Killing Olympia

For the first time I could remember, my phone was the reason I woke up in the morning. I groaned and rolled onto my shoulder, blindly searching my bedside table until I found it. I'd lost count of which backup phone this was, but it didn't really care. I had fallen asleep half-dressed in my costume, and if you've ever fallen asleep in anything skin-tight before, then you know exactly how much of a pain it is trying to get off your bed. My top was somewhere on the floor, one boot was still on my foot and the other had managed to get across my room. I massaged my eyes and looked at the caller ID: unknown. I sighed and picked up the phone, and tried my very best to sound awake.

"Um, is this Olympia?" the person on the other side asked. I frowned. I was about to ask how they knew who to call, because wouldn't that be one hell of a way to start my day, but instead I grunted a response and sat upright to stop myself from falling asleep. Right, I spent a couple of days handing out my number. I massaged my face and stretched my neck, then rolled the ache out of my shoulders as they continued. "I know it's really early in the morning, but I got this number from a friend of mine, and I, you know, um, kinda have a problem. I don't know how this works. It's my first time. Do I have to pay? Because I don't have a lot of money. And the hero service I had a subscription to stopped picking up their phones after the fires, so… Are…are you even there? Olympia, hello?"

I startled a little, then shook my head. "Yeah. Yup. I'm here. Uh, no. Don't gotta pay. I'm free."

"Great!" she said. Her accent told me she was from somewhere Lower East End, maybe near the factories that churned out black smoke and steel. I swung my legs off my bed and tried to get myself psyched up. I need to shower, I thought, looking at my free hand. Lucas got under my nails. "So, um, my dad got kidnapped, and I'd really appreciate it if you helped out? I'm kinda freaking out right now and the police won't get down here, so—"

"Where?" I asked. Alright, get up, wash your face, and get going, superhero. Got a job to do. Oh, man I was hungry. Starving. Someone was downstairs making waffles, I could damn nearly smell them through the floorboards. Not mom, or else I'd be smelling smoke. Maybe Becca. "Once you tell me I'll be there in a few."

"From my house," she said. "Uh, yesterday night. I was kinda locked in the basement."

"And where's your house?"

"Oh, right," she said. "Sorry, I didn't sleep much. 5th Street on Athena's Boulevard. The old one. The one in Lower Olympus. You'll spot the house when you come down here, it's, uh, pretty damn hard to miss the thing."

"Alright," I said. I bent and touched my toes, then arched my back. I need to get back to stretching and working out. Staying at home is making things hurt again. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be there. Can you wait that long? Because I can be there right now if you're in any danger, or if you're still locked inside your basement."

"No, I can wait, I guess. I managed to get out. Plus you sounded like you were asleep, so…"

"I'll be there in five," I said, then cut the call.

I blew air at the ceiling and looked up. I combed my fingers through my hair, then found a knot that didn't want to come loose. I looked over at the mirror and frowned. I tugged a little harder, but the clump of flesh didn't want to let go of my hair. What the hell? I flew to the mirror and looked closer, and… Ew. Pasty and veiny and just a little studded, like a piece of Lucas' jaw had snagged itself into my hair when I'd crushed his head open. I tried my fingers again, but all that did was hurt, so I resorted to my hair brushes, which haven't really done anything else except bend and twist since I was fourteen whenever I tried to force them through my hair. I groaned and tossed plastic brush number six into my trash can, then pinched the cheek. It flinched, tensed, but that's all it did. It didn't move. It didn't grow. It was a piece of a human that was fully locked into my hair like a melted piece of white gum.

In some weird kind of way, it reminded me of high school when Harper did the same. Except she didn't use human flesh to bully me. Great, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. What am I supposed to do about this?

Well, I had an idea, but… Ah, screw it.

I called Emelia. Recently, my calls have been going straight to voicemail.

But today must've been my lucky day, because she picked up on the first time of asking. I didn't usually do video calls, and she looked like she was still half asleep in a bed so plush and lumpy it could swallow mine.

"Rylee?" she said, blinking through sleep. "Hey, sorry. I've been pretty busy lately. What's up?"

"Don't freak out," I said. "But I need your help. You know a lot more about fashion and hair stuff than I do, and remember that one time when Harper screwed up my hair with bubblegum and you helped me get rid of it?"

"Yeah?" she said. Then something…no, wait, someone shifted beside her. Em moved her phone so it wouldn't pick them up. I would ask questions, but I was on the job right now, and that was a topic for much later. "All I used was hot water. It'll take a while but I'm pretty sure you can heat up enough on your own. Don't tell me you managed to get some stuck in your hair again all by yourself and called me just for that, because I slept—"

"Would it work for skin?" I asked.

