BELLE WAS A BADASS FIGHTER. It was part of why I was such a fan. Back in my Paris hotel room, I watched an old video feed of the Effigy battling in South Carolina. Sect troops had sent tanks in, not knowing that the phantoms were burrowing underground.

I gasped as the monsters’ wormlike bodies ripped through the ground, flipping a tank in the air. As the tank crashed to the ground, Belle jumped atop another, yelling at them to fire as it swiveled around. Then she launched herself into the air, grabbing hold of one of the phantoms while it was still reeling. Belle. The Legendary Effigy. The Twelve-Kill Rookie.

Kill me! I want to die. I can’t do this! Kill me!

Shivering, I shut out the memory by clicking open another video. Natalya Filipova. She stood in the streets of Moscow, a white Russian fur hat covering what I knew was a raven-black pixie cut underneath. A few strands from her black bangs peeked out from beneath the white material, falling over one of her brown eyes. The wind blew snow across her long mauve coat and past her high, black boots, getting caught on the buckles.

She stood in the streets of Moscow back-to-back with Belle as the War Siren blew, Saint Basil’s Cathedral just barely visible behind a blizzard.

Natalya tugged her red gloves taut over her fingers and stretched her arm. Out of the flames forged a broad sword tall enough for the embroidered hilt to reach her neck.

Natalya’s sword.

A swarm of black billowed out from behind the Cathedral. Phantoms. Natalya blessed the edge of her now-famous blade in the snow before flipping it around, readying herself. That was when the reporter started running. The video shook before cutting off entirely.

Was that how Belle remembered her: as a knight slaying dragons? Maybe it hurt to even think of her at all.

I thought of Lake, who would cry at night when she thought I was sleeping, and Chae Rin, who would find a way to disappear whenever anyone even mentioned the word “family.”

Shutting my laptop, I laid my head on my pillow. None of us were really talking about it: the loss, the loneliness, and the pain. Why wasn’t there anything I could do?

  •  •  •  

Lake cursed the rain, which had destroyed our chances of having an outdoor shoot. Apparently it was the only way to be photographed in Paris. Teen Vogue had us indoors instead, their lavish sets ready for photographs. But styling came first.

I’d never been poked and prodded and manhandled the way the hair and makeup team did to me. At one point, I literally had two different flat irons ravaging my hair while a perfect stranger assessed the damage my lack of skin-care maintenance had done to my pores.

“Okay.” The makeup artist stood up and waved for her assistant. “We need some BB cream, stat. Get me one of the deeper sand shades.”

They decided not to straighten my hair too much. If this would be my formal introduction to a potential fan base, they’d want me to stay as much myself as possible. They teased out my curls instead and pinned them over my shoulder.

Lake was a pro in her styling chair, flipping through a magazine as they sewed in hair extensions, giving her a long black ponytail reaching down her back.

She paused at a page, drawing it close to her face.

“Ugh!” She smacked it. “Jo’s talking about me again!”

Chae Rin, who’d let them cut her hair shoulder-length and dye it red, twitched an eyelid as they applied some deep shadow. “Who?”

“Jo! Jo Matthews! You know, from my old group?”

The lead singer of Girls by Day. Lake showed us the magazine page. The group had hit a set back after Lake had left to train in Finland, but after formally kicking her out of the group and replacing two of the members, they’d rebranded themselves. They were now four teenage bad-girl “hood rats” known only as GBD. Needless to say, their teenybopper looks didn’t quite work with the heavy chains and bandanas, but Jo, one of the two original members, certainly tried to pull it off in the picture.

“She’s spreading gross rumors about me!” cried Lake. “She said I flirted with the producers during the show. I was thirteen. Do you believe this?” Lake crumpled the magazine in her hands and threw it onto Chae Rin’s lap. “Why does she keep talking about me? God, it’s like she’s been obsessed with me ever since we auditioned.”

“How Shakespearean.” Chae Rin flipped through the magazine.

