Wonder Woman: Warbringer Read online

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t just let my brother think I’m dead. He could be a target, too.”

  “Once we reach the spring—”

  “Stop talking about the spring. We have no way to get there. We don’t have any money, and I’m guessing you don’t have a passport.”

  “What’s a passport?”

  “Exactly. Let’s deal with one thing at a time. I can call Jason—”

  Diana shook her head. “Someone knew how to find you on that boat. They could be monitoring your location through your brother.”

  Diana could see Alia’s disbelief warring with her desire to keep her family safe.

  “I guess I—” Alia began. A bicycle whirred past them, and Diana yanked her from its path.

  “Jerk!” Alia yelled after him.

  The bicyclist glanced back once and held up his middle finger.

  “Is he an enemy?” Diana asked.

  “No, he’s a New Yorker. Let’s sit. I need to think.”

  They found the nearest bench, and Diana made herself sit, be still. She wanted to act, not pause to ponder, but she needed Alia on her side if they had any hope of getting to the spring.

  “Okay,” said Alia, chewing her lower lip. “We can’t go to a bank because we don’t have ID. And you’re basically telling me I can’t go home or to the Keralis offices because everyone thinks I’m dead.”

  “And we want to keep it that way.”

  “Right. So I’m home, but if I follow your rules, I’m still completely stranded.”

  Diana could hear the frustration and fatigue in her voice. She hesitated. She knew she was asking a great deal of Alia, but she had to. The stakes were too high for either of them to flinch.

  “After everything you’ve seen,” she said, “after what we just dared, can you at least trust me enough to try to keep you from harm?”

  Alia touched her fingers briefly to the bracelet on Diana’s left wrist, a thoughtful look on her face. Was she remembering what had happened in the Armory?

  “Maybe,” Alia said at last. “At least now Jason’s going to have something real to be paranoid about.” Her head snapped up. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  Alia leapt up from the bench. “I know what to do. And now that I know I’m not going to die, I’m starving.”

  “But you said yourself we have no money. Do we have something to barter?”

  “No, but I happen to know of a bank that doesn’t require ID.”

  “Very well,” Diana said. For now, she had little choice but to follow Alia’s lead. She would get her bearings, gather her resources. “I’m glad to leave this place. The smell in this part of the city is intolerable.”

  Alia bit her lip. “Yeah, this part of the city. I can’t believe I just swam in the Hudson and I’m about to go barefoot on the subway. I’m going to die of something nasty for sure. Come on,” she said, offering Diana her hand. “You’re on my island now. Let’s hop a train.”

  —

  Diana had read about trains. She’d learned about undergrounds and metros, bullet trains and steam engines, all part of her education, her mother’s attempt to give her an understanding of the changing mortal world. But there was a difference between those vague impressions left by long hours turning pages at the Epheseum and the reality of a New York City subway train screaming through the dark.

  Alia had led her across the street from the park, past the bronze statue of a bull, and two armed men in military fatigues standing at the top of a long flight of stairs who had given them the barest glance.

  “Weird,” Alia had muttered. “Maybe there was a bomb threat or something.”

  They’d descended into the very bowels of the city and entered a large tiled chamber that emptied onto a train platform. Then they’d vaulted a boundary and slipped between the metal doors of a train, and now here they were, sitting on plastic seats beneath lights that seemed unnaturally bright, as the train rumbled and shrieked like some kind of demon.

  At each stop, the metal doors opened, letting the balmy air of the platform gust through the train, and more passengers boarded, crowding in against one another. “Commuters,” said Alia.

  The word meant nothing to Diana. These people were of every size, color, and shape, some dressed in fine fabrics, others in cheaply made garments. Diana noticed Alia kept her feet tucked under her seat, perhaps to hide that they were bare.

  Diana and Alia drew a few stares, but most people kept their eyes glued to little boxes they clutched in their palms like talismans or stared off into the middle distance, their gazes blank and lifeless.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Diana whispered.

  “That’s the subway stare,” Alia explained. “If the first rule of New York is don’t swim in the Hudson, the second is do not make eye contact on the subway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because someone might talk to you.”

  “Would that be so bad?” The prospect of so many new people to speak to seemed like an unimaginable luxury.

  “Maybe not, but you never know in New York. Take that lady,” Alia said, bobbing her head very slightly at a woman of middle age with carefully coiffed hair and a large red leather handbag in her lap. “She looks nice enough, maybe a little tightly wound, but for all you know she’s got a human head in that purse.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “Is that common?”

  “I mean, not common. She probably just has a bunch of wadded-up tissues and a lot of pictures of her grandkids she wants to show you, but that’s bad enough.”

  Diana considered. “Direct eye contact is sometimes considered an act of aggression among primates.”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  Diana tried not to be too confrontational in her gaze, but she took advantage of the other riders’ blank looks and distraction to study them, particularly the males. She’d seen illustrations, photographs, but still they were more varied than she’d expected—large, small, broad, slender. She saw soft chins, hard jaws, long, curling hair, heads shaved smooth as summer melons.

