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one: the one in a coffee shop on yonge street
Even before she got hot coffee spilled down the front of her shirt, Piper McLean was having a terrible day.
For starters, it was her first day back at work after the First of July. This inspired the typical “what did you do for the holiday” and “how were the fireworks last night” comments that made Piper’s blood boil. She despised Independence Day and had spent hers visiting her grandfather in Oklahoma. She was getting really worried—he’d seemed so frail when she’d seen him, even more so than the last few times.
He was old, Piper knew that. He was almost ninety years old. But was it too much to ask for him to live a little while longer? Grandpa Tom was a good person. He deserved it. The thought of him dying made Piper rap her hand against her leg rapidly in line at Starbucks, which gained her odd looks from other patrons. She was tempted to roll her eyes, but decided it wouldn’t be in her best interest.
Over the counter, an ad for Tristan McLean’s next movie flashes, and Piper’s fidgeting hand curls into a fist. If she really thinks about it, it’s her father’s fault that Grandpa Tom is dying. Even with the money from his latest franchise, he’d refused to pay for hospital care, or a retirement home. He’s so focused on his new wife, Acraea, that he barely has time for Piper anymore, much less his father. Piper sends parts of her checks out, but it’s never enough.
Then again, being a journalist in Toronto doesn’t pay particularly well. Especially when you aren’t a very established one—oh, who was she kidding—especially when you aren’t a white heterosexual man. Piper thinks about her coworker Dylan’s most recent cover piece and grumbles something very unflattering under her breath.
All in all, it’s really no surprise she’s spending her lunch break grabbing mediocre coffee. When she finally steps up to the counter, her father’s movie advertisement flashes over the menu again, and Piper groans out loud. It’s really not fair to the barista, who is just trying to do their job, but she wants to smash her head against the white linoleum floor and stay there until the world likes her again.
“One black coffee, please,” Piper requests. “I’m sorry for all the groaning.”
“That’s okay,” says the barista. “I’d groan if I saw Tristan McLean shirtless too.” They peek back at a picture of Piper’s dad—who is not wearing a shirt, nope—and smile brightly. “Isn’t he so hot?”
Piper blinks and wonders how much brain damage the linoleum will cause. “Could I pay with a credit card? My name is Nyssa.” She always uses a fake name, just in case her real one attracts attention. It’s the same name she publishes all her articles under, but no one ever recognizes her for that.
The barista sighs, obviously disappointed over her lackluster reaction to the shirtless photo. Piper is thankful when the screen changes back to an advertisement about summer tea infusion refreshers and swipes her card. It really isn’t an expensive drink, but she adds a two dollar tip anyway.
This earns her a proper grin from the barista as she makes her way to the waiting area. Piper has never really liked the atmosphere of Starbucks. It’s too bright, too clinical, too many moving pieces and people. Even though she has ADHD, it’s too much to focus on everything at once. This leads to her staring off into one of the fans on the ceiling, unaware of everything around her until she hears ‘Nyssa’ from the counter in front of her.
She jolts forward and feels hot coffee burn down the front of her chest and stain her pressed black blouse. Piper’s so shocked she can’t even swear, just splutters an incoherent string of indignant nonsense. She bats at her burning chest for a couple painful seconds before looking up at the idiot who’s injured her.
Well, if she was going to be seriously injured via hot beverages, at least her assailant is good-looking. He looks incredibly apologetic and is stammering something that sounds like it could be an apology, but he’s talking too quickly for her to make individual words out. His hair is brown and curly, and he pauses every few seconds to unsuccessfully blow it out of his face before deciding to push it back with his hand. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, an obvious conductor of nervous energy. As his hands wave in the air, Piper notices burn marks on his fingertips.
“Please slow down,” says Piper, holding her hand in the air. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”
The man stops talking and breathes in and out sharply. “What I was saying was that if you want, you can spill your coffee on me too. You know, to make up for it.”
“Why would I waste my coffee that I bought for something as inane as that?” Piper asks, but she can’t stop herself from snorting at the thought. She smiles without entirely meaning to, and feels something warm in her chest that can’t be from the burning coffee.
“Nyssa!” The barista calls again, and Piper steps around the coffee-spiller (not her best name, but it’s accurate) and closes her hand around her own coffee. It occurs to her that she should probably clean the stains in her blouse, but hopefully they’ll blend into the black.
“I have a sister called Nyssa,” muses the coffee-spiller. He’s moved onto fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt, which Piper notes are done out of order. Her fingers twitch in resisting the effort to fix them.
“My name isn’t actually Nyssa,” says Piper automatically. “It’s actually Piper.”
“It suits you,” he says. “I’m Leo. It’s nice to meet you.”
He stretches out his hand to shake, and Piper makes a show of double-checking that she doesn’t shake with the hand she has coffee in. Leo rolls his eyes but shakes her hand twice anyway, a careful double pump that Piper has practiced a thousand times with her grandfather.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s not like you have the moral high ground,” Piper tells him, injecting enough humour into her voice so he doesn’t think she’s being serious. Before, she had felt like a tightly wound coil of resentment. Talking to someone new hasn’t eliminated her reservations, but it’s definitely calmed her down a bit.
“What do I have to do to get back into your good graces?” Leo says, mouth twitching into a lopsided smile that only adds to the sarcasm in his tone. “If you’re asking me to fight a duel in your honour, I’d like you to know that I’m too short for most of the rides at Canada’s Wonderland.”
Piper scans him up and down—he really is uncommonly short.
“Nothing as terrifying as that,” she assures him. “But maybe you can buy me my next coffee.” She tries to smile back, but it’s been so long since she did anything even close to flirting that it comes out as more of a grimace. Why is she so bad at this?
