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BIANCA
THEY REACH THE CITY at twilight. It's only then, when the world begins to modernize and the dirt fades to cement, that they lose their trail.
Bianca likes it, this strange, familiar but unfamiliar, home yet not-home city. Berlin is so quiet, it seems like it's been built on its dead. It feels like the two of them are completely alone in the universe. Are they? she wonders for a moment. Is there anybody else in this universe? Is it just me and him?
Some part of her wishes it was, and she wishes it could be that simple.
She has every reason to hate him, and every reason to hate his family, especially his son. She has every reason to not want anything to do with them, and every possible method of wiping them off the face of the earth at her disposal. But that damn Terranova family: they're like liquor, and she's a hopeless drunk. She knows they're bad for her, and she knows they're destructive and violent and impulsive, but something about them is addicting and a little enticing. She loves Luca, and she loves his family, for the same reason people love cocaine. They're dangerous and comforting. Satiating some primordial thirst of her's that she hadn't known existed before she met them.
Cain had been the first one she'd met, and Luca hadn't been too far behind, but her relationship with them had begun with Rachel Terranova.
It hadn't even been two days after Thea's disappearance that Rachel had showed up at the Mendoza Institute. The little girl had thought she was seeing things, and she'd thought she was a witch. She hadn't known whether to pack her bags for Ilvermorny or a mental hospital, but then her brother brought home a strange girl, Theaâhim bringing home strangers was the norm, but him bringing home a girl was odd; he was gay, after allâand told her the truth. And all of a sudden she knew what she had to do. But she hadn't come to the Mendoza Institute in search of treatment. She'd come seeking peace.
Rachel was a powerful hostâeven more powerful than Cain. She'd had the potential to be as powerful as Thea, if she worked at it hard enough. She was telekinetic, and Dr. Mendoza herself had been the one to experiment onâsorry, cureâher.
They didn't have much of a relationship, then. Rachel didn't talk much, but she reminded Bianca of herself, in a way. Intelligent and strong; clever and independent.
And then the Mendoza Institute burned down, and Bianca never thought she was going to see Rachel again. But Rachel's brother had been the one to burn it, and her father offered to help her save the whole freaking world, and suddenly she was swept right up in the Terranova riptide, unable to escape before she drowned.
The worst (and best) part of it was Luca.
She'd hated him from the moment she met him. She still remembers his first words to her: what the hell do you think you're doing? And then he'd shot himself in the arm. It wasn't exactly a meet-cute, but it's also not like she's ever believed in love at first sight. She doesn't know if she even believes in love at all. What humans call "love" is simply a release of chemicals into your brain; it's not some fairy tale. The only reason people even "fall in love" is to keep humanity alive. Or, in other words, humans are animals and the only reason love exists is because it tricks people into having sex.
All she knows is that, despite all of his flaws and despite their rocky start, she's in love with Luca Terranova. He makes her brain release all kinds of chemicalsâoxytocin, norepinephrine, serotonin, vasopressin, and dopamine, just to name a few.
"This place is beautiful," Bianca mumbles, talking to herself.
But, of course, Luca has to answer her. "I dunno, it gives me a weird feeling. There's some really bad energy here."
"Bad energy?" Bianca grins without any teeth and pokes him in the side. "What are you, a psychic?"
"I actually have a degree in psychology from the University of Psychicness." Luca places his palm against his chest like he's proud of himself. "By the way, there's this weird little old dead guy following you."
Bianca lets out a short laugh. "You do know that psychics don't actually study psychology, right? Oh, and tell your gross ghost friend to leave me alone."
Luca stares at her for a very long time, his dark eyes melting a little. "What?"
"Psychology is, like, the study of the human mind and behavior," she explains. "And psychics aren't scientists. They're con artists."
He looks like a little Christian child that just walked in on Mommy fucking Santa Claus. "Ghosts are real, you filthy liar!"
"Psychics don't even communicate with ghosts! You're thinking of a medium!"
"I don't want a medium ghost. I ordered a large!"
All of a sudden, Bianca starts. There's a horrible beeping noise jamming its way into their conversation. It's high-pitched and constant, like someone's repeatedly pounding sharp pieces of glass into her ears with a hammer. A fire alarm. It's coming from just down the street.