“She was so evil to me when they first put the group together. Kept making fun of my last name and calling me Nala from The Lion King, that horrid cow.” Lake straightened up in her chair, her chin high with regality. “Well, we’ll show them, eh? And after, we can get back to . . . you know.”

The Natalya thing. I snuck a glance at Belle on the other side of Lake. She’d remained silent throughout the beautification process, not even looking at us as the stylists worked on their canvas. GBD at least maintained the illusion of teamwork.

Then again, Belle hadn’t seemed right since last night. I was amazed at how skillfully the makeup artists had covered up the deep, dark circles underneath her eyes, but the cream sheen did nothing to conceal her far-off, barely lucid gaze. Quietly, I looked away from her.

The first set had a school feel. Desks, chalkboard, and us, dressed in pale gray private school uniforms. The director must have had a fetish.

“The theme of the spread is secret identities,” said the director as they set up the lighting equipment. “One minute you’re regular schoolgirls, and the next you’re sexy, cool, stylish phantom-killing femme fatales: the two sides of our new team of warrior princesses.”

“What cheese,” Chae Rin grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Weirdly, it didn’t take long for me to get uncomfortably familiar with the hot flash of white lights. Off set, the photographer barked orders: “Belle, raise your chin. Chae Rin, sling your blazer over your shoulder—yes, like that. Lake, perfect, perfect! Keep giving me neck. Maia . . . give me something!”

Apparently I had a natural tendency to lose any and all signs of having a soul once the cameras started flashing.

Eventually, they switched to the femme fatale set. I hated wobbling around in pin-thin heels, but at least they didn’t stuff me into those ridiculous chafing leather pants Chae Rin wore. My skirt was leather, though, pulled up high on my waist. I had to admit, it did look pretty cool with the black platforms and the black lace top. My hair was loose over my face, strands of it sticking to my apple-red lipstick.

“Girls, think strength! Strength!”

As the cameras flashed, I thought of Rhys waiting in the lobby with a book his hands. A shy wish crept inside me, but it was gone with the next flash.

The interview came next; some staff brought over a few chairs. A boxy-looking woman from the magazine came right to the set with a tablet in her hands, her blond hair cropped to her chin, curving like a fishbowl. Lake must have seen me fidget, because she gave me a soft nudge.

“Don’t be nervous,” Lake said. “This is the easy part.”

Wishful thinking.

“Lake, there’ve been whispers that you’re far more interested in being a celebrity than fighting to protect the rest of humanity. Do you have anything to say to your detractors?”

Lake blinked. The interviewer, Lydia Klein, had started off asking us the usual teen magazine fluff: what we looked for in partners, what kind of music we listened to, and other meaningless garbage. Thanks to Lake’s quick car-ride tutorial, I had my fake answers ready-made, but this was a turn none of us had expected.

Though clearly taken aback, Lake kept her smile strapped to her face like a weapon. “Well,” she said, “when you’re in the public eye, people are going to have negative things to say about you. But I think a lot of people get me wrong. And, to be honest, I think, especially when you’re a girl, people expect you to be perfect right from the beginning. A perfect role model. Like you’re not allowed to have . . . flaws. Weaknesses.”

As Lake’s smile faltered, I had to grit my teeth to banish the uncomfortable twinge of guilt needling me from the inside. It wasn’t too long ago, after all, that I was spending my evenings on the internet crucifying Lake—and Chae Rin—for committing the unforgivable sin of not reaching my impossible standards of what Effigies were supposed to be. Now, as I sat listening to Lake, I’d never felt more stupid.

For just a moment, Lake stared down at her toes before gathering herself again. “So no, it’s not that I’m more interested in being a celebrity.”

“But doesn’t your insistence on being referred to as your stage name imply the contrary?”

Lake balked. “What’s wrong with using my stage name?”

“Well, I would expect that after leaving behind your old girl group you would have started going by your real name, Victoria Soh . . . Soyo . . .”

“Soyinka.” Lake sounded out each syllable clearly. “Are you serious right now?”

To Lake’s chagrin, Lydia’s response was to laugh. Things just went downhill from there.