“I look forward to it,” says Leo. “Same time, same place, I’ll be the one not spilling coffee on you.”
This time, Piper smiles legitimately, swaying forward because she hadn’t expected to laugh. When she rights herself, she finds Leo smiling as if proud of her reaction to his stupid joke. The sight of that makes her duck her head again, and her cheeks heat up for reasons that definitely aren’t related to coffee.
“So, um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at…” Piper trails off and checks her watch. “Twelve thirteen? That’s an oddly specific time.”
“I’ll be there,” promises Leo, and his hands have come to rest at his sides, opening and closing in pace with Piper’s racing heartbeat. “Without any hot beverages.”
“No caffeine? How will you get through your day?”
“With extreme difficulty,” he says. “But I think it’ll be better if I remember to get you—” he pauses and glances at the coffee cup in her hand “—one tall black coffee with absolutely nothing in it. And, because I am not a cheap comic, I refuse to make any stupid comments about it matching your soul.”
“If you use one cliche on me, I’m spilling the coffee on you.”
Leo laughs, and his phone starts ringing from a pocket in his oversized sweater. “Damnit, I’ve got to get back to work. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“See you,” she says, and Leo breezes out of the coffee shop almost as quickly as he arrived. She watches him go, feeling the weird sense of warmth again that dissipates almost as soon as he turns out the door. When she turns back to get napkins and clean off her clothing, the menu has changed to her father’s image again. It doesn’t bother her as much this time, although she quickly averts her eyes from his chest.
Piper inhales the smell of the coffee plastered on her shirt and decides maybe she doesn’t hate Starbucks so much after all.
two: the one in a conference room at dawn
Piper knows she’s a good Model UN student. In the weeks leading up to the conference, she’s learned her background guide by heart and has practically compiled a new one with additional research. Her position paper is as accurate as it can possibly be, and she’s managed to sneak a pre-written resolution under the noses of the people chairing her committee. Ideally, she’ll win best delegate for her plan and assassinate the king of France.
It was a flawless plan, thinks Piper. And it’s all going to pieces because Germany can’t get his shit together.
“What do you mean he won’t sign off on my resolution?” demands Piper through gritted teeth. “I’m literally doing everything he wants. Have you told him I’m doing everything he wants?”
“I have,” says the Russian delegate. “I have not conveyed any of your bus related threats to him, because I think that they would get you kicked off this committee and possibly off the premises.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Piper allows, leaning back in her chair. “I just don’t know why this idiot won’t agree to my perfectly decent paper. Have you told him it’s a perfectly decent paper?”
Piper has tried to approach him and cajole him herself, but she’s been continually rebuffed by the tall white blond that the German delegate has kept at his side all day. She’s resorted to fuming and sending Russia back and forth with increasingly annoyed messages. Still, her paper is one signatory short and there’s no chance of getting anyone else to sign it.
She thinks about punching the table, then controls herself with thoughts of the best delegate gavel. It can still be hers—all she has to do is convince Germany during their next moderated caucus.
“Your unmod is up!” yells the chair. He’s a nervous man who laughs like a goat and introduced himself as Grover Underwood two days ago. Through a little loose interpretation of the rules, Piper has found herself in possession of the perfect weapon to kill the king of France.
(In the simulation, of course. Not in real life. In real life France is a girl named Annabeth Chase who goes to her school and sits with Piper at lunch. She doesn’t think Annabeth will be too offended by the murder—the other girl has never liked MUN much anyway.)
Piper is so caught up in her brilliant plan that she entirely misses the moderated caucus motions, and tunes back in only when she hears Germany mention her country.
“And I think Italy should be excluded from any trade agreement we make in the future, as they have proven they cannot be trusted with matters of importance,” says Germany, and turns a blinding grin on her. “All in favour?”
“I will rip out your spine and beat you to death with it,” says Piper angrily, then claps her hand over her mouth when she realizes she’s spoken out loud.
“Point of order: you can’t do that,” says Grover. “You can’t do either of those things.”
“You are a barrel of sunshine,” notes Germany, which somehow makes Piper want to attack him more. He’s got a very punchable face, she reflects. His nose is long and hooked and he’s got a suspicious scar under his right eye. He’s wearing a jacket with too many pockets, and it definitely isn’t regulation but no one has called him out on not abiding the dress code.
“Why won’t you sign my resolution?” Piper asks, more confused than anything. As if on cue, the classroom immediately devolves into chaos. A delegate stands up and accuses someone across the room of cheating on her, Russia drags the blond boy under his desk, and Germany stands above it all with a superior grin.
Their chairs—women called Sally and Marie—have joined Grover in the calls for order, but it doesn’t seem to work on the students. They’re riled up, and Piper knows it can’t just be because she lost her mind dealing with Germany.
She picks her way through a fight that’s broken out in the center and pushes Germany’s shoulder. “Hey, what gives?”
He turns to her, good nature and mirth never leaving his face. “I bet my best friend Jason I could make the whole simulation fall to pieces at least twice.”
For a moment, Piper just stares at him, then has to physically restrain herself from actually punching him.
“Do you know how long I’ve spent preparing for this event? How many hours I poured into the resolution you just rejected outright?”
“I knew you pre-wrote that,” he says triumphantly, and Piper hates herself for letting it spill out. “It was too perfect to be done on the spot.”
“If it’s perfect, why don’t you sign it?”
“To rile you up,” he says, rolling his eyes as if she should’ve picked up on it by now. “Hey, Jason’s a rich kid. If I can make an easy two hundred dollars, I’m going to take the offer.”