She paused, massaged her eyes, then sat upright. "Excuse me?"

I turned my head and pointed at the piece of human cheek. "This, would hot water work on that?"

Emelia stared at the screen, put down her phone, and I could still hear her swear. The person in her bed said something that made her throw a pillow across the screen, then she picked the phone back up and said, "How? I don't talk to you for a few weeks and the next thing I know you've got that in your hair! What…Whose is that?"

"It's a long story," I said. "Listen, I don't really have the time to explain, but could you just help me?"

"A primera hora de la mañana. Sólo una noche normal, Dios, es todo lo que pido," she muttered.

"Does that mean you're gonna help me out or…? I totally get it if you don't want to, though."

Suddenly, the phone wasn't in her hands anymore, and listen, I wasn't one to gossip, and I definitely wasn't one to dish out relationship advice, but seeing Grant on the screen put a quiet smile on my face. The tabloids would have a field day with this, and as his mock of messy black hair fell over his face and he rubbed the grit of sleep out of his eyes, I could hear Emelia complaining to him about giving her phone back. Grant grinned, the very same kind that got him on billboards and local newspapers when we were younger, then waved excitedly at me.

"Rylee!" he said, sitting upright. His beaded necklace hung off his neck, and he looked…broader than I last remembered, but I guess growing up did that to you. "Holy shit, it's been so long, man! I watch you on the news sometimes, you know. In between shoots and stuff, of course. Way to go kicking butt out there. You're my hero, Ry."

"You're one to talk," I said, grinning. "You're making millions whilst I still live in my mom's house."

"Hey," he said. "Nothing wrong with crashing with your folks. Besides, if you want, the offer's still open."

I shook my head. "I don't really do the whole acting thing, remember? I'm more of an on-duty gal."

He snapped off a silly salute that got a little bit more of a smile out of me. "Got it," he said. "But tell you what, superhero, L.A. this time of year is awesome. Plus there's plenty of crime to stop. There's a belt that goes from Miami all the way through Nevada and up to the palms that's just asking for someone like you to come help out."

Sunshine and beaches and Bianca in a bikini all year round. Now that's the kind of life I have to earn.

"New Olympus needs me," I said. "Besides, I'd hog all the attention from the capes down there."

"That you will, amigo, that you will. Half of these guys do it for the cameras and the magazines and the late night tv shows that barely anyone even watches these days, anway. I bumped into this one guy that was bench pressing my Bronco for his weird livestream. I told him that if he tried that act in New Olympus he'd get stomped."

"Stomped?" I said. "He'd get thrown through a storefront and then get cursed out."

Grant laughed and said, "The poor guy would probably get trespassed by the store owner afterward!"

Stolen novel; please report.

Em snatched the phone out of his hands, then said, "Don't listen to him. Stay in New Olympus until the job is done, and if you do need a break, tell me, and I'll be there to make sure of it. But for your hair…" She tilted her phone a little, frowned, and shook her head. "I'm gonna be honest, Ry, you might just have to cut it short."

"Easier said than done," I muttered. "Why do you think it's so long? Scissors stopped working."

"Chainsaw, maybe?" Grant asked from afar.

"Even if I did have a chainsaw, my mom would probably freak out if she saw me putting it so close to my head." And if we're being honest, there were very few things on this planet that could cut… I paused, then looked at my door. I could smell Cleopatra's perfume coming from the hallway, and maybe… "Hey, that's a great idea, Grant."

"What?" Em said. "No, Rylee, that's not a great idea at all!"

"Hell yeah for some chainsaw action!" he said.

"I'll talk to you guys later," I said. I winked at Em and mouthed, Busy, huh?

After I cut the call, I flew downstairs and found Becca at the stove wearing a cooking apron I was pretty sure we didn't have until recently. Mom was in her study, which meant her time off healing was done, and as for Cleopatra, she was halfway out the door when she paused. Europa was on the front lawn, alongside Alexandria and the two younger capes they brought along. Time seemed to trip over itself as I landed in the foyer, half-dressed in my costume as the news silently played about yesterday's 'breakthrough in healthcare' as the media put it. Becca looked over her shoulder at me, and Cleopatra paused, a duffel bag over her shoulder as she slowly looked at me.

