end! Her reflection stared at her from the windows, shaking its head, arms folded. Another figure was standing just past her shoulder, bigger, more muscular. His shaggy brown hair and easy smile put her at ease somewhat, just enough to put a smile back on her face. A tense, small smile. Bianca shook her head and palmed the back of her neck, turned around, and looked at Vic and Harper. She shrugged and took out her phone.

I saw him again, she texted Katie. He ran off like some coward. I should chase him. Should I, Kates?

The message went unsent, like the rest of them—all bright red.

She slid her phone away and spread her arms. "Well, girls, let's get going. Billionaires don't wait."

Harper and Victoria glanced at one another, but Bianca was already in the passenger seat. Belt. No hoodie. She rolled her shoulders and got a little more comfy on the plush leather seats. She turned on the car's sleek radio.

"Oh, hey," Bianca said. "Harp, it's one of your mom's old songs."

Harper stared at her from outside the car, brow creased with worry.

Bianca drummed her fingers against the door, looking at her reflection in the bakery's window.

It smiled at her and winked.

The Goldstein's didn't own the biggest bank in New Olympus to live somewhere simple. You couldn't just drive up toward their house and knock on their front door. First came the security checks, the pat downs, followed by singing your name into a tiny book and damn nearly pledging allegiance to the family. By the time they were done, Bianca felt slightly violated. Nobody had touched her that much since Rylee had fallen asleep beside her. It felt terrible.

The guard who didn't smiled at her as he buzzed open the large black gate.

"Holy…" Victoria muttered, pushing in between the front seats as Harper parked beside the large marble fountain outside their manor. "You live in a castle?" She looked at Harper. "Why aren't you nice like a princess?"

"You know, Vic, you really ought to learn not to speak to people so bluntly. Be nice sometimes, darling, it'll make people like you." Harper got out of the car, then so did the rest of them. Harper tugged at her hoodie's drawstrings a little, as if the sunlight on this side of the city was colder. "Look, if he's not home, then we can just try tomorrow, alright?" But Harper didn't start walking. She stood there, lips pursed, then said, "How about we leave?"

"Harper!" Her name echoed across the acres of front lawn. Bianca and Victoria glanced at the large oak doors. Harper, though, sighed and pinched the bridge of her sharp nose. Her mother was standing in the doorway, a cocktail glass in one hand, a cucumber mask smeared on her pruney face, and her bright pink bathrobe pulled tightly around her body, like she was somehow trying to get herself to look like the woman who used to wear spandex and save the day. "There you are, honey, I've been looking for you!" She came down the stairs gingerly, tugging up the gown so it wouldn't slide along the stairs or the gravel. She pecked Harper on the cheek and tried to bedazzle Bianca with a smile so white it hurt to look at. Victoria frowned and tilted her head as she stared at her.

"Mom," Harper said through her teeth. "Go back inside, and are you really drinking that at this time?"

"It's a little protein cocktail I found online. Oh! Your friends are here." Harper's mother grinned, showing off the teeth she paid thousands for. "Look at you two. So strong. And Bianca, darling, what's with that look, hun?"

Bianca blinked, then realized she'd been glaring at her. She smiled. Again. How much more of this? My cheeks are already starting to hurt. "Sorry, Mrs. G. I've just been up all night. I think my eyes are pretty sensitive."

"All night?" Harper asked. "I thought you said you just slept late."

"I lied." Bianca pocketed her hands and jerked her head toward the manor. "So, breakfast?"

Bianca wasn't in the mood to eat.

But she sat at the large mahogany table, anyway, with a place of toast and eggs and herbs she couldn't even pronounce sprinkled all over the heavy white dish. Vic was the only one wolfing down whatever the kitchen staff served her. Harper pretended she was listening to her mother talk about some potential male suitor they found for her that'll be just so great for the family's business. Bianca ignored the part about Olympus U being for the less fortunate kids who just need a chance in life. She was staring at the stairs, at the floors above the enormous dining room. The coffee in front of her grew cold. She hid her hands under the table, picking scabs off her aching knuckles.

Her heart should be racing, but she hadn't felt this calm in years.

"Where's Mr. Goldstein?" Bianca asked.

Harper's mother stopped droning on and turned in her high-backed seat to look at her. "Oh," she said, and then there was a fleeting glance at the stairs. The maids standing closest to the table shifted on their feet. "Busy."

No he's not, she thought. I can hear him stomping around, scared out of his fucking wits.

He must think she's here to kidnap him the same way she did with that thing pretending to be Rylee.

Ben's shadows pressed down on her shoulders, then slowly kneaded the tension out of her back with his soft, steady hands. The feeling spread down her arms, into her chest. She sat back in the seat and nodded a little.

"Mind if I use the bathroom?" Bianca asked, pushing away from the table. "The coffee ran through me."

"You haven't drunk any of it," Harper muttered. "Bianca, what's going on with you?"

"Hm?" She'd gotten distracted. A door somewhere on the two floors above her had just slammed shut. He was somewhere up there, stomping around, angry as hell, probably on the phone with Cassie. Bianca looked at Harper. "I'm fine, I promise. I'm just aching to go and use the bathroom. I won't be long. Upstairs on the left?"

"Hasn't changed since you last used it, dear," Harper's mother said.