“How about you sign my resolution and I won’t injure you for ruining my favourite conference of the year?” Piper asks innocently.
Germany stops, like he really does feel bad for ruining it. “Your favourite conference?” He looks at her then, really looks at her, and she knows he can see the bags under her eyes and the grease in her hair and the way she’s wound herself up way too tightly. It’s obvious.
“Yes,” she says, not as irritable as she would’ve been before. “Yes, it’s my favourite conference.”
“I’m sure the chairs will get everyone under control soon,” he offers weakly, but Piper can see Sally and Grover struggling to break a fighting pair up out of the corner of her eye.
“I’ll cut you a deal,” she says, turning her full attention back to him. “Sign my paper. Don’t cause chaos for the rest of the day. Be a good little delegate.”
“You know, usually both people profit from a deal. That’s what motivates them.”
“Shut up, I’m getting to that part.”
“By all means.” Germany sits back down, rocking his crappy plastic chair like it’s built for that kind of movement. His eyes present a clear challenge, wondering what her next move will be.
“And I’ll get you your two hundred dollars by helping you burn everything down tomorrow,” she says, and he’s suddenly sitting straight.
“Why would you do that? I thought this was your favourite conference,” he says accusingly.
“Yeah, but I hate economic policy with a passion,” Piper smirks, “and I’m trying to motivate you to help me out here.”
Germany’s face relaxes from an almost stringent smile, coming down into something that looks a lot more mischievous and a lot more legitimate. “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept,” he says.
“Good,” says Piper. “Then it’s a deal, Germany.”
“My name is Leo Valdez, actually,” he says. “I figure anyone who’s agreeing to do a prank with me should know that, in case they have to file a police report.”
She stares at him for a couple seconds, almost entirely dumbfounded. “Um, I don’t want to know. I’m Piper McLean, by the way.” She cracks a couple knuckles on her left hand, not to show him she means business but to stretch out fingers tired of writing for a day straight.
“It’s good to have you on my team, Piper McLean,” says Leo, and there’s something about the way he says her name that makes her decide it was a good idea to trust him. It’s silly that she thinks he won’t go back on the deal, but it’s worth a shot.
“Please don’t get ahead of yourself,” she scoffs. “You’ve still got a full day of foreign law to suffer through with me at the helm. And you promised to sign my paper, which will economically devastate your country in the next fifteen years.”
Leo’s smile doesn’t flicker. “Worth it,” he says.
Grover whistles and all activity in the room comes to a screeching halt. He starts to give a speech on how ‘exceedingly disappointed’ he is with the ‘unprecedented nonsense’ of their committee, but rushes through a lecture to explain they now have to take the Greece delegate to the nurse straightaway. He and Marie haul the poor kid out, and Sally gives them a break they don’t deserve.
“So,” says Leo, snapping Piper’s attention back to reality, “how about that prank, huh? What are you going to do to make sure we never get to economics?”
Piper can feel her lips turning up into a smile—she hasn’t pulled off anything like this in so long, and she’s more excited than she cares to admit to Leo. “I’m not sure yet, but I know it’s going to make what you did today look like child’s play,” she boasts.
“I’ll be sure to grab the confetti cannons,” says Leo dryly. “Are you sure you don’t want any help? I am, after all, a pranking god.”
She clicks her tongue at his bragging, then looks back and forth to ensure no one is listening to them. When Piper’s confirmed there are no eavesdroppers, she mentally admits that every prank is better with a partner in crime. She hops up to sit on Leo’s desk, and he leans closer to her, as if recognizing the need for absolute secrecy.
“Okay, so here’s the plan…”
(For the record, she still gets to assassinate France.)
three: the one during a high stakes chase
Before she ran into the monster on Elm Street, Piper McLean thought she might get to go home early.
It wasn’t easy being a city’s only hero, despite how Superman made it seem. As the vigilante Katoptris, Piper pulled long hours to ensure the safety of the town from supervillains, monsters, and muggers alike. In the day, she acted as an administrative assistant to the mayor, which gave her both the freedom to peek into government files and the salary to afford a tiny apartment on the outskirts of town. Both of her jobs were relatively thankless, but Piper knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t use her power for good. After growing up with her mother… well, she wouldn’t think about that. Being active almost 24/7 meant Piper didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on the past.
Now she gives chase to a hulking man dressed in what she’d originally thought was a high school mascot uniform, dashing down a largely abandoned street in broad daylight with his hands full of bills. It wouldn’t have been the most pressing concern, except for eyewitness accounts that described the man as the monster known as Zephyr. He had scaly skin and bright eyes, and was twice the size of a normal man. As the name implied, he could run like the wind and was rumoured to be capable of freezing surfaces with the touch of a hand. Piper thought that was “Frozen” inspired poppycock, but she was prepared for it anyway. As a Canadian citizen for twelve years, she could handle a little cold.
On top of that, she would’ve caught him a couple minutes ago, had it not been for her stupid cape. Piper trips, curses and grips the stretchy fabric, making a mental note to tell Annabeth Edna Mode really was right—no capes! Stumbling down the road, Piper realizes she’s lost sight of the man. She starts to curse in convoluted French, having used up her small vocabulary of English swears.
She looks left… right… no sign of the man. Or anyone, really. The street is wide and cobblestoned, and feels cold despite the sun shining. It’s a beautiful day, and flowers have begun to bloom from the boxes of apartments. Still, there isn’t anyone in front of her. A few shops have opened doors, but business definitely isn’t booming. Like the majority of cities in North Quebec, the street breaks off into a million smaller alleyways and roads. There’s no time to explore them all, and no sign of which way Zephyr has gone. Piper half expects a hay bale to roll in front of her. Was now too early to break into her reserve of Welsh curses?