Europa waved from the front lawn, smiling softly. "Already prepared!" she said. "Impressive." She looked at the younger capes and jerked her thumb at me. "You two should take notes. She's already dressed and ready."

"She looks like she just woke up," Simon muttered.

"Close the front door, will you?" I asked Cleopatra. I didn't have any feelings toward Europa, I just… Look, if you have other things to do, just go and do them. If she wanted to help eventually, then let it be after she sorted her own problems out. Kayana opened her mouth to speak, paused, then did me a favor and shut it. My shoulders lowered as I got closer, not anymore at ease, because Europa would be able to see, hear, smell and almost feel everything I did, even if I was miles away. So I did myself a favor and pointed at the fleshy problem stuck in my hair. Her eyebrows raised. Becca quietly whistled and turned off the stove to get closer. "Can you cut this out?"

"Oh my God," Becca muttered, lifting the piece slightly. "Is this real?"

I wasn't sure about telling her whose it was, so I simply said, "Look, I just need it out and soon. Please?"

Becca pulled the Swiss Army knife off her belt and flicked the small black blade out of it. She dug the tip of the knife into the flesh, but all it did was sink into it and spill blood onto the floor. It wasn't coming off, no matter how hard she sawed and cut and tried to wedge the knife between the flesh and my hair. Eventually, the blade simply snapped against my hair, and we watched it clatter onto the carpet. Becca looked at the knife, then at my hair, and muttered something under her breath as she pocketed the broken tool. She shrugged and looked at me.

"How'd your mom ever manage to braid your hair for preschool?" she asked me.

"She didn't," I said. "We used to force it into a knot and call it quits."

Cleopatra left her duffel bag in the foyer and examined the skin. Her lips thinned, then she took my hand and said, "I don't think there's much we can do without having to cut your hair. Whatever it is, it's stubborn."

That's one thing Lucas was, that's for sure.

"Got some kind of special scissors to cut that?" Becca asked.

"If my light could cut Zeus then it can trim her hair." She led me toward the stairs, and said over her shoulder to Becca, "Tell Europa I'll be out in a moment. There's something I need to take care of before leaving."

"Leaving?" I asked, as I followed her into my bedroom. She was in the same white t-shirt and blue jeans I had first seen her in, alongside a cropped jacket and a golden necklace that hung like liquid light from her neck. She sat me down on the edge of my bed and grabbed my towel so spread it around me. She stood over me, looking at my hair and not just the skin. I looked up at her and said, "How long are you gonna be gone? And where are—"

"How often do you wash your hair?" she asked.

"I…I dunno," I said. "I guess every other week."

"Hm," she hummed. "Do you use any products?"

"Concrete dust mostly."

"You need to start taking care of it," she said. Golden light blossomed around her fingertips, slowly curling into the form of sharp scissors. "Too many split ends, it's thick but it's dry, your scalp is probably itchy, too, but I'm guessing you don't often get the chance." I shook my head. She held me still and began cutting. I half expected the light to wain out and falter as soon as the golden blades tried to bite through my hair. Instead, dirty blonde locs of hair fell around me, dusting my shoulders and my lap. And for whatever reason, I felt…comfortable. Slow. Almost a little sleepy. She was humming quietly as she combed her fingers through my hair, and then she spoke. "I smell the blood of someone less fortunate on your costume." I opened my eyes. She was looking down at me. "Whose?"

"It's pretty hard to explain," I said. "Besides, we've both got places to be today."

"Lucas is dead, that's what you told me." Kayana picked up the piece of flesh that had landed on my bed, still clinging to a chunk of my hair. "But I recognize faces, even from what's so little left of them. This is his, no?"

I sighed and leaned back on my palms. "Yeah, so?"

"Where?" she asked. "Where did this happen?"

"It doesn't matter," I said. "He's not gonna be there even if you try to search for him."

Kayana looked it over. The cheek seemed to tense as she dug her fingernails into it. She looked back at me again and tilted her head. "Rylee," she said slowly. "It slightly concerns me that you're finding this very normal."

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked. "Freak out about some skin?"

Cleopatra stared at me, her brow creased. She sat down beside me and sighed through her nose. "When?"

"Last night," I said. "After you said you kinda had more important things to do."

"Was it worth it?"

I shrugged. "Guess I'll find out in the next few days."

"Rylee," she said, squeezing my hand. "You're not any less important, and neither is Bianca."