  “Hey,” said a young man in front of them, turning to the bearded, heavyset passenger behind him. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?” the bearded man replied, his chest puffing out.

  The smaller man stepped closer. “You’re in my space. How about you back off?”

  “How about you learn your place?” He jabbed his finger into the young man’s chest.

  Alia rolled her eyes. “God, I hate the subway.” She grabbed Diana’s elbow and pulled her along, yanking a door open at the end of the car so they could find seats elsewhere. Diana looked back over her shoulder. The men were still glaring at each other, and Diana wondered if they would come to blows.

  Or would they calm themselves, step away from each other, and realize they hadn’t started this morning looking for a fight? Was this Alia’s power at work, or was it just New York?

  The new car they entered was a bit emptier, though there were no seats to be had. Near one of the doors, two girls in sheer, shimmery dresses slept slumped against each other, glitter on their cheeks, wilted flower crowns in their tangled hair. The sandals on their feet had high, pointed heels and gossamer-thin straps. They’d painted the nails of their toes silver.

  “Where do you think they’re going?” Diana asked.

  “Probably coming back from somewhere,” said Alia a little wistfully. “A party. I doubt they’ve been to bed.”

  They looked magical, as if their sleep might be enchanted.

  A cluster of young men entered the car, talking loudly, containers of what smelled like coffee in their hands. They wore what Diana realized was a kind of uniform—dark suits and shirts of white, pale pink, light blue. The men were laughing and whispering to one another, casting looks at the glittery girls. Assessing them, she realized. There was hunger behind their smiles.

  Diana thought of Hades, lord of the underworld. Maybe here he was the subway god, demanding t
olls and tribute from all those who trespassed in his territory, his suited acolytes shuffling from train to train in the dark. Did these girls in their flower crowns know to be watchful? Or, lulled into sleep and incaution, might they simply vanish into some deep wedge of shadow?

  Diana’s gaze returned to the young men, and one of them took notice. “Hey, baby,” he said with a grin at his companions. “You like what you see?”

  “I’m fully grown,” she said. “And I’m not yet sure.”

  Alia groaned, and the man’s companions hooted and jostled him.

  “That’s cold,” he said, still smiling, sidling closer. “I bet I could convince you.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t get many complaints.”

  “From your lovers?”

  The man blinked. He had sandy hair and freckles on his nose. “Uh, yeah.” He grinned again. “From my lovers.”

  “It’s possible they refrain from complaining in order to spare your feelings.”

  “What?”

  “Perhaps if you could keep a woman, you’d have less call to proposition strangers.”

  “Oh damn,” said one of his companions with a laugh.

  “You’re a little bitchy, huh?” said the sandy-haired man. He ran a finger along the strap of her top, his knuckles brushing her skin. “I like that.”

  “Hey—” said Alia.

  Diana seized his finger and twisted it hard right. The man expelled a high-pitched bleat. “I don’t like that word. I can see why you’re unpopular with women.”

  “Let go of me, you—”

  She twisted again, and he crumpled to his knees. “Perhaps some classes?” she suggested. She looked to his companions. “Or better advisors. You should keep your friend from embarrassing himself.” She let him go and he howled, clutching his finger to his chest. “It reflects poorly on you all.”

  “Call a cop!” the man wailed.

  “Oh, look,” said Alia. “Wouldn’t you know, this is our stop.”

  She yanked Diana through the doors and onto the platform. Diana looked back once. The glittery girls were waving.

  Then Alia pulled her onto a moving metal staircase and they rose higher, higher, up into the swelter of the sun. Diana squinted, eyes adjusting to the glare and the noise. The extraordinary noise. The city she’d glimpsed from the park had hummed dimly with life, but now morning had arrived in earnest, and they were at the center of the thrumming hive. It was as if the very pavement beneath their feet, the walls around them, vibrated with sound.

  There were people everywhere, crowds of them, great packs of them that milled on corners and then surged forward in lowing herds. Every surface was covered in images and signs. They were full of commands and promises: Act today. Give diamonds. Earn your degree. Low, low prices. Enchant him. Who exactly? Diana recognized most of the words, and the numbers she knew referred to currency. Other messages were less clear. What exactly was a bar made of salad, and why would one want to pay for food by the pound?

  The men and women who stared back at her from the signs looked different from those walking the streets. Their hair gleamed, and their skin was perfectly smooth and unblemished. Perhaps they were meant to be religious icons.

  Beside her, Alia hissed, and Diana realized her limp had worsened. “Do you want to rest? Or I could—”

  “You’re not carrying me through the streets of Manhattan.”

  “We’re already drawing attention,” Diana said with a shrug. “I don’t see how it could hurt.”

  “It could hurt my pride.”

  A young man in a T-shirt and short pants shook his head as they walked by. “Hey, girl, you look wrung out.”

  “Someone ask you?” said Alia, and the man put his hands up as if to make peace, but he was smiling.

  “Is he a friend?” Diana asked as they passed a store window filled with electronics. She was tempted to see if they could stop to go in. Everything had so many fascinating buttons and knobs.

  “Who? That guy? No.”

  “Then why would he presume to make a comment on your appearance?”