So she went up the spiraling, gilded stares, down a hallway adorned with generations of the family in shiny portraits, from Harper and her private school brother, to her cousins, her aunts and uncles and her grandparents. All with the same cheery smile that came easily to people who glanced at anything they wanted and bought it without wincing. All of them Olympus West graduates. All of them with their names written in the bedrock of New Olympus somehow. Bianca wondered, as she walked right past the bathroom, how Harper's father would be memorialized.

Gilded casket or not, he'd still be in the dirt.

She stopped walking, sneakers padding on the soft scarlet hallway rug. She breathed. Forced herself to unclench her hands and wriggle her fingers and stop clinging onto the horrifyingly icy chill running through her.

"He'll tell you what you need to know," Ben said just over her shoulder. She glanced at him. He smiled and shrugged and folded his arms in that easy 'Everything will be fine' way. "Besides, you've got leverage on him, sis."

She nodded, and then walked toward Mr. Goldstein's private office far, far at the end of the hallway.

The sounds of him arguing on the phone penetrated the thick golden doors. His cursing. His demands.

Everything.

Her got was cold, tight—unfurling like some coil, and she was the bullet waiting in the chamber, ready to bang and go right through those doors, through his desk and right through him. Her mouth was wet. Blood sang wild, rushing songs past her ears. Now she was at the door. Now she was staring at the sleek golden accents on it.

"Don't hesitate," Ben said. "Besides, if the clone isn't lying, then he knew the Arkathians were coming."

"And they didn't warn Rylee," she whispered. Her voice was heavy, husk—thick on her tongue.

"You really think Zeus and his brother being around didn't force them to look up at the stars for all these years? What, humanity was just waiting for them to come back?" Ben got closer. So close that she could smell his old, cheap cologne that Katie had stolen for him, and that gum he always chewed when he was nervous. Bianca glanced at him. His smile was easy, perfect. God, he was so…good at this. Better than her. A natural in every single thing he did. Bianca was very good at copying him. Very good. "So how about we open that door and figure out what exactly is going on here, sis. The world's going nuts, and, well, don't you deserve some answers for once?"

"I do," she breathed, heart now slowly racing.

"Atta girl," he said, smiling at her. "Plus you promised to let the clone go if she was telling you the truth. One night of beating on someone is solid work. Two nights? It's starting to get into torture territory, which we…?"

"Don't do."

"Exactly," Ben said. "Get your info, get out, and go free that clone. Oh, and apologize to Rebecca. She was always so nice, especially to Rylee. What you did to her wasn't nice, sis. You really, really hurt her. But she'll forgive you if you make her better. Maybe pick out a couple of pretty flowers that'll go nice in that pot next to her hospital bed…if the medics got there on time. We did take her to the hospital, right?" Bianca shrugged. Her brain was a cloud of noise and heat and voices and— "Eh, who cares? We'll find her and explain away last night, sis."

"OK," she said to her brother. Ok, she said to herself.

Bianca grabbed the golden doorknob, bending it until the door slightly groaned open.

Mr. Goldstein was hyperventilating, a landline pressed to his ear, and a gun shaking in his pale white fist. Bianca slid inside of his office and quietly shut the door behind her. She slipped off her hoodie. It fell onto the thick black carpet. His entire office was a cave of gold and black, of plaques and certificates, of pictures with presidents and billionaires and even superheroes from when that word actually meant people who saved the day.

"Don't bother shooting," she said. Mr. Goldstein stumbled against his desk, breathing harder.

"G-get out of my home!" he barked. "I know what you are and I know what you did last night, and—"

"Put down the receiver, Mr. Goldstein," Bianca said. "And the gun. They both won't help."

"You think I can't get you out of here?" he snarled. Shirt unbuttoned. Implanted blonde hair a wild mess. He was sweaty and filthy and probably hadn't showered since the board that put that clone together had gotten the unfortunate news that Sophie—or whatever the fuck it named itself—had gotten an arrow lodged inside of her gut.

"I think you've pissed yourself." He looked down. Just a glance. He found the side of her foot slamming into his skull, sending him crashing against a coffee table and collapsing onto the floor. Bianca heard someone on the other side of the phone yelling his name. She dropped it back inside of its red cradle and cut the call. She looked down at him, clutching his busted jaw and the loaded silver pistol. The tall windows forced sunlight into the room, spreading her shadow over his thin, shaking body. Bianca stared at him, begging him to pull that trigger.

The problem with the rich and powerful was that they always wanted someone else to do it for them.

Bianca crushed his fingers under her foot, standing over him. He opened his mouth to scream. She pulled a book off his desk and wedged it between his teeth, and kept going until his gums bled and his eyes welled up with tears and he was bucking and screaming like a madman with an encyclopedia breaking his jaw apart. It must hurt.

So she pulled it out of his mouth and waited for him to stop choking on his own loose teeth.

She sat on the edge of his desk as the thing inside of her spilled onto her skin, covering her entire body from head to toe in black and purple, a flesh of its own that lived, breathed and shuddered with silent excitement.

Bianca let it slide the violet domino mask over her eyes, and then stared down at his scared, sweaty face.

"Well," she said, taking a fountain pen off his desk and twirling it between her fingers. It had Goldstein engraved along it. Ink bubbled at its tip and fell onto the floor, mixing with his blood. "Ready for your interview?"

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