As always, all characters belong to Rick Riordan.

Maria pulled her sleeves up her arms, being careful not to stain them with batter.

Flour was stuck halfway up her forearm and she was trying to keep the dark fabric of her dress from touching it.

She should have remembered to change before starting the whole mess.

Maria loved baking. She hadn't had much use for it growing up, her father's staff had taken care of any culinary needs, and whatever fancy she had craved could be bought from any bakery close by.

But when she was a teenager she'd struck an unlikely friendship with one of her mother's ladies in waiting.

Friendship was an inadequate word for it. The woman had realised soon after starting to work in their home that Maria was starved for affection, and her parents, while loving, weren't exactly the demonstrative type. Least of all her mother.

So it was that la Signora Bassi had 'taken Maria under her wing' so to say.

Maria couldn't have well followed Bassi around all day long for the woman had chores to do and Maria had tutors and activities to attend to, but every so often Bassi would take her on 'quests' below stairs and she would teach Maria simple tasks such as baking and decorating desserts.

On one unfortunate occasion when Maria was around sixteen, Bassi had tried to teach her to cook. It had not gone well and Maria still remembered with annoyance that inedible lasagna she had produced.

Nasty business cooking, but baking was awfully entertaining and a whole lot easier.

Since baking had brought her joy and companionship, no sooner had she had children, Maria had decided they would also partake in her culinary endeavours.

Nico had, to everybody's surprise, been enchanted by actual cooking, the little traitor, but Bianca had followed Maria's footsteps into the art of unprofessional baking.

Her 6-going-on-7-year-old daughter now sat on the other side of the table cutting thin dough into small circles and carefully laying them on a baking tray.

Bianca's chubby cheeks were decorated with patches of flour, and her hair was coming loose from her braids.

"How is it going?" Maria asked, awed by the delicacy and precision of her daughter's movements. She had such talented children.

"Perfetto, as always."

And very humble too.

Once the trays were in the oven, Maria started with the frosting.

Chaos was unavoidable, Maria could imagine her mother urging her to minimise the disaster, but she allowed Bianca to mix nonetheless. Meanwhile, Maria added the ingredients slowly.

"Mamma, we're missing the sugar!" Bianca exclaimed suddenly.

Maria was surprised that the girl had realised, but Bianca had always had an eye for detail. It wasn't the first time they made that recipe and Maria was rather proud her daughter was already learning it.

"I'll go fetch it from the pantry, shall I?" She said. "Be careful with that bowl, topolina."

Bianca nodded absent-mindedly, drawing shapes on the batter with her spoon.

Their pantry wasn't big by any standards, but the sugar was kept on the highest shelf, away from the children's hands.

She was trying to reach it when she heard Bianca call.

"What was that, topolina?" She replied. "I didn't hear you properly."

"Niente!" Bianca replied.

Maria shrugged. Worst case scenario, her daughter had turned over the frosting bowl, they could make some more.

A tingle at the back of her neck made her turn around. She could swear she heard a whisper. She half expected Bianca to be standing behind her, but the little room was empty.

Back in the kitchen she was pleased to find no mess on the table. Bianca had dropped the spoon and was holding an egg in her hand.

"What's an egg white?" She asked.

"The transparent part of the egg," Maria explained. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

Bianca looked at her, her brow furrowed. "Shouldn't we put another one of those in the mixture?"

Maria raised an eyebrow. "No, topolina, two is fine, there aren't that many biscuits."

"But that isn't what…" Bianca let the egg roll onto the table, where it kept going until Maria caught it as it dropped from the other side.

"Careful!"

"Scusi, I didn't mean for it to fall!"

"I know, don't worry," Maria reassured her. "Do try to stop it if you think it might keep rolling."

Bianca nodded.

Maria measured the sugar carefully, too much of it and her kids became restless.

"Wait!"

Maria's hand stopped short of tipping over the measuring cup.

"What's wrong?" She asked. Was there a bug in the mixture? She couldn't see anything that might make her daughter react like that.