  Alia laughed. “Guys presume all kinds of things.”

  “You do look tired,” Diana noted.

  “I didn’t ask you, either. You’ve really never seen a man before?”

  “Only in books and from a great distance.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  Diana watched a man in glasses pass. “Well, they’re a bit disappointing. From my mother’s descriptions I thought they would be much larger and more aggressive.”

  Alia snorted. “We’ll find you a frat house.”

  “And why are they so bug-eyed and slack-jawed? Is that an affliction of all males or particular to the men of your city?”

  Alia burst out laughing. “That’s what happens when a six-foot supermodel walks down the street in a few scraps of leather.”

  “Ah, so they’re ogling. I’ve heard of that.”

  Alia held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. “We’re here.”

  Diana peered through the window at rows of tiny frosted cakes. “Is this where we’ll eat?”

  “I wish. As soon as I have cash in hand, I’m going to eat a dozen cupcakes.”

  “Why not just eat one big cake?”

  “Because—” Alia hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s the principle of the thing.” She glanced across the street, but Diana wasn’t certain what held her attention. There was a large sign that said ENTRANCE, advertisements offering what seemed to be hourly rates for parking, as well as a baffling banner promising special treatment for “early birds.” Perhaps they were poultry traders.

  “What is this place?” Diana asked.

  “A parking garage. It’s like a hotel for cars.” Alia rolled her shoulders. “Ready?”

  “For what?”

  “You’ve been in New York nearly two hours,” said Alia. “It’s time for some light breaking and entering.”

  Alia kept one eye on the entrance to the parking garage, trying not to look like she was studying it too closely, and doing her best to ignore the way her stomach was growling. She could have eaten every single thing in that bakery display.

  “You intend to steal a car?” Diana sputtered.

  “Why would I steal a car I can’t drive?” Alia said, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt. At this point she was getting by on bravado alone. It had been nerve-racking enough to hop the turnstiles on the subway—something she’d never done without Nim to egg her on—and now she was basically about to commit a crime. It wasn’t as if Jason would press charges, but she wasn’t big on the idea of getting caught. Everything in her was screaming, Go home. Hit reset.

  She was on her own turf now. She should feel calmer, more confident than she had on the island, but she never did well in crowds, and Manhattan was basically one big crowd.

  She watched one of the attendants vanish into the recesses of the garage. The other was on the phone in the office, just visible through the glass. This might be their only opportunity to get inside. “Look, you asked me to trust you; now I’m asking you to trust me.”

  Diana’s dark brows lowered, and she huffed out a breath. “Very well.”

  A huge vote of confidence from the Cult Island delegation. “Good,” said Alia, hoping she sounded sure of herself. “First task is to get past those attendants without them noticing us.” She loped quickly across the street and then dropped into her best crouch as she slunk along the wall, relieved that Diana followed.

  “This feels like law breaking,” Diana whispered as they crept up the ramp.

  “I mean, we’re not really breaking any laws. We’re just circumventing some bureaucratic challenges.”

  Alia led them past the booth and to the stairwell, hoping they wouldn’t run into the other attendant as they climbed.

  When they reached the third floor, she pushed the door open. It was quiet up here, the air cool in the dark. The only sounds were the occasional squ
eal of tires or the rumble of an engine echoing from somewhere in the cavernous building. She counted the spaces. She’d never actually been to this garage, but she knew the number she was looking for—321. March twenty-first, her mother’s birthday.

  318, 319, 320…Could this possibly be it? Alia felt a little deflated. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the car was a disappointingly dull Toyota Camry. Of course, it was possible she’d gotten this all wrong. What if the space number was her parents’ anniversary and not her mother’s birthday? What if Jason wasn’t using this garage anymore?

  She peered through the driver’s-side window. The interior of the car was spotless: empty drink holders, a receipt folded on the dashboard, and there, hanging from the rearview mirror, a pendant emblazoned with a fleur-de-lis—the symbol of New Orleans, Lina Mayeux’s hometown. Alia’s mother had once confided she’d contemplated getting a tattoo of the fleur-de-lis to remind her of home. What changed your mind? Alia had asked her. Her mother had just winked. Who says I have?

  Alia blinked back an embarrassing prickle of tears.

  “Okay,” she said. “Don’t freak out, but we’re going to have to break the window.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t have a key, and I need to get into the trunk.”

  “But it’s your car?”

  “My brother’s.”

  “Perhaps I can get the trunk open without the key.”

  Diana gripped the lip of the trunk just above the license plate and yanked upward. Instead of the latch giving, the metal of the trunk peeled upward with a shriek. Diana bit her lip and stepped back. The rear of the car looked like an open coin purse. “Sorry about that.”

  Alia listened for the patter of running footsteps, but apparently the attendants either hadn’t heard one of their cars being torn apart or hadn’t cared. She looked at the gaping trunk, then back at Diana. “So you’re the weak one in your family, huh?”

  Alia and Diana peered into the trunk. There was an industrial-size flashlight, jumper cables, and a gigantic canvas duffel.

  “Bless you, Jason, you paranoid loon.”

  “What is it?”