"Bianca?" Luca looks like a ghostly silhouetteâa pale face on an outline of black. "What's wrong?"
She impatiently gestures around her, trying to show him the noise he's supposed to hear. "That beeping. Do you think it could be . . . ?" she trails off, knowing he'll understand.
But, because all men are idiots, even ones as smart as him, he listens for a moment before making a confused face. "I hear it. What do you think it is?"
"Oh, my God. Cain, Luca, Cain! Your unpredictable, reckless, and pyrokinetic son. Do you really think it's a coincidence that we found the burnt house while following him"âthey did find it, a couple hours ago, still smoking and warm, surrounded in fire trucks and cops like ants swarming a cakeâ"and then fire alarms are going off here? The footprints, Atlas's cloth, the house, now this . . . it's like he's leaving bread crumbs!"
Bianca and Luca both love to read, but he only ever reads non-fiction or sci-fi so heavy it gives her a migraine to read even a chapter of it. She likes mysteriesâthings that make her think. So maybe she's reading too much into it, and maybe she's treating this little adventure like it's one of her mystery novels. But what else do they have to go off of? They lost their trail, and this is the only lead they've got!
Listen to her. She sounds like fucking Nancy Drew.
(She kind of likes it. Nancy Drew was her favorite as a little girl . . . )
"Oh." Luca looks a little embarrassed. "I thought it was someone's panic button."
That's one of the most irritating yet endearing things about him: how smart, yet obtuse, he can be. Bianca has no time for dumb men, and even though she likes him, even though she loves him, even though she thinks he's one of the smartest men she's ever met, she's quickly losing her patience for him. But she also thinks it's unbelievably adorable.
Bianca wishes she could uninstall the chemicals in her brain. They make life exciting, sure, but they also make it horribly confusing. She'd rather be a robot than a person, she thinks; then her emotions would never get the best of her.
"Well, I think it's worth checking out, at least. It's not like we had a better plan."
So Bianca leads him towards the alarm. It gets louder and louder the closer they get to it, so much so that she has to plug her fingers into her ears. They reach the source of the noise at the edge of an intersection: an unassuming Target. Nothing seems to be amiss other than the alarm.
They step through the doors side-by-side. Inside, the store is even more unassuming. Nothing's burning. The beeping, Bianca's discovered, comes from the security sensors.
"I'll ask a worker what happened," Bianca tells Luca.
"I really think we're wasting our time . . . " he mumbles.
She shoves her finger into his lips to shush him. "Every lead counts!"
"Okay, Nancy Drew. Lead the way."
Okay, so maybe she really likes it.
Dragging Luca behind her, Bianca shoves her way through the line of people waiting in the express line to get to the cashier. She's white and older, with pinched lips, tight curls that frame her face like silver-spun cotton candy, and veiny blue eyes that seem like they've seen everything. She has a nametag on that reads RUTH.
"What happened?" Bianca asks her, nodding back towards the security sensors.
The woman blankly looks at her. Her accent's heavy and Texan. "Ma'am, I have a line of customers waiting for me. Please step out of the way."
Bianca waves her hand, dismissing her. "I just had a little question. I didn't want to have to wait in line to ask it!"
"Well, between you and me . . . " Ruth is beyond eager to spill the tea. "Our security sensors went off, and now they're stuck like that. We called corporate and they told us they can't fix it until tomorrow."
"Well, yeah, but, like, what happened?" Bianca asks, leaning her elbows into the counter and propping her chin up with her fists. She hopes she looks like a gossip-loving citizen, not a literal alien from another dimension trying to find several missing persons. "Why'd they go off in the first place?"
Ruth holds her hand over her heart. "Oh, honey, it was awful. It went off when these scruffy teenagers walked through it, and when our security guards checked their bags, guess what they found!"
"What?" Bianca questions, impatient.
"Guns! There were so many guns in that boy's bag, my goodness . . . I thought he was going to shoot the place up!"
Luca snorts as he tries to suppress his laugh. Bianca slams her foot into his. That shuts him up real quick.
"Oh, that's awful," Bianca purrs, tilting her head, trying to seem sympathetic. "What'd they look like? Were they, like, bikers or something? Do you think they were in a gang?"