“Listen, Elsa, I don’t want to cause any trouble,” says an unfamiliar male voice, and Piper perks up immediately. Her heightened senses allow her to detect the source of the noise, and she moves carefully forward.
Keep talking, thinks Piper. Let me find you.
As if he’s heard her—which is obviously impossible—the man keeps talking, voice kicking up an octave. He sounds nervous but not terrified, which is out of the ordinary for a civilian. Piper appreciates him not screaming his head off. The thing no one tells you about sharp hearing is that loud noises are practically hell on earth.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything you want,” says the man. “I’m dead broke. My credit card got declined for bubblegum this morning, which I’m pretty sure is rock bottom. But you know what they say about rock bottom?” He waits for an answer Zephyr clearly doesn’t want to give. “There’s nowhere to go but up!”
Piper stifles a snort. As far as reactions to imminent danger go, referencing animated movies twice in less than five minute is probably the most entertaining. She waits for a moment, hoping Zephyr will respond.
“I don’t care about your money,” growls a voice that is almost comically cold. “There are more valuable uses I could put you to… if you wanted to work for me.”
Gotcha, thinks Piper. She tiptoes to the side of an exposed brick wall and peeks in.
“I want to tell you that I have absolutely no marketable skills,” says the man. Piper can see him now, a nervous mass of energy twitching as he tries to talk his way out of confrontation. He’s got curly brown hair and a failed piercing in his right ear, which is probably the reason he’s got a loose bandage flopping on his shoulder like a dead fish. His hands are up in the air as Zephyr stares him down.
“I don’t need you to be alive,” says Zephyr. “You have plenty of uses otherwise.”
“Did I tell you about my incredible talent for hairdressing?” asks the man.
“Hold it right there!” yells Piper, striding into the alleyway with four years of hero work under her belt. She pulls a dagger from her literal belt, brandishing it at Zephyr. There’s really no need—he’ll have stopped no matter the physical threat. Her voice is her most important power: she could’ve stopped a raging bull in its tracks if she really tried.
It’s a family secret, taught by her Grandpa Tom and adopted by Piper for causes a little more worthy than telling fresh game to stop in their tracks. She levels her blade at Zephyr, humming a popular song under her breath as he approaches.
“Oh, ‘Shape of You,’” says the talkative man. “Not the song I would’ve choreographed my dashing rescue to, but it’s much better than being eaten by a six-foot-tall bunny rabbit.”
“I wasn’t going to eat you,” snaps Zephyr, cutting his eyes to glare at Leo. He can’t move from the spot, but he’s stared at Piper with unabashed hatred.
“Do not move,” she orders, and unclasps a pair of handcuffs from her toolbelt. “Zephyr Boread, you are under arrest for murder, theft, grand larceny, identity theft, and probably a bunch of other crimes I can’t name.”
“You would be a terrible police officer,” observes the man, then doubles back. “That was a compliment.”
“I know,” says Piper, grinning despite herself. It’s hard not to get amped up on the high of a job well done. “Thank you.” She shackles Zephyr and keeps a firm grip on the chain, not willing to let him get away again.
“Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights?” demands Zephyr.
“Only cops have to do that,” Piper points out. “But you know the drill. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Happy now?”
Zephyr wisely chooses to remain silent.
“Katoptris ex machina,” cheers the man from behind. “When I started running a machine shop, I didn’t think it would help me out this much, but I guess life throws you curveballs.”
“You recognize me?” Piper asks. Even after years of service, she’s largely ignored by the public. She supposes it’s due to her hideous uniform, but it’s supposed to be practical more than decorative.
“Sure I do. I’m Leo. You saved my shop from a fire a year ago and left before I could show up to thank you,” says the man, who Piper recognizes as Leo Valdez. She did save his shop, but got a call from the mayor’s office before she could alert the residents of the fire. She’d seen his face on the news later that night, publicly thanking Katoptris for her service.
She feels bad she hadn’t recognized him straight away. It had been one of her better hero moments.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Piper offers lamely.
“Me too,” says Leo, looking like she’s said the wittiest thing in the world. “It’s nice to properly meet you.”
Zephyr groans and chooses the exact worst moment to break his silence. “I’ve been in two jails in the last year, and neither of them have been as bad as watching this conversation play out.”
“Shut up,” says Piper. “I’m taking you to rehab, not prison. I’m not a cop.”
“Right,” grumbles Zephyr. “You’re the sergeant of—”
“Humane law enforcement,” interjects Leo. “Sounds like it should be an oxymoron, doesn’t it? Anyway, Miss Katoptris, if you ever feel like stopping by, Valdez Mechanics is at 1608 Vulcan Road. Ask for the hot one.” He winks and Piper really does laugh.
“Why? So I could talk to your girlfriend?”
“Very funny. I don’t have a girlfriend; I was talking about myself. I’m usually burning myself in the forges,” he says, lifting a hand to show a particularly nasty looking burn mark. “But if you think—”
“I changed my mind,” says Zephyr. “Even rehab would be better than this.”
“I guess I’ll catch you when you’re free of your dead weight,” says Leo, and slides past them into the sunlight of the real road. He looks more natural in broad daylight, like there’s more of him to be seen. It’s arresting, and Piper blinks in surprise.
“Don’t commit crimes,” she says lamely, but he chuckles as he goes dancing down the alleyway. “Or I’ll have to ‘arrest’ you.” She uses the hand that isn’t holding her captive in place to make air quotes, but winces anyway at the awful line. Usually she’s better at snappy dialogue, but something about this situation is different from before.
