21/365

  It was pretty hard to believe the subway was still running, but there she was, trying not to pass out as she chewed on one pain killer after the next, filling her mouth with bitter powder Bianca so desperately wanted to spit out. But this was the Upper West—spitting on the floor earned you a fine, which was…weird, because the world was ending, and everyone was on their phones, or reading dated fashion magazines, nodding with sleep or mindlessly staring out of the subway’s steamy windows, acting like everything was fine, and if she did spit on the floor, she’d get a fine that would be meaningless soon enough. For once, though, Bianca was pretty happy she lived in New Olympus, because she looked like a homeless person right now, and nobody seemed to care. Ratty hair that stank of sewage and blood. Her fingernails were still growing back, which meant bloody fingers and scarred fingertips. She’d had to borrow some of Ru’s clothes, because hers had gotten torn to shreds in the Kaiju fight down at Port Roho just hours ago.

  The only problem was that Ru’s clothes were all so tight. Figure-hugging. So she only opted for a pair of pants, boots slightly too big for her feet, and a hoodie that was well past giving up on her. The bandage wrapped around her midsection was soaked with blood and antiseptic rub. She could feel the warm liquid leaking down her sides and into the waist of her pants. Bianca wanted to scratch it. She fought the urge, because the stitches were fresh, and the last thing she wanted right now was to peel open the bandage and reveal a fist full of violet worms festering in her stomach. Now that would make people notice. Except she’d probably get arrested and then put inside a tank, or a jail cell—or maybe even some kind of glass box, like a circus monkey that’s got three heads.

  Because as far as the Upper West was concerned, the Kaiju Virus was dead and gone. Well, it wasn’t like it had killed anyone up here, anyway. All the casualty reports on the news came from Lower Olympus’ old hospitals. Tired-looking doctors would sit on curbs, smoking cigarettes, lab coats covered in blood, and everyone in the Upper West would shake their heads, grim and sad, then change the channel to something a lot more entertaining.

  Everything across the river didn’t matter to anyone up here. No, ma’am, not at all.

  Hell, she killed someone today with her bare hands. Ripped apart its throat and jammed a fork into its eye, then filled its body with a virus and told it to maul someone alive. And…she was fine. Totally fine. Bianca sat with her hands on her legs, squeezed between a guy in a sweaty suit arguing loudly on his phone, and some younger kid who kept glancing at her and not-so-subtly trying to shuffle further away. Bianca, though, nodded to herself, trying to ignore the old woman sourly glaring at her, or the baby making strange faces at her, or the— Or the— You get it. Eyes. Eyes freaking everywhere. Maybe they were just fleeting glances. Maybe they were annoyed that the world was ending and figured the girl who reeked of filthy ocean water, blood, and sweat was just a little bit more terrible.

  People in this part of the city liked to blame something going wrong on someone else.

  Hell, the bottom of someone’s newspaper said: Why Olympia Has Been Nothing But A Problem, right alongside a picture of that terrible day that had seared itself into her brain. Rylee, bleeding, partially dead, maybe so close she might be dead, being stood over by a man whose face had darkened every single corner of the news.

  And for once, the news hadn’t moved on from a story. This one stuck. Segments. Constant breaking news banners because some superhero expert or scientist or president somewhere has some ground-breaking new idea about the aliens that had just flipped the Earth upside down. But nobody knew anything. Not really. There were times she wanted to text Rylee, maybe call her—she tried the day after the incident, hopelessly thinking she’d somehow answer her phone. Voicemail would’ve been nice. The robotic voice had told her it was full, then cut.

  Who knew Rylee was so popular? Bianca thought, trying not to clench her fists. And now she’s gone.

  Again. Like always.

  “Pretty rough day, huh?” someone said. Bianca almost jerked. New Olympians weren’t exactly known for being talkative and friendly. A man in black pants and a black polo shirt offered her a handkerchief. He smiled softly, leaning on a pole, barely swaying as the subway juddered over one rail and then the next. “It doesn’t bite. Promise. And if it does, then I’ve got a hundred bucks with your name on it.” He gestured for her to take it again.

  She tentatively reached out, then used it to wipe the muck off her face. Not any cleaner, but better. At least she didn’t have gunk crusting around her eyes now. “Thanks,” she said. “That’s life for you, always a little dirty.”

  He smiled easily. Must be late thirties, semi-muscular. Sunglasses hung from his collar. “Tell me about it.” He offered his hand this time, and Bianca couldn’t help but notice the tattoo on his wrist. “Name’s Carson Kade.”

  Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Never met someone who says their full name before.”

  “Well, superheroes do it all the time.” He shrugged. “Yep, Carson Samuel Kade.”

  His hand waited for her to shake it. Manicured nails. Callouses along the lines of his palm. He smelt of cologne and shampoo, like he’d just gotten out of bed five minutes ago. Brown hair messy, chin free from stubble. Young. But not young enough to hide the lines under his eyes and the wrinkles slowly crawling onto his forehead.

  Like he was either always squinting at something or angry about everything.

  “Well, are you a superhero?" she asked him.

  Another half-shrug. “Sure. Sometimes, yeah.”

  “Sometimes? So, like, you choose when to save the day?”

  “Heck, even police officers have shifts, and it wasn’t like Zeus was active every minute of the day.”

  Bianca leaned back and folded her arms. “So you think you’re Zeus, too?”

  He smiled a little, revealing the gum he’d been quietly chewing. “Got a lot of questions.”

  She shrugged. “Just one of those days, y’know.”

  Her stomach, however tight and filled with agony, was telling her something was horribly wrong. Her nose didn’t twitch, but something felt…weird about him. Or maybe it was just the worms, already flustered, already full on Kaiju blood, wanting to start trouble for the sake of it. She wanted to punch some guy who’d touched her ass when she was getting on the train a couple of minutes ago, but the worms would’ve made sure her fist would’ve either come out through the back of his skull or turned his head around like a bottle cap. Bianca thought better, because that’s what she does here—make great fucking choices. She stared at Carson, at the tiny tattoo on his wrist, at the other on his neck partially hidden by his popped collar. He smells like a Supe. It was starting to get easier to tell. Smells. Sights. She could almost taste the slightly sweeter blood coursing through his veins right now, too. If she were still hungry, she’d have licked her lips and pinched herself. But she was… No, wait, the worms were Ok.

  Get your head straight, she thought, pinching the skin just above the bandage. Not ‘we,’ just me.

  “Not much of a shaker,” Carson said, sliding his hand inside his pocket. “I’ve heard a lot about you folks up here on the East Coast not exactly being very friendly, but c’mon, a handshake? It’s a pretty easy move to learn.”

  She shrugged. I also don’t want him to see that I’m missing all my fingernails right now. That would freak out a normal person, but Carson didn’t seem normal. But who was she to judge? She was a walking-talking hive of alien space worms. “Welcome to the East Coast. Sorry about the weather and the, you know, impending doom, too.”

  Carson smiled a little. Pearly-white teeth. Sharp canines. “Dunno if this city’s ever not been in peril.”

  “And which planet do you come from, since the rest of the world is also in peril right now.”

  “Oh, you know,” he said easily, shrugging again, “here and there and a little bit of everywhere.”

  “Cool,” she said. “Kinda like a hobo.”

  Carson barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. But I prefer the term nomad. Home’s where the heart is.”

  “And where’s yours? Here?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Don’t know yet,” he said, then pulled his hand out of his pocket, revealing a square piece of black leather, and on it was a golden badge—not a cop, definitely not the FBI or CIA, because this was different. A golden circle, fitted with a laurel wreath and a pentagram in the middle. “I’m with the USF.” She blinked and looked at him, mentally asking if that was meant to mean anything to her. He sighed and slid the badge away. “Yeah, figures. I keep telling these guys we should really invest in some kind of marketing campaign, but I guess a super secret government branch doesn’t need a line of toys and hair sprays.” He offered his hand again. “Now do I get one?”

  Bianca shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic, looked left and right, tried to search for anyone—

  “I’m alone,” he said softly, still smiling. He’s diffusing you. Working you. The words jumped into her mind, not hers and not Ben’s, and she really, really didn’t want to think the worms could talk now. “I just want to talk.”

  Bianca stood up, just as the train started slowing down, brakes squealing against the tracks. She smiled tightly at him and said, “This is my stop.” Lie. “Good luck with the, uh, nomad-hobo, looking-for-a-home thing.”

  Carson grinned. “Your stop? Ah, hell, me too! What’re the chances, huh?”

  The doors hissed open. People pushed and shoved and muttered as they both left and got on.

  She was quick—quick to side-step and sorry, excuse me, sorry her way through the flood of sweaty people, even quicker to get onto the platform and jog up the subway’s greasy stairs until she was finally bathed with icy nighttime wind. But Carson was right there, standing beside her, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.