“Let’s switch gears here. Chae Rin, you’ve been doing so well these days, staying out of trouble. Good for you!”

“Thanks,” Chae Rin answered without a hint of sincerity. “Your approval means everything to me.”

“A few months ago, your father pleaded with the public to be patient with you, but we never see your mother. And, when asked, she never mentions you. Is it for privacy’s sake? Or is there something in that relationship your fans should know?”

Chae Rin’s eyes narrowed to slits, the muscles in her jaw shifting as she struggled to keep her expression calm. “Maybe you should switch gears again.”

“I hope you don’t take this personally.” Lydia sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “These questions were voted in by our readers. But if you’d like, I could move on to you, Maia.”

Uh-oh. I squirmed. “O-okay.”

“It’s well-known now that you lost your family in that tragic, horrific fire.”

Apparently so. Chae Rin shifted her weight to the other side of her chair. Lake solemnly lowered her head.

“How do you think your painful experiences have readied you for the dangerous work of being an Effigy?”

I didn’t even know where to start. I looked to the other girls for help.

“Aren’t you in the least bit worried? I mean, you’re the successor of the great Natalya Filipova. How do you plan on filling those shoes?”

“She doesn’t.”

Devastatingly, it was Belle who’d spoken. I shrank in my seat, and Lake started to protest, but Belle wasn’t finished.

“Maia is her own person,” Belle said. “She’s not Natalya. Being an Effigy is a sacred duty, and she was chosen by fate. That alone makes her worthy.”

Worthy. My heart swelled with pride. It was all I needed to hear. Shutting my eyes, I smiled.

“It’s the same for all of us. We were all chosen. Chosen . . . for this.”

They were strong words, but with very little strength in them. Belle had said them without resolve or emotion. I looked at her again, my eyes narrowing as they fell upon the almost-imperceptible arch of Belle’s lips—the unmistakable beginning of a cynical smirk that vanished as quickly as it’d appeared. The girl who’d spent so many years of her life fighting nightmares made flesh looked suddenly worn in her chair, her arms limp at her sides, lifeless despite the elegant beauty she wore effortlessly like a mask.

“We were chosen.” She stared at Lydia pointedly. “Chosen to fight . . . until we die.”

  •  •  •  

Teen Vogue wanted some solo shots of us, but a few minutes in, Belle left the building, citing fresh air as her primary goal. That was twenty minutes ago.

“She’s long gone,” muttered Chae Rin, getting up for her shot.

Hopefully not, since she was up next.

“I’ll go look for her,” I offered when the director started swearing. I found Rhys, still in the lobby, halfway through James Joyce. The book shut the moment he saw me.

“Oh, uh . . .” I’d forgotten I was still dressed up. I didn’t know what to say as he stared at me, placing his book aside and rising to his feet. I tugged at my elbow-length lace gloves, which were suddenly hot against my skin. “D-do you know where Belle went?”

“She left a few minutes ago. Hasn’t come back.” He jerked his head toward the door. “I figured she needed some air. She’s probably still out there.”

“Oh, okay. They want her in there, so I thought I’d go get her.”

“Take this.” Catching my hand, Rhys gingerly placed a dark blue umbrella in it. “Don’t get wet.”

I wasn’t used to seeing Rhys’s face flush at the sight of me. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ears, I nodded quickly in thanks and ran out of the room.

With careful steps so as to not break my ankles, I descended the stairs. Down the hallway and past the front desk. The open air hit me the moment I crossed the threshold, fresh and heavy with rain. Definitely a welcome change from the stuffy studio. I breathed it in.

Rumbling motors and obnoxious car horns, sparks of conversations carried by the wind, and in the distance, the faint wail of ambulance sirens. The sounds of the city challenged the never-ending rattling of rainfall. If I didn’t want to piss off the production team I’d have to be careful not to get rained on—that is, if it was even possible for them to be any more irritated than they already were.

Damn it, Belle, where are you?