“You’d have to arrest yourself,” says Leo, “because you stole my heart.” He winks and strolls down the sidewalk, leaving Piper holding Zephyr and blushing beetroot red. It’s a miracle she remembers to hang on to the criminal, seeing as she’s almost forgotten her own name.
“That was a terrible line,” mutters Zephyr. “You should arrest him for crimes against comedy.”
“You’re a murderer,” Piper reminds him. “That’s a bigger concern.”
Still, she can’t help but stare into the empty space where Leo used to be, wondering what random chance of fate had led to their paths crossing again. And maybe—just maybe, because Piper doesn’t like to get involved with civilians—maybe she’ll go to 1608 Vulcan Avenue and ask for the hot one.
The thought is enough to make her smile.
four: the one that came before the arena
Any girl would be anxious. The dress is heavy, the veil is thick, and the jewelry ranges from just tacky to absolutely obscene. Piper rubs her fingers on a diamond bracelet and reflects on how many months of groceries her family could buy with it. It seems like an absolute waste of resources, this silly carbon bracelet, but she can’t deny it has some aesthetic appeal.
At least she’ll look pretty before they ship her off to her death.
Okay, there’s a small chance she won’t die. But really, Piper has no delusions. She’s not from a Career District, she’s not strong or particularly talented, and her interview is bound to be an absolute bust. She’s been too busy surviving up until this point to worry about having to make people like her.
Her mentor, a striking woman called Aphrodite, has warned her that her first introduction to the public matters. Through the cloud of perfume that seemed to follow her, Piper was able to discern two things. One, she couldn’t screw this up unless she had an active death wish. And two, she’s almost definitely going to die in the next week.
Is there any way to go out in a blaze of glory when you’re fighting other teenagers for what is essentially entertainment? Piper supposes there isn’t, but it would be nice to think her imminent doom could be somewhat dignified.
Anyway, she hates her dress. It’s uncomfortable, and sweat beads on her brow as she waits for the Capitol to finish setting up. There’s been some sort of technical difficulty, and now the tributes are standing in groups awkwardly, waiting for them to finish.
Piper, of course, is alone. She isn’t going to survive without allies (no, she can’t stop thinking about that) but she’s not in a mood to make friends. Besides, there’s nothing she could offer anyone beyond the pleasure of her company, and she doubts that that’s as valuable as she thinks it is.
After waiting fifteen minutes in the wings, they were shepherded into a huge room with a blue tiled floor and positively gaudy chandeliers. There’s a draft in the room, but otherwise no furniture. She can’t imagine what the room could’ve been used for before them, but imagines it was almost entirely useless.
“I like the jewels,” says a voice from behind her. “You look like you could be from around here.”
Piper almost yells, hand flying to her hip to find a weapon she doesn’t have yet. When she turns around, she’s met with only another tribute, hands up in the air like a sign of surrender.
“You look like you’re from District Twelve,” Piper tells him flatly, but it’s more than the obvious coal miner costume. Through the thin shirt, his chest seems almost sunken in, and his eyes are far from being angry—he just seems tired. Although some of the inner districts have a little more spirit, most everyone Piper’s seen from the outer ones looks like they’ve been knocked around more times than they care to admit.
It’s this, more than anything, that makes her regret her flippant tone.
“You’re right about that,” says mystery boy. Despite the dejection on his face, he somehow has the energy to pull a bobby pin out of his hair and start unfolding it with weird focus. “Leo Valdez, District Twelve. Some have referred to me as a local disappointment.”
“Your tone is happy, but your words are really sad,” says Piper. “Um, I’m Piper McLean. District Three.”
“I figured,” says Leo. “You know, from all the shiny stuff. What’s with the bridal theme?”
“Maybe to remind the audience of things I’ll never get to have if I die,” she says. Her intention is for the words to come out sarcastically, but she realizes they’re more than true. Maybe that was her stylist’s intention, and Piper makes a mental note to thank Drew. Despite everything… well, it’s not a bad message to be sending.
Leo nods. “For a minute I thought you might be engaged, but I didn’t see why you’d want to advertise that.”
“Engaged? Who gets engaged while there’s a chance of them being reaped?” Piper stares at him as if he’s changed into the outfit from the truly horrible year they just covered the tributes in coal dust and told them to get on the platform. “Do they do that in your district?”
Of course they get married young in District Three. She doesn’t know for sure, but she can’t imagine anyone in Panem would want to get married before they’re absolutely sure they won’t get ripped away from it. Watching someone you loved more than anything become a murderer or die on the big screen… and have that be mandatory… Piper thinks she prefers getting sent in the arena herself.
“We don’t get married that young, no,” says Leo, blushing mildly. “I thought it might be different in your district.” He fidgets with the bobby pin, and Piper worries he might cut the skin beneath his nails with it. She knows from experience it’s not a convenient wound to work around.
But you shouldn’t care, Piper reminds herself. This boy is your enemy, and he’s either going to kill you… or you’ll have to kill him. Either way, this conversation is not worth it. You know why alliances never work in the Games.
Despite herself, Piper bats his hands away from the bobby pin. “Pick at your shirt. At least then you won’t ruin your nails. If you do that, it’ll be difficult for you to pick up a knife.”
Leo glances up, probably as surprised as she is that she’s helping him. “What’s it to you? Won’t my injury just mean you won’t have an enemy to worry about?”
He’s saying exactly what she’s thinking, but Piper can’t help being a little offended.
“I’m just trying to help you,” Piper mumbles, suddenly embarrassed. So what if her morals hadn’t completely gone out the window when they’d pulled her name? Maybe ‘was a good person’ wasn’t a particularly catchy line for a tombstone, but it was a decent enough way to be remembered.