  “Damn it’s cold!” he said, still grinding gum between his teeth. “Mind showin’ me a good coffee shop?”

  Something inside of her screamed: run. Very loudly. Very, very convincingly.

  So she did, because the last time a strange person approached her, Katie died. And then she got taken. And it was hell. And pain. And all of a sudden, she was sprinting down the sidewalk, boots clunking on the pavement, loud and lazy and fucking hard to run in. But she did. Faster and faster until her chest got tight and her nose started sweating, and when she finally looked over her shoulder, Carson wasn’t behind her. She slowed down and grabbed a traffic light, put a hand to her stomach and felt the worms going wild as the stitches slowly ruptured. Bianca chewed the inside of her mouth, swallowing a scream. Some guy in a suit bumped into her and jaywalked, spinning around to flip her off and tell her to go and vomit someplace else, stupid kid. Bianca ignored him, straightened, and then—

  “Hmmm,” she heard beside her. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Carson. Again. Now scrolling through his phone, then checking the name of the avenue. “There’s a snazzy coffee place down here. Reviews are mixed.”

  “How— What the—” Bianca, still panting, stepped away from him, eyes flicking toward skyscraper windows, shiny and impenetrable and staring down at her, to the people waiting to cross around them, to the dozens more in cars and on buses and sleeping on the curbs and begging for change and coming in and out of stores and—

  He put his hand on her shoulder, then calmly said, “Relax. It’s just me. I promise.”

  Don’t listen to him. He’s working you. Feds work people, that’s what they do.

  He wants something. Don’t give him anything.

  Bianca put a hand to her aching temple, cringing as pain shot through her skull.

  “Woah, kid, are you alright?” he asked.

  She batted his steading hands away, shook her head, and said, “I’m fine, I’m fine, just… Who are you?” He opened his mouth to speak. Bianca spoke over him. “And don’t give me some long-winded crap. I want the truth.”

  Carson put up his hands in mock surrender, then pocketed them again. “Carson Samuel Kade, but most people just call me Kade, or Car—just not Sam. Never Sam. I work for the USF, and I figured I should speak to you a little, you know. Touch base. Grab a coffee and calm you down. Then maybe talk about Sophie Blackwood and the incident down in Lower Olympus today.” His voice had gotten a little stale, but that gleam in his eye hadn’t left, and nor had that thin smile. Bianca’s skin crawled so bad she wanted to scratch her bones. Carson rolled his hand as the light went red. Cars stopped and honked and drivers swore at one another, quickly followed by a rush of people crossing the street. “And if you’re up for it, we can also talk about Rebecca Freeman’s current whereabouts. Over coffee, of course. It’s freezing out here and the last thing I need is to lose my balls the first month of a new year.”

  Bianca looked at him, really looked at him, and quietly said, “You’re the guy who’s been following me.”

  “Bingo,” he said with that same easy smile, like she’d just said something fun.

  Bianca stepped back a little. The word jumped out of her mouth: “Why?”

  Flat, demanding, meaning: Answer the fucking question and don’t you dare lie to me.

  Because she’d know. She’d smell it and she’d see it, and she’d know.

  All she didn’t know was how the worms would react. They weren’t very friendly when threatened.

  Bianca figured neither was she.

  Carson, ever so easy, shrugged. “I was told to do so.”

  “I’m not gonna sit down and ask you a laundry list of questions,” she said dryly. “I said why?”

  “Coffee?”

  The worms rippled under her skin. Everything still hurt, especially her back, where some of her skin had gotten torn off in strips and gashes. She wasn’t in fighting shape. She needed sleep and maybe some hot cocoa, and her own bed. Home. Bianca wanted to go home and forget the day she’d had, and then do it all again tomorrow.

  Because if Rylee had done this, then so could she, and Lower Olympus needed help. Some help.

  However much help she could be during the very few times her and the worms were on the same page.

  “No,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I fucking hate coffee, you should know that if you’ve been watching.”

  He smiled, more like a smirk now, but not quite. “I also know you like almond milk, not the regular stuff. I had to surf through your trash a couple of times. The glamor of working for a disembodied voice in the darkness.”

  She frowned a little. “I thought you said you work for the government.”

  “I do, just not this one, or any of the ones you know. It’s complicated.”

  “And you’re not buying yourself any trust right now.”