"I'm most positive. Either that or terrorists." Ruth nods and nods and nods and nods, lowering her voice. "Two of them were black! There was a girl with them, but the rest were young men. One of them was definitely foreignâhe looked Japanese or something. He was the one with the guns. Are there any Muslims in Japan?"
"Chinese," Luca mumbles. "He's Chinese and he's Jewish."
"What was that, dearie?" Ruth asks, focusing her attention on Luca.
"Nothing!" Bianca kicks Luca. "He was just wondering where they went."
"So we can stay out of any dangerous areas," Luca quickly adds, finally contributing something helpful to their conversation.
Ruth looks at the two of them with a sad smile. "I'm not sure, dearie. Our security guards passed them off to some cops . . . I'm assuming they took them down to the county jail. They didn't leave all that long ago."
"Oh, well." Bianca smiles right back at her. She's gotten all the information out of her that she can get. "I'm thankful no one was hurt. Thanks for the chat, have a good day!"
"You too, sweetheart." Ruth sends Bianca off with a little wave. "Bless your little heart . . . "
Bianca grabs hold of Luca's hand to make sure he doesn't do something stupid (like walking straight out of the store without at least acting like they'd had a reason to go in). She starts to drag him towards the aisles. "So what was it you needed, again?" she wonders out loud, giving him a Look with a capital L. As they flit off, the impatient shoppers in line mumble to each other about the immigrants. Which is ridiculous. Luca might be an immigrant, but Bianca's family's been in the continental United States since the late 1800's. Also, Puerto Rico is literally a part of the United States.
And thank goodness, for once in his life, he gets it. He runs his free hand over his scruffy beard as if trying to remember what it was. "A birthday card!" he snaps his fingers.
"Right!" Bianca fake-grins. "Your mom's birthday's tomorrow, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I'm always waiting 'til the last minute." Then Luca lowers his voice a thousand degrees in case someone would dare to eavesdrop and comments: "I'm glad you were the one doing the talking, you know? I would have bitch-slapped that son-of-a-bitch to Timbuktu when she started accusing my son of being a terrorist."
"So you think it was them?" Bianca asks.
"Who else would it be?"
Luca leads her down the card aisle and grabs the first one he seesâor, more likely, considering it was halfway down the aisle and on the very bottom shelf, the first one that caught his attention. At first glance, it seems innocent enough, just a cartoonish drawing of a banana split. Then Bianca realizes what's written on the cake in violent green lettering: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY OF THE FIRST CHERRY YOU POPPED (OUT OF). The inside of the card is completely blank other than a drawing of a spoon in the shape of, you guessed it, a vagina.
"Luca," Bianca chides. "You can't get that one."
"Why not?" he asks. "Everyone likes ice cream."
"Do you know what that means?"
He shakes his head.
"It's slang," Bianca explains. "It means fucking a virgin."
"I don't think my mom's a virgin," Luca mumbles, his cheeks turning bright red. He shoves the card back in its spot and grabs much more sensible one: an old-timey photo of an old woman choking back a bottle of wine while complaining about how old she's getting to her husband's grave. Bianca decides it's the best he'll get and lets him buy it.
They use self check-out, and Bianca shoves a twenty into the machine while Luca rings the card out. It spits nineteen dollars worth of change at her feet, and the two of them exit stage left.
Once outside, they stand there for a second, Bianca bouncing back-and-forth on her feet, suddenly overcome with nerves. They know that they've been here, and they know they were arrested because Cain had several guns on him. But is that really knowing anything? What if the cops found out about the house they burnt down? They could be locked inside a federal prison, or just sentenced to a night in juvy.
"We need to go to the police station," Luca decides as he trashes the card.
"Mmh." Bianca nods. "We can bail them out."
"Or we could break them out," Luca suggests.
"Yeah, we're not gonna do that."
"Why not?"
"Luca, it's illegal!"
"Nothing's illegal unless you get caught, y'know!"
"I'm sure that alibi will go great in court." Bianca rolls her eyes, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I'll call an Uber."
"No, you won't." Luca shakes his head. "Not unless you have an interdimensional plan."
"Maybe it'll work if I try connecting to, like, McDonald's wifi or something."
There's a Starbucks across the street. The road's clear, so they jaywalk over, ducking under a maroon awning. The steam from the heat inside has turned the window to a frosty, translucent gray.