“I’m not complaining,” says Leo warily, “I just don’t want to walk into a trap.”
“No traps,” Piper promises. “Not from me, at least.”
“The Careers seem particularly deadly this year,” says Leo, glancing over to a group of intimidating teenagers. Piper memorized their names on the ride to the Capitol. Thalia and Jason, siblings from District One, Hazel and Nico from District Two, and Percy Jackson from District Four. She can’t see the female tribute from Four, and the name slips her memory. Still, she knows Leo is right about the danger.
“It might be… it might be useful to team up,” says Piper tentatively. It just about checks out that the one ally she tries to make is the kid from Twelve. She can already hear Aphrodite groaning, begging Piper to save her own skin by trying to make a good impression on the kids with actual skills.
But for some reason, she can’t convince herself to leave Leo alone.
“An alliance,” says Leo slowly, like he’s actually considering it. Through the bottoms of her slipper-like ‘wedding shoes,’ Piper feels the cold of the tile seep into her feet. It reminds her of her home, never heated except on very special holidays. She curls her toes in her shoes.
“I’ll do it,” says Leo. He bends to retrieve the bobby pin from the ground and fashions it into a shape that looks suspiciously like a lockpick Piper has seen in school diagrams. She opens her mouth in surprise, then closes it. No matter who, it’ll be good to have an ally. And based on the lockpick, she has a sneaking suspicion that there’s more to Leo than she originally thought.
“Good,” says Piper. “I don’t really want to die.”
“Me either,” says Leo. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking that makes people dangerous.”
He looks like he wants to say something more, but is painfully aware that there are cameras tracking their every movement. As Piper lets her gaze drift off to the right, she notes another one situated in the crack between two bricks. The sight makes her clench her fist, suddenly furious with the absolute invasion of privacy. Just once in her life, she’d like to say something without the ever present fear of being watched.
Just once, Piper would like to feel human. She picks at a loose thread on her bridal veil and resists the urge to say some incredibly choice words about her actual feelings on everything she’s seen.
“The technical difficulty has been resolved,” announces a Capitol woman from near the door. “Tributes, please follow me back to your chariots.” Her voice is floaty and drifts off so much her sentences seem like questions, but it’s her moon-white skin that makes Piper nearly lose her lunch. It’s unnatural.
“Piper?” says Leo, and she’s reminded he exists. She turns to see him holding out his hand to shake, although his thumb is twisted into a position that doesn’t seem normal. Skeptical, Piper reaches her hand out anyway. She’s confident no one wants her dying before they can video it.
As if reading her thoughts for the second time that day, Leo speaks again. “Try not to die before I see you next,” he says, and slips his makeshift lockpick into her hand.
“No promises,” says Piper, but she feels oddly light for the first time since she heard Colic Fairgaze call her name in front of everyone she knew. Like… like maybe something has changed, more fundamentally than her character or her dress or the amount of food she’s eating.
For a minute, Piper thinks she might be able to win the Hunger Games.
five: the one about ‘when in rome’
It’s hard enough being the first Native American demigod to join Camp Jupiter in a really long time. It’s harder being a daughter of Venus that no one ever takes seriously. This, naturally, leads to Piper spending yet another evening in the training room, beating the living crap out of a punching bag. It’s been almost six years since she arrived at the Twelfth Legion, and her name isn’t even being considered for centurion of the Fourth Cohort. It’s enough to make her want to rip the stuffing itself out of the damn bag. She settles for punching it until her knuckles split and bleed.
“And this is the training room,” says Reyna, opening the door and revealing Piper. “You’ll notice it’s very organized—Piper, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be training with your cohort.”
The praetor’s eyes flash murder, and Piper feels almost guilty. Reyna’s doing her part as a member of camp, showing new people around when she doesn’t have to, staying up late filing paperwork no one else understands… and Piper can’t be bothered to show up for a regular training session with the people she wants to lead. Maybe there’s more than one reason they haven’t considered her for the job.
But then she remembers pretty much everything Sonny Brown has ever said to her and decides that everyone in the Fourth Cohort just fucking sucks. Reyna’s ability to throw her off her game is unparalleled, but Piper’s gotten better at sticking up for herself.
“I decided to practice here for a while,” says Piper, smiling with an ease she doesn’t entirely feel. “I talked to my current centurions, they said it was okay.” She’s done no such thing and Reyna probably knows it, but she won’t call Piper out on it in front of someone new to camp.
Speaking of which, she glances over to size up the new recruit. He’s scrawny, with brown curly hair that he’s going to have to tame to be effective in battle. But his dark eyes sparkle with mischief, and the spray of freckles over his nose is so distinctive she’s sure her mother would approve. It looks a lot like a movie star thing, and Venus has always been a big fan of those.
Even in her head, the sarcasm is nearly overpowering.
“I’m Piper,” she says to the boy. “Welcome to Camp
Jupiter. Uh, I promise it’s not mandatory to injure yourself in the training room.” She takes a better look at her knuckles and nearly winces at the blood. It’s one thing to know your scars were put there by a monster, but another to do it to yourself. Piper makes a mental note to find an Apollo kid and ask for bandages.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” says the boy. “I’m Leo Valdez.” In the past few minutes, he’s changed the way he’s fidgeting three different times. Piper’s ADHD herself—almost all demigods are—but Leo is seriously hard to keep up with.
“He wasn’t trained by Lupa,” says Reyna meaningfully, and Piper looks at Leo with renewed interest. “We found him at a school.”
Reyna says the word school like some people say prison, but Piper doesn’t think she’s too far off on that. Most Roman demigods, however, end up with the wolves, and it’s the similarity between her and Leo that catches her off guard.