Bianca looked sideways, then nodded.

"We must add the third egg white," she insisted.

Maria studied the wall Bianca had been concentrating on. The window was open, a light breeze made the thin curtains flutter rhythmically.

Was there somebody outside?

She stood and closed the window. The curtains dropped over it; light still came in but if somebody popped up on the other side, they wouldn't be able to see them clearly.

Bianca looked at her bemusedly.

"Won't it be too hot with the oven on, mamma?"

Maria opened her mouth to answer. "We can–"

Thud!

She turned around startled.

On the floor, beneath a shelf of recipe books seldom needed by her capable housekeeper, a book had landed open on a page titled 'Biscuit Frosting'.

A cold feeling doused her from head to toe.

Maria's eyes zoned in on Bianca. Instead of afraid, she looked exasperated.

Her daughter shrugged apologetically.

Maria picked up the book. Reading down the list of instructions, her attention was caught on one specific line: 'whip three egg whites until the texture softens'.

Her gaze rose until her eyes were fixed on Bianca. She couldn't have read this. Maria had seen the dustless shadow the book had left on the shelf. Besides, how would her child have reached so far up in such little time?

"How did you–?" Maria shook her head. "Who told you about the egg whites?"

"She said it was a family recipe," Bianca replied. "That it was better than that girl's… I think she meant Bassi, but Bassi's not a girl! She's old."

Maria sat down in the chair next to Bianca's.

"Topolina," she said carefully, keeping her voice even. "Who is 'she'?"

"La Zia Caterina, Mamma! She bakes with us all the time," Bianca all but rolled her eyes at her.

"Huh."

Maria nodded mechanically. Of course. Zia Caterina. Who the hell was Caterina? She had an inkling about where this was going, but she didn't quite want to accept it.

Because she was sure she recalled a Caterina being mentioned before by one of her parents. And she remembered very vividly her late night conversation with Nico not four months before. And her former lover had once off-handedly mentioned that old houses weren't truly empty more often than not.

Maria looked around carefully, trying to spot something she knew she couldn't see.

Turning back to her daughter she said, "Where–?"

The window snapped open with enough force to bounce against the wall behind it.

Maria yelped, picked up Bianca, and backtracked against a corner of the room.

She held Bianca close to her, trying to shield her from an invisible force. "Stop, stop. Please stop." She muttered. She was terrified. There was nobody else in the house. Besides, what exactly could anybody do to control the situation? She was going to kill Hades the next time she saw him!

Chubby hands held her face. Maria stared into her daughter's eyes. Bianca wasn't afraid.

"Shh… It's okay, mamma," she said quietly, confidently.

Bianca squirmed until Maria put her back on the ground. The girl walked a few steps towards the table.

"Basta, zia. Stop this!" She said firmly. No, she didn't say it. She ordered it.

The cold feeling in Maria subsided a bit. It was an odd feeling.

"You are to leave us alone," Bianca demanded. She tilted her head to the side, as if receiving a radio signal that didn't reach nitidly enough. She raised a hand, holding it open, waiting for somebody to hold it. "You are to move on. Be released and rest."

Maria felt a shiver run through her spine. It wasn't fear, it wasn't something she could completely understand. She felt relieved.

Bianca took her hand. Her daughter's palm was warm, a tangible sensation amidst a surreal occurrence.

"She was getting so bossy lately!" Bianca huffed. "But papà said those people cannot hurt us."

Those people. People.

"Topolina, look at me," Maria kneeled so she'd be at her daughter's height. "Promise me you'll tell me if any of those people are with us again."

The girl hesitated.

"Bianca," Maria insisted. "It's important. Please."

She nodded. "I promise."

Maria kissed Bianca's forehead. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and squeezed her tight.

The timer they'd set for the biscuits went off, startling Maria. She took a deep breath.

It was baking time. And no dead ancestor of hers was going to criticise Donna Bassi's frosting recipe.