They both get their phones out. Bianca clicks through her settings and tries to connect to wifi, but her phone freezes. She tries to exit back out to the home screen or shut the app; nothing happens. Frustrated, she resets her entire phone. Once she has it back on, she tries again with the same results.
"Goddamnit," Bianca grumbles, fantasizing over throwing her phone across the street. "Anything on your end?"
"No," Luca admits. "It says I'm connected, but it's not actually loading anything."
"Mine didn't even get that far. It crashed when I tried to connect." Bianca flips her hair back off her shoulders. "How are we supposed to get anywhere?"
"We have two legs. We walked all the way here, what's a little more exercise?"
The thought of spending any more time on her feet is nauseatingâliterally. All of a sudden, Bianca feels a dizzying wave of sickness roll over her. Something sharp and painful bites into her lower belly, making the rest of her insides feel queasy and watery. She stumbles a step back, overwhelmed, taking deep breaths to calm herself, placing her hand on her stomach and leaning against the warm window. Her body knows that something isn't right in this place.
"Bianca?" Luca asks. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." She forces a clenched-lipped smile. "But I'm exhausted, Luca. Exhausted and starving and dehydrated. I would rather shoot myself than walk another thirty feet."
"Okay. We'll take the bus, or hitchhike, or . . . "
"Or ask one of the Starbucks patrons to borrow their phone so we can call an Uber."
"That's probably the smartest idea. And we can grab a coffee to drink on the go."
The prospect of getting anything from Starbucks right now is sickening. Sweet, sugary, milky, frothy, creamy . . . or, even worse, she could get the coffee black and bitter. But she can get something plain, something to settle her stomachâa glass of water and a croissant.
Bianca steps out from beneath the awning a second before Luca does, and that's when it happens.
A cherry-red sports car goes flying past, speeding through a puddle on the side of the road. The screeching wheels shower Bianca in a spray of muddy water. Luca, a step behind her and still under the awning's protection, is spared.
She gasps, her mouth open in shock. She has enough sense to give him the finger as he goes.
"Thanks, asshole!" Bianca hollers at him. She shakes the water off her arms and steps back under the sidewalk, shivering.
Luca laughs so hard he tears up. Then, once he finally quiets himself down, he notices her. "Bee, you're shivering," he points out.
"Well, I'm soaking wet, and New Hampshire rainwater isn't exactly the Caribbean," she bitterly replies. "That might be it."
"Here. Use my jacket."
She gives him the same look she gave the driver. "No, I'm fine."
"No, no, no. I insist. I'm getting warm, anyways."
And Bianca really is getting cold, so she decides that it's fine, just this once. She lets Luca slide her own jacket off of herâa soaking wet gray North Face. He drapes it over his arm and wraps his own coat, an off-brand leather hunting jacket, around her shoulders. The jacket's still warm from his body heat, and it's so big on her (it had even been a little big on him, and he's a foot taller than her!) that it feels like she's wrapped in a big, cozy blanket, so she decides that it's her jacket now. He can buy a new one.
"Thank you," she says softly.
He heard her. He heard her loud and clear. But he still breaks out in a huge dumb grin and cups his hand around his ear, leaning closer to her. That complete ass. "I didn't hear you, I'm sorry. What was that?"
She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not saying it again."
"Well," he replies. "What can I say except you're welcome?"
And he goes off, dancing like an idiot and singing the rest of the stupid song. And once his back's turned to her and he can't see her face anymore, she lets herself break out in a grin, shaking her head.
And then she cuts in, right as he gets to the second verse.
"I didn't know you liked Disney." He turns around, genuinely surprised. "I didn't know you had a soul, Bee, but it's definitely in there!"
Bianca just grins and grabs his hand, twirling into him. "The Rock sang it, and therefore I'm legally obliged to love it."
And then Bianca kisses him, both of them still singing Disney songs into each other's lips. The kiss is quick and warm and leaves her heart fluttering and her cheeks red and her mind on him.
That damn Luca Terranova. He makes her brain release all the chemicals.
She pulls away from him and shoves her way into the Starbucks. She needs food or she's going to pass out. Almost obediently, he follows her.
"I'll order," she says. "You get us an Uber. What do you want?"
"A strawberry crème frappucino with extra sugar."