“Interesting,” says Piper, for lack of anything better to say. “I know you’ve probably heard it before, but welcome. Has Reyna told you about our fabulous war elephant? It’s really one of our better points.”
“Piper,” says Reyna through gritted teeth. Piper swears she doesn’t go out of her way to annoy the other girl, but sometimes it’s almost too easy.
“Do you have it remotely powered? Did you build a machine?” Leo asks. “Because that would honestly be really interesting.”
“It’s a real elephant,” says Piper, “but it might be more useful if you put some gears into it.”
“I think that’s called animal abuse,” interrupts Reyna. “It’s illegal around here.”
“You’re a praetor,” says Piper. “You can just excuse us.”
“Us,” says Leo. “That’s a pretty brilliant horror movie.” He glances between Reyna and Piper, who are wearing identical looks of confusion. “Do you guys not get movies around here?”
“Not much time for it between the constant murder and training for murder,” offers Piper. “Although I think we could pencil it in right before imminent death.”
For a minute Piper thinks Reyna might be the cause of her imminent death, but Leo just stares at her and starts laughing. The joke isn’t even that funny, but he doubles over like she’s a famous comedian trotting out her best work. It’s very validating, but Piper recognizes something else in his laugh. It’s… it’s almost like he hasn’t gotten the opportunity to laugh for a very long time.
She knows all too well what that feels like.
“Sorry,” says Leo, straightening himself back up. He pushes on the bridge of his nose as if accounting for glasses that aren’t there, or maybe it’s just a way to bring himself back to earth. Either way, Piper feels something contract in her chest that she wasn’t expecting from today.
“Hey Reyna,” she says, keeping her voice deliberately casual. “Why don’t you head back to New Rome and finish up those budget reports? I’ll finish taking Leo around the camp and get some bandages for my hands.” She holds up her bloody knuckles like a flag of surrender.
Reyna eyes her critically. “Do you have any idea what my job involves?”
“None at all,” replies Piper cheerfully. “I think I’m better off like that.”
For a moment, Reyna wavers, but finally gives in. “I guess you can show him around camp… but don’t do anything stupid. Do not poke gears into the war elephant. Do not scare a new demigod off into the abyss. Do not set New Rome on fire and tell me you were trying to roast marshmallows.”
“Is this something you’ve tried before?” Piper directs her question at Leo, who seems suddenly uncomfortable.
“Not with New Rome, specifically,” he says, but seems so uneasy Piper decides not to press it. Maybe he’s got a thing with fire—rules out Vulcan as a father, at the very least. She has fun guessing people’s godly parents, and even organized a minor betting ring for new demigods.
(If someone were looking for full disclosure, Piper would be forced to admit she’s not particularly good at it.)
“I’ve scared my fair share of demigods into the abyss,” she says. “I mean, it wasn’t my fault most times, but I’m a very intimidating person.” She says the last part sarcastically, then wishes it were true. If she can’t be loved… well, better feared than nothing.
“I find you terrifying,” says Leo seriously, and Piper wonders what went wrong with her life to make her perceive that as a compliment.
“I am going to slowly back away and do the budget reports,” Reyna announces. “I’m going to regret letting you do this, aren’t I?” The question is aimed at Piper, but it’s Leo who answers.
“I don’t think we’ll regret it,” he says, glancing at Piper with the beginnings of a smile on his face. We, she thinks, and tries not to get too happy about it. Instinctively, she brushes her fingers over the dove tattoo on her arm, the way she always does to remember why she’s there.
There are moments, usually ones like this, that put her in danger of forgetting.
Maybe it’s the apprehension on Piper’s face that finally convinced Reyna she could leave them alone in good conscience, because the next thing Piper hears is the door swinging shut and an awkward cough from Leo. She really hates getting to know people, but she thinks she can make an exception.
“What kinds of horror movies are we missing out on in New Rome?” she asks, suddenly curious to talk about something she knows her father would never be involved in. Even if Tristan McLean doesn’t like to admit it, he’s a bit of a scaredy cat.
“You have no idea,” he tells her. “I’ve actually been thinking of installing a screen in the dining table, there’s a wall that would be absolutely perfect for it. I could build it myself—but I’d have to think about the monster attraction stuff. I didn’t realize that before.”
“Even if you got the screen to work, Reyna would absolutely hate it,” observes Piper, and Leo looks so disappointed that she rushes through the second part of her sentence. “Which, if you ask me, is all the more reason you should do it.”
Leo brightens up, which is almost disorienting. “I feel like we’re going to get along really well,” he says. “I mean, if the flouting authority thing isn’t Reyna-specific.”
“Of course not,” says Piper. “Do you think I acknowledge the president?”
He laughs again, and it makes her feel strangely warm. She would’ve moved to smooth back her sweaty hair, but doesn’t want to risk smearing blood on her face. It’s deceptively difficult to get off. She settles for wiping the backs of her hands on her jeans, which causes red stains that might stick there for a while. It’s not a big deal, but it gives her the courage to look up and return Leo’s grin.
“I think we’re going to get along well too.”
six: the one that actually happened
Even if she hadn’t been sent there as punishment, Piper thinks she still would’ve hated the Wilderness School. There’s absolutely nothing redeemable about it, and she’s not just saying that because she doesn’t enjoy being in nature. The teachers are terrible—Coach Hedge is amusing, but still terrible—and she isn’t learning anything she actually wants to. Most of the students harass her for her heritage, which is predictable if disappointing. Maybe the worst part is the way everyone believes that the students won’t amount to anything, even the students themselves.
It’s the kind of place that sucks the fight out of you.