I scanned the wet streets, watching people shuffle in and out of the clothing boutiques and cafés. Outside the liquor store a few buildings down, a few men who’d gathered to smoke turned in my direction. My face. My face was exposed. Crap. I turned. It was a bad idea to draw a crowd here.

Draw a crowd. I almost laughed. Being an Effigy, I was technically “famous” now, or something, but it was still bizarre to think about it. Being recognized, being noticed, by random strangers on the street. It excited me about as much as it made me feel awkward and uncomfortable—well, more so.

Hiding behind my umbrella, I quickly started off again, darting down the narrow sidewalk until finally I found Belle in a nearby alleyway.

Well . . . the girl leaning against the brick wall, holding a bottle of booze not-so-skillfully hidden inside a brown paper bag, certainly looked like Belle. There couldn’t have been another beautiful blonde running around Paris in a neo-Victorian assassin-inspired couture outfit.

I took a hesitant step forward. “B-Belle?”

Belle’s eyes had been closed, her umbrella shielding her from the runoff from the roof. At the sound of her name, they fluttered open. “Oh, it’s you.”

I stared at the paper bag. “Belle . . . what are you doing here?”

Belle spared me a casual glance. “I told you, I needed air.”

“Have you . . . have you been drinking?”

“Looks like.”

I watched, incredulous, as Belle took another sip from the bottle. “Belle, where did you even get that thing?”

Belle shrugged. “You know those PAs, always as scared as they are eager. I had to make sure they’d stay quiet about it, of course, but then, I can be pretty persuasive. Why? Feeling peckish?” Belle held out her arm, offering it to her. “There’s some left.”

Neither of us spoke. Nothing but the pattering rain interrupted the silence between us. Belle’s eyes were glazed and sunken. Despite her steady grip on her umbrella, she carelessly shifted it at an angle just wide enough for the rain to begin splattering against part of her skirt. She didn’t even flinch.

“Belle . . . .” My fingers twitched as cold rain splashed onto them. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we need to get back inside. You’re getting wet. You’ve still got some solo shots to do, you know.”

“I know.”

“So—”

“You don’t need me there.”

I batted the hair from my eyes impatiently. “Obviously we do. They want solo pics of the whole team, so—”

Belle’s laughter was quiet, but chilling. It came out in short staccatos that still managed to overcome the rain. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever actually heard Belle laugh before. I didn’t like it.

“Team. Team.” Belle stared at the bottle in her hands, the brown bag wet and tearing from the rain. “I went from fighting by Natalya’s side to being in a ‘team’ with a group of incompetent little girls. I think this is what they call a cosmic joke, yes? Maybe I’m being punished for something.”

My body tensed as Belle’s laughter rang in my ears.

“Fine.” Belle pushed off the wall. “Let’s just finish this whole sideshow, shall we?”

“No.”

Belle’s heels stopped against the wet pavement. “Pardon?”

I swallowed. “You don’t get to . . .” My fingers went cold. “You don’t get to talk that kind of shit and just leave. Not before you apologize.”

“Apologize.” Belle cocked her head, amused. “But did I lie about any of it?”

“Incompetent little girls?”

“Not too long ago you almost burned down a house filled with children.”

My free hand balled into a fist.

“Or did you forget, Maia?”

“No,” I whispered. The umbrella quivered in my other hand. “No, I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean you get to . . .” I shook my head. “You know what? I get it. I get that I’m not Natalya. I get that you don’t give a shit about me, and you obviously look down on the other two, but that doesn’t mean you get to just erase everything. Everything we’ve done.”

I remembered the terror pulsing through me as I faced Saul in Argentina. Lake flying up to catch me, Chae Rin skewering phantoms while half-conscious. I remembered how hard we’d struggled against him. The four of us together.

“We’re not Natalya,” I hissed. “But we try. We’ve been trying this whole time.”

“And why do you try?” Belle looked drained, her face somehow sallow and pale despite the makeup.