"Mmh. Got it."
Luca approaches a kid sitting at his laptop, sipping on a latte. Soaking wet and still a little nauseous from dehydration, Bianca faces the Starbucks barista.
Only then does Bianca realize that nothing in this Starbucks is green. Everything from the awning outside, to the straws, to the barista's apron, is a deep shade of crimson.
The color of blood.
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THE STATION IS BUSY. The Berlin Police Department, located smack-dab in the middle of the city, is the place to be on a Friday night. Bianca and Luca spend ten minutes waiting in line to speak to the officer sat behind the front desk. He has a mustache to rival Ron Swanson and a nametag reading SULLIVAN.
When they finally reach the man, Luca gets straight to business. "I need information on my son."
The man looks up at them, his glasses tilted downwards on his nose. "Is this a missing persons case?"
Bianca's itching to do the talking, but she's curious to see what happens when she leaves Luca to his own devices. She bites her cheek and holds her tongue.
"No," Luca replies, tense. Nervously, he scratches the back of his neck. "He was arrested."
"And what was the name of this son?"
"Cain Terranova."
Bianca audibly gasps. Luca has an almost fanatic obsession with privacy. He has seven fake passports and IDs, not because he does anything illegal with themâalthough he doesâbut because he's so terrified of the government finding out who he actually is. Whenever signing up for something on the internet, he uses a fake Russian name. His email is under the name VLADIMIR CZECHOSLOVAKIA. His Webkinz username is zestyvlad. Bianca doesn't know whether or not he actually knows that Czechoslovakia's a country. The fact that he was willing to throw around Cain's name to not only a complete stranger, but a cop from a different dimension, is shocking to her, to say the least.
Sullivan flicks through the files on his computer. Luca and Bianca lean their elbows onto the counter, trying to see the screen, waiting in an impatient sort of agony. Bianca has to stand on her tiptoes to be able to reach the counter.
"We have no records in our systems of a person by that name ever existing."
"He doesn't have a criminal record," Luca lies. "That must be it."
"No, I mean that he doesn't existâno birth certificate, no school transcripts, no driver's license, no nothing. Sir, are you playing a prank on me?"
Something dark snaps in Luca's eyes. "What do you mean, he doesn't exist? The bigoted woman at Target told me my son was arrested, and now you're calling me a liar?"
"Well," Bianca adds, "she didn't explicitly say it was Cain. And she thought that he looked Japanese. Maybe he was. Maybe it was an entirely different kid."
"Please. White people like to think that all Asians look the same, even though they all look as indistinguishable as mayo sandwiches. He could have been Indian and she would have thought he was Japanese, but she would have gotten upset if I said she was British instead of Irish."
"Sir," Sullivan pleads. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"No!" Luca proclaims, defiantly sticking his pointer finger in the air. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Sorry about him." Bianca smiles politely. Seeing no other escape from the situation, she grabs Luca by the collar of his shirt and drags him out of the station.
They find a bench to sit on outside, looking up at a sea of billboards above the station. Bianca, still damp, shivers inside Luca's jacket. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, and onceâjust this once, because she's cold and tired and still a little nauseous; the croissant had just made things worseâshe lets herself snuggle into his side.
They sit there for a couple of minutes, Luca seething, before he's finally calmed himself down enough to speak.
"I'm just . . . frustrated, you know?" He says. "And worried. It just seems like he's right out of our grasp."
"I know," Bianca nods. "I am, too."
"I should have kept a better eye on him. I should have . . . I should have done a lot of things differently."
"I feel the same way about Thea, but there isn't anything we can do to change the past."
"You're right. You're 100% right. But I still feel guilty."
"I'd be more concerned if you didn't."
Luca doesn't respond to her, just stares up at the billboards. Fearing that this might be their only chance for rest, Bianca lets her eyes close. Just for a moment . . .
And then Luca is laughing. Laughing so hard his entire body shakes.
Bianca sits up. "What is it?"
"Bianca, we're fucking dumb."
"What do you mean?"
He points up at the billboards, and that's when Bianca sees it: a smaller billboard, half-tucked behind a larger one. There's a picture of a smiling white woman handing a little black girl a teddy bear.
"The Terranova Institute," Bianca reads, feeling her skin crawl. "Our dreams won't be the death of us."