She laments this in the library one night, feeling nothing more than utterly sorry for herself. Piper recognizes the school probably isn’t well funded—the peeling paint on the walls and understocked shelves are a testament to that—but it’s still not a great place. The text in the pages of her novel is swimming before her eyes, and Piper tries to focus for a few minutes before giving up and slamming it shut. The sound echoes off the the walls of the library and she resists the urge to plant her face in the book and pretend she’s somewhere, anywhere else.
Typically, that’s when the boy shows up.
He ricochets into the library like a cannonball, quickly enough that it startles Piper and makes her knock the glass of water on the table into her lap. She curses, which is what ultimately makes him whip his head around and notice her.
“Do you have a moral objection to duct-taping Donald Duck cartoons over the paintings of previous principals?” he asks her, and the sentence is so strange Piper has to repeat it twice in her head to figure out exactly what it means.
“Considering the crimes I’ve committed to end up in this school, I should be less offended by that question than I actually am,” she says, dabbing at her sweater with her hands in an effort to make it less wet, although she figures it’s a lost cause. “If we’re doing this legitimately, Ducktales would be better.”
“Like Donald Duck’s nephews?”
“Who else?”
The strange boy’s grin spreads across his face, and Piper wonders how she’s never seen him before. Come to think of it, maybe he’s in her English class, but she hasn’t been paying enough attention to her classmates to notice. She doubts she could name five of them, much less remember where Donald came from. They can’t possibly all be bad.
Donald (she doesn’t have a better name for him, so that’s what’s sticking) skids to a stop in front of Piper’s table and sits backwards on a chair in front of her. He pulls a sheaf of cartoons from his pocket and spreads them on the desk, crumpled and faded with age. His eyes catch on the romance novel Piper threw down, and she mentally prepares herself for the snide comment.
“Good book,” he says, nodding at the pink cover. “Not as great as some of her others, but a solid one.”
“You’ve read Emma Mills?” asks Piper, taken aback.
“Uh, yeah, I listen to the audiobooks to help me fall asleep,” he says, then blushes like he didn’t mean to say that. “Anyway, do you want to help me go deface a bunch of bad paintings with images of an American hero?”
“Well, I mostly want to sit here and read my book,” Piper hedges, but she can’t deny the boy’s offer is tempting. He seems to pick up on this, because he perks up in his seat like she’s agreed to personally fund his trip to a major monument.
For some reason, she feels like he would enjoy London, but maybe she’s biased.
“I guarantee you pure euphoria or your time back,” he says. “I will personally invent time travel if you do this with me.”
“Why do you need me?” Piper asks.
“You are sitting in the library, which implies you’re smart. You referenced Ducktales and read Emma Mills, which are signs of excellent taste. But mostly I’m desperate and didn’t realize this place had forty-seven former principals. Please help?”
“Okay,” says Piper, then speaks up because she can’t believe she’s agreeing. “I’ll help you. But not because I care about defacing a bunch of paintings, but because I don’t have plans for tonight beyond procrastinating third period math homework.”
“If I let you copy off me, will it inspire you to help me on future pranks?”
“It will inspire me to be in your debt for life.”
“I won’t forget that,” he says lightly. “By the way, my name is Leo Valdez. But if anyone asks you—and by anyone I mean a member of school administration—you don’t know my name and were kidnapped in the middle of the night for a heist you know nothing about.”
“I’m Piper,” she says, trying to take the relative insanity of the night in stride. “Uh, but if we get caught you can say I’m Sophie Hobart from history class.”
Leo grins. “Nice. She’s a real jerk, isn’t she? Kind of racist and tried to tie my shoelaces together. I mean, that’s just a new level of lazy.”
“I like how that’s the part you choose to be offended about,” says Piper, then snorts because she can’t believe she’s actually having fun. She unzips her sweater and drapes it over the back of the chair; thinking that if she gets caught in the hallway after curfew she can at least say she was doubling back for it. Almost out of habit, she brushes at her soaked jeans in an attempt to dry them off.
“Come on, Piper,” says Leo. “My diversion won’t buy us too much time, and now that I’ve recruited you I have to pull this off.” He stands up and holds out a hand. Piper takes it even though she doesn’t need it, standing from her chair and running her hand absently through her hair.
“What’s the diversion?” she challenges. As if on cue, they hear a loud thump from the hallway and the sound of a girl’s high pitched scream echoes into the library. Piper cocks an eyebrow.
“That’s my diversion,” Leo announces proudly. “By my estimation, we have about thirty minutes before someone blames this on me.” He races back to the door and holds it open, clearly waiting for her in a way that strikes Piper as oddly gentlemanly. “Also, I feel like you’re going to need an alias that isn’t Sophie Hobart, for, um… interesting reasons. How about Elise Campier?”
Piper smiles at the mention of yet another bully from her English class, then makes a mental note to ask Leo what he’s done to Sophie later. He looks too amped up to do anything truly cruel, but Piper guesses the story will definitely be funny.
After the year she’s had, she could do with some humour.
“I hope you aren’t having second thoughts,” he says, face turning uncharacteristically serious. “I would hate to think I’ve wasted such a dramatic entrance on a poor partner in crime.”
“I’ll be the best partner in crime you’ve ever had!” Piper says indignantly. “Pardon me for wanting to exit as dramatically as you came.” She’s never liked Shakespeare—or acting, unsurprisingly—so she’s surprised again at how much she enjoys this role. It’s… it’s good.
“That’s the spirit,” says Leo, smile back in place. “Let’s go.”
Piper rushes after him to the hallway of paintings, ready to cause some chaos.
For once, she doesn’t look back.