"I know, alright?" I said, pulling away. I leaned forward and rubbed my hands as loose strands of hair fell from my head and onto the floor. I glanced at the mirror and saw someone new. Someone with wild hair that barely reached her shoulders. Someone with a face that wasn't so hidden anymore. I wasn't used to seeing so much of myself, but all I could really wonder was what Bianca would think. "But the world needs saving, and you're, well, you're you, and Europa is Europa, and if you guys need a plus one, then I'm here. But I just can't let Bianca down."

She was silent for a moment, then said, "Do you feel like we let you down, too?"

I opened my mouth to speak. She looked at me in a way that made my mouth close and my heart slow down. I shrugged and muttered, "Yeah. Yeah, it kinda felt that way. But I'm pretty used to it, and it makes sense, so…" I spread my hands, because I really didn't know what else she wanted to hear. "I get it, alright? I really do."

The world comes first. The greater good over the lesser glory. Justice, always, no matter what.

"I tried," she said. I looked at her. "But the ELS isn't operated like an organization as much as it is a conglomerate of ideas and personalities. A board decides, and what they decide is what they focus on. You're one of their biggest priorities, and they did take into account that they're risking losing your allegiance by diverting their focus, but they were created on hard values, and those values are the reason Europe struggles a lot less than we do."

"Politics," I muttered. "My favorite."

Cleopatra put her arm around my shoulders. "The US government isn't happy, nor is it settled with the increase in Cape activity they've been monitoring throughout the country. Washington doesn't like it very much when their orders aren't followed, and trust me, after the days I marched through Saudi, I learnt that the hard way. But some warnings are meant to be ignored, and sometimes hard choices are meant to be taken. Unfortunately, this is one of those times. What Cassie Blackwood is doing is simply wrong. There is no right way to spin it, except to the media and the men and the women who are attempting to get one more seat in office soon. They want 'better' heroes, ones that will listen to orders, ones that will bring the shine back from an age long dead. So they'll fund it. They'll market it. They'll make billions from it. And they'll make sure the entire world is watching as it happens."

I paused as a thought crossed my mind. "It's an arm's race."

"Yes," she said quietly. "And Cassie, to the detriment of the government, is already wealthy. She doesn't need more money, what she's after is maybe power, possibly control—what she ultimately wants is for anyone to decide, and if the government can't meet her demands, then what's to stop other countries from reaching out?"

I looked at her, the ground feeling like it was tilting under my feet. "Doesn't that mean war?"

"Not unless we stop what she's doing," Cleopatra said. "Lobbying is our legal route, a way to show that yes, we did try to be peaceful. But when that route inevitably breaks down, then we'll begin a cold war period."

There's a spark in her eye that tells me a part of her missed this.

A spark that said, 'Finally.'

Like she was bred for war, and all she'd been doing since was waiting for it to brew.

And just like that, the person sitting beside me, the person who'd cut my hair and hummed under her breath and made sure she was gentle in turning my head, felt like a presence more than a human. A solar flare that's been sculpted into the shape of a woman so elegantly tall and threateningly powerful that most of the world had specific laws carved into the constitutions to stop her from ever stepping foot into their country's ever again.

But she wasn't dad, she wasn't Europa—Cleopatra wasn't me.

I was pretty sure she was born in Michigan once upon a time.

I guess some people were just born to carry swords and relish it.

Cleopatra stood. "I won't be gone for long. Maybe a day or two. I'll keep in contact and call at night. I'd like to know what you're doing and how your day progresses, and if Bianca still wants to come to the farm, too."

It almost felt like whiplash talking about bingo with old superheroes.

But I nodded, wiped my palms on my thighs, and said, "Sure. And…hey, do me a favor?"

"Anything," she said.

"Don't start a war with the government, maybe?" I said. "At least not now. I haven't asked Bianca out yet, and if I get wrapped up in some kind of massive Cape World War, I think that would total my social life forever."

Cleopatra smiled. "I'll keep that in mind and pass the message to the president."

"I thought you did lobbying through congress and stuff?"

"If you're not me, yes," she said. "But I have favors that need to be fulfilled from old colleagues."

I frowned. "You never told me you were friends with people in the government. I thought they hated you."

"Some did," she said, walking out of my room. Then she paused. "But superheroes listen to superheroes."

Superheroes listen to superheroes? I thought. Superhumans can't work in the government, what is she…

Cleopatra smiled as she left, that glimmer now a fire in her eye as she took the piece of Lucas with her.

My phone vibrated beside me. I glanced at it. The message on the screen read: Are you still coming?

"Fuck me," I muttered, staring at my carpet. "I really need to start watching the news more."