“Huh?” What bothered me most was that Belle seemed genuinely curious. My lips readied a snarl. “I really hope that’s the booze talking.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Belle said. “It’s just a question. Despite everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve lived through, you wear the mantle of ‘Effigy’ as if it’s a Girl Scout badge pinned to your chest. Like a little idiot. I just find it interesting. Funny, actually. Why? Why do you try? What’s the point?” Belle studied my face as if she’d find the answers written there. “Is it because you want to be like Natalya? Or, because you idolize me, do you want to take her place? Or maybe you’re just a masochist? A fool? Do you even know?”

This wasn’t Belle. It couldn’t be Belle, the girl I’d waited for at Lincoln Center, desperate for an autograph, a nod, anything to acknowledge my existence. It couldn’t be.

“I just wanted to be like you,” I said in nearly a whisper. “A hero.”

“I already told you.” Belle became scarily quiet. “None of us are heroes.”

“June didn’t think so.” I was losing my grip on my umbrella. As rain trickled down my forehead, eyeliner streamed down my face and my curls soaked against my cheeks. “June, my sister. She was bullied, you know. Really bad.”

The rain dripped off my gloves as I clasped my hands together, fighting against the tide of memories. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever spoken about June so freely to anyone. It was terrifying, like desperately clutching a fluttering secret against your chest, protecting it from the outside world. I felt naked, exposed, but the words flowed anyway.

“She was a geek with a bad stutter,” I said. “One day she rubbed a few kids the wrong way. I don’t even remember how it started, but . . .” I shrugged. “It went on for a long time. I escaped the brunt of it because I kept out of everyone’s way, and June . . . She cut her hair to make sure nobody would mistake the two of us. It was hard. But you guys.” I pointed at her. “The Effigies. You and Natalya especially. You made her feel strong. You made me feel strong. Like we could . . . I don’t know.” I let out a bitter chuckle. “But in the end, I couldn’t do a damn thing for her.”

I didn’t dare look at Belle, too terrified of the expression I might find staring back at me. Mentioning June brought up a torrent of emotions thrashing about inside me, heating my skin and flushing my face even in the cold, heavy air. There was so much I wanted to say, and I knew I’d never be able to articulate it all in exactly the way I wanted. A frustrating feeling, to say the least. But Belle surely understood. She had to.

“I guess that’s why I try,” I said finally. “I’m an Effigy now. And if June were in my place, she’d ‘try’ too. Try to be like you guys. That’s what you and Natalya gave her.”

There was a silence. I could hear the rain draining into the sewers. Belle took several gulps from her bottle and wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand.

“Well, then.” Belle let out a deep breath. “I guess she was a little idiot too.”

I couldn’t stop myself. I raised my hand, but Belle caught the slap with ease.

“Let me go!” Tears stung my eyes as I struggled against her. “How could you? How could you just . . .” I bit my lip so hard I thought I tasted blood. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Wake up, Maia,” Belle hissed in my ear. “This isn’t a fairy tale. I asked you last night what our job was. Do you remember?”

“To save people!”

“To fight phantoms. We answer to the Sect alone.” Belle’s glare was colder than ever. “We are chosen. Chosen to fight. Until we die. Even Natalya couldn’t escape that. Even though she was strong, she died like everyone else.” Her voice hitched. “She died.”

“Natalya was killed!”

“What does it matter?” Belle inhaled a haggard breath. “She was nothing. She gave up her entire life—for everyone—and in the end, her death was nothing more than a loose strand for the Sect to brush under the rug. And then you pop up. You.” Her hand trembled as it squeezed my wrist tighter. “And it’s like none of it even mattered, because, well, here you are! The cycle continues. So who cares? What’s the point of any of it? What’s the point of all the death and suffering? Do you understand, Maia? We’re not heroes. We’re not anything.”

And she flung me to the ground. I hit the pavement hard with a grunt.

“We fight and we die. That’s why we’re alive. That’s why we breathe. That’s why we exist. That’s just how it is. So don’t bore me with any more sob stories about your dead relatives.” Chucking her bottle away, Belle straightened the sleeves of her coat. “This is reality. And if you can’t accept that, then get off the battlefield.”

I rolled onto my side, the tears falling freely.