Ava pulled herself toward the gym ceiling, arm over burning arm. She’d done it every day this week, faster and faster. The next time she had to break into a seedy hotel room off an alley in Recife, she’d be ready. For now, her arms felt like rubber—
Rubber couldn’t ache like this.
“Looking good, spaghetti arms,” a voice called.
Ava looked down to see Dante Cruz, the newest recruit at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, looking up at her from the bottom of her rope. Tony was still testing every cell in his body to find the source of his Faith resistance.
He saluted.
She turned back to the rope and smiled to herself.
By the time she reached the top, he was gone.
On her way out of the gym, she found him standing in the lobby, staring at the place where Alexei’s name had been carved into the Wall of Heroes among the names of the lost. She left him alone. She let him feel it. Feeling it was better than feeling nothing at all.
Right, Alexei?
Her flickering hallucination of a boyfriend appeared at her side.
“So strange. To see Dante here at the base, and Sana…like that,” he said quietly.
“Everything is different now,” Ava said.
Alexei looked at her. “Everything?”
Ava didn’t answer.
“You two still need each other, Ava.”
“Why? Because of some random brain connection?”
“Because you don’t get to pick your family, and she’s yours. Whether or not you like it. Whether or not she’s your legal guardian. You’re all each other has.”
“I have you,” Ava said softly.
Alexei raised an eyebrow.
“I have Sana,” Ava said.
Alexei looked away. “I will love you forever, perraya lyubov.”
“My first and only love,” Ava smiled wistfully.
“But I’m not the only one who loves you, Ava Anatalya. So go talk to her. For me.”
Ava stood silently for minutes after he was gone. She knew he was right. She’d do it. For him.
No, she thought. For me.
Natasha stood outside the Triskelion, next to a shiny red Harley. “What is this?”
“It yours. It’s a present, sort of. If you ignore the fact that you bought it for yourself,” Ava said.
“No, I bought it for you. For your birthday.”
“Turns out I’m not really a Harley girl. And I think you need a new friend.” Ava patted the seat fondly. “Harley misses you.”
Natasha looked at the bike. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“I know. But I do.” Ava looked out at the East River. “Here’s what I’ve figured out. There’s more than one way of being Entangled. We need to accept that we are—but more than that—how we are.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?”
“We’re family, whether or not you want to admit it. It might have started because of quantum physics, or the Red Room, or Alexei, but that’s not all it is anymore.”
Natasha looked at her, a small smile on her lips. “You think?”
“And I think what that also means is, while maybe we can share a cat or a closet or plumbing or takeout, we can’t fight together.”
“We made a pretty good team, though,” Natasha said, gently. “Didn’t we?”
“We did. But whether it’s you and Yelena, or you and me, or even maybe you and the Avengers—we need to go our own way.”
Ava took a breath. “I have to find my own way, and become my own person. Even my own Widow.”
“Like Helen and Yelena?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.
Ava laughed. “Maybe. Although I get the feeling those two sort of deserve each other. Even if no one will tell me why.”
“And us?” Natasha slid one leg over the side of the Harley. “What do we deserve?”
Ava handed her a shiny red helmet. “Whatever we want.”
“Even ghosts?” Natasha asked.
“Especially ghosts.” Ava smiled.
Alexei waved to his sister as she sped away, one red curl blowing free of her helmet.
Ellie lay on her cot in her cell, staring at the iron manacles on her wrists, thinking about circles.
There was something perfect about the pale circle of dosai batter sizzling with coconut curry on a Tamil street vendor’s hot iron in Kuala Lumpur, in Malaysia.
The white-bright moon over Kowloon, hanging over the bay in Hong Kong.
A single egg boiled in strong tea, eaten in a paper napkin while overlooking the drifting boats of honeymooners on Taiwan’s Moon Lake.
A heavy cast-iron pan of saffron rice shared with random Real Madrid fans after a victory at Estadio Santiago Bernabéu.
The view of Rio from the Cristo at the top of Mount Corcovado.
She didn’t know what it was, exactly—but it was something. She felt it in her bones. In her blood.
Five minutes after walking into Tony’s apartment—her own was uninhabitable now, thanks to Helen—Natasha stared at the blinking message in front of her.
UNSUB: Natalyska.
UNSUB: Please, Natalyska.
N_ROMANOFF: Nyet.
N_ROMANOFF: You’re an enemy of the state, Yelena.
N_ROMANOFF: You’re also an enemy of mine.
UNSUB: You think you’re so different from me? You just betrayed a different state.
N_ROMANOFF: Was that what you told yourself when mini-you almost took out New York?
UNSUB: She was young.
N_ROMANOFF: Around here, the young don’t generally dabble in chemical weapons.
UNSUB: Everyone makes mistakes. Ellie will pay for hers.
N_ROMANOFF: Oh, I’ll make sure of that.
UNSUB: Is it true, what they say? That nothing of the old Natasha remains?
N_ROMANOFF: Maybe just the hair.
UNSUB: What a shame. She was something. The real Black Widow, unreduced, undiluted. Before she encountered Western moral equivocation.
N_ROMANOFF: The real Black Widow? Do you mean the one who killed you?
UNSUB: And yet apparently not.
N_ROMANOFF: What happened to you, Yelena?
UNSUB: You left me for dead. The Red Room brought me back again.
N_ROMANOFF: So Ivan Somodorov was your Frankenstein’s Bride?
UNSUB: I wasn’t the Frankenstein, Natalyska.
N_ROMANOFF: What are you saying?
UNSUB: Helen Samuels. Her real name is Yelena Somodorova.
N_ROMANOFF: We got that. But you and Ivan? That’s low, even for you.
UNSUB: Ellie’s not my child. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She’s an exact genetic duplicate.
N_ROMANOFF: Let me get this straight. You were my impostor, and she’s your—clone?
UNSUB: No…
UNSUB: Not mine.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing with the Widows is always a joy; I have been fortunate to spend the better part of another amazing year with Natasha Romanoff and Ava Orlova—not to mention Tony Stark, Phil Coulson, Carol Danvers…the list goes on and on.
This is the part where the thanking generally goes, but seeing as we’re on our second round with Black Widow now—I think this is my tenth YA book, actually—all the people I can’t live without already know exactly how much they mean to me: it’s a small club. That said, I can’t write a book and not mention Sarah Burnes, who is not just an agent but an everything. Equally larger than life are Disney’s Editor-In-Chief Emily Meehan and Marvel’s Director of Content & Character Development, Sana Amanat. Each of these three women is someone I consider myself lucky to know. (I think the technical term is baller.) Working on their behalf are at least a hundred other people who have contributed meaningfully and often to this book and to my life. To each one of them I am deeply and truly grateful.
Beyond that, my friends (both YALL & civilian) and my family (both furless & furry) are my life—you know who you are. I acknowledge that freely, not just here but everywhere, and not just when
I’m publishing a book. You guys are what matters.
Finally: Women of Marvel (plus squirrels), you rock. Whether you’re in the audience or at the mic, you are my people. Let us continue our path to world domination. Shhh.
M. Stohl
July 2016
MARGARET STOHL is the #1 New York Times best-selling co-author of the Beautiful Creatures novels (also a major motion picture) and the author of the instant New York Times best seller Black Widow: Forever Red, as well as a contributor to multiple Marvel comics. Previously, Margaret was a veteran of the video game industry, working as a writer and designer before co-founding 7 Studios with Lewis Peterson. She lives with her #nerdfamily and #nerdcats in Santa Monica, California. Find her online at @mstohl (Twitter), Margaret_Stohl (Instagram), and mstohl.com.
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