  He scratched the back of his head. “I’m usually a lot better at this. Must be the jet lag.” He sighed, then spread his hand, as if he was offering her nothing, which it kinda felt like right now. “Listen, I come in peace, or whatever. My job is to watch you, learn you, and that’s it. That’s all I know. Don’t worry, I shut my eyes and looked away when you were changing or showering or getting dressed, but I got a message this morning from my handler that I should engage you with caution, except I disobeyed orders when they told me to interfere with your little excursion down at the river a few hours ago. I’m also meant to protect you. But I figured, fuck it, what the hell? Let the kid go and save a couple people. It’s good info for us.” Another shrug. Another smile. “No bad intentions here.”

  “Yeah, except you’re fucking stalking me,” she said hotly. “How long have you been—”

  “Years, Bianca,” he said. Her heart almost stopped. “You’re just more observant now. Those weeks when you went missing? Something must’ve happened. You’re not the same, you know. Your case file says Part Two on it because someone thought it was funny. But it’s true. You know it’s true. And I’d like to sit down for coffee with you and talk about what happened out there, then I’ll be on my way and turn into your dashing guardian angel again.”

  Bianca stood still for several seconds, then asked, “Are you recording this right now?”

  He hesitated, then pulled his sunglasses off his collar and snapped them in half.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He sighed and yanked a false button off his polo, flicked it into a sewer grate, then unstrapped his watch and tossed it over his shoulder into a thin alleyway. “Smart girl,” he said smoothly. “One-hundred percent clean.”

  “You’re a supe,” she said. “Supes don’t work for the government. It’s not allowed. My mom said so.”

  “Like I said, it’s a lot more complicated than that,” he said.

  “Did you also watch Ben?”

  Carson paused, mouth opening and then closing, until he finally said, "Confidential won’t cut it, huh?”

  “I think I deserve to know everything about my big brother.”

  “Feisty,” he said. “I like it. Alright, sure, yeah, we did. Now, can we get out of this cold? I know nobody in this city doesn’t give two shits about anything we’re saying right now, but I’d prefer if we went somewhere private.”

  “How am I supposed to know you’re not gonna ambush me?”

  Another fucking shrug. “Goodwill, I hope?”

  “You’re not selling me that great right now.”

  He thought for a second, then his face lit up. “How about I tell you where Lucifer is?”

  “What?” she whispered. “Like…Lucian, the guy who—”

  “Killed your brother, yeah,” Carson said easily. So, so fucking easily, like this was something he talked about so regularly that he was almost starting to get bored. “I mean, that’s what you want, right? Revenge? Our egg heads are pretty smart. We know where he’s lurking, and I’m pretty sure we can figure out what time he takes a shit to the last person he skinned alive.” He spread his arms, which wasn’t appreciated by the people trying to walk past him. He slightly lowered them, a little more sheepish, and said, “Bianca, all I want is some coffee with you. I don’t know much. I’m a foot soldier. What I do know, though, is that you want the devil dead, and I can help with that.”

  She stared at him, a pit widening in her stomach, almost as painful as the torn stitches.

  “Want him dead?” Bianca said quietly, barely audible. “I…I can’t just—”

  “Oh, yes you can. You certainly can.” Carson smiled, almost venomously. “You think a guy like Lucian kills people for fun? Heck no. He’s way too smart for that. He never used to like getting his hands dirty unless he really had to, you know? That’s what gangsters and smart supervillains do. We call them Old Money Villains in the office, ‘cause they’re not stupid and loud like the ones romping around today. And Lucian, from what I’m thinking, killed Ben because he was afraid of him, or your brother pissed the devil off so badly he dealt with him personally.”

  Mouth dry. Tongue fat and rigid. She swallowed and it hurt so bad she flinched.

  “Ben Ross was one hell of a kid,” Carson said, voice soft. “And one hell of a superhero.”

  Bianca stood motionless, heart barely beating inside her chest. “Yeah,” she whispered. “He was.”

  “Well?” Carson asked. “How about we get out of this cold and talk some more? My treat.”

  Before she could think, before she could reason, the words jumped out of her: “I know a place.”

  He grinned. “Awesome. And, hey, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Actually meet you.”

  One last time, his hand came out, right alongside the softest smile he’d given her yet.

  Don’t. Don’t trust him. Working you. He’s working you and you’re gonna fall for it and get hurt.

  Ben this, Ben that. He’s dead, Bianca. Dead. You’re only making the pain linger. Humans. Fucking humans, always so sentimental, always so in love with agony. Let the dead rest, isn’t that what you people say?

  No. She was right. The worms could talk now.

  And the worms almost tore her head apart screaming when she slowly reached out and shook his hand.