SHE DIDN’T WANT TO WASTE her time going all the way to the house on Wallowridge, so instead Nova buried her Renegade communicator band beneath a dead potted plant on the stoop of a small café, three blocks from the entrance to the subway tunnels. She was surprised at how easily she’d adapted to wearing it, and as she made her way through the abandoned subway station and down the dark stairs, she found herself continually checking her wrist, only to remember it wasn’t there.
The moment she was close enough to the Anarchists’ underground encampment, she knew things had changed. Clangs and thumps were echoing through the tunnels, and she passed hundreds of displaced bees, their fat bodies crawling aimlessly along the walls.
She found Honey haphazardly throwing anything within reach into her old wooden travel trunk, filling it with dresses, shoes, silk robes, cosmetics, and an assortment of dust-covered liqueur bottles.
“What’s going on?”
Honey yelped and spun to face her. “That is it, Nova. The next time you sneak up on me, I am leaving a wasp in your bed linens.” Huffing, she tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “And we’re leaving.”
Nova gulped. “Leaving?”
“Leaving. Now, I have a lot of packing to do, so…” She flipped her fingers, shooing her away, but Nova didn’t move.
“How are you going to get that trunk up the stairs? It’ll weigh a hundred pounds by the time you get all this stuff in there.”
Honey cast a pleading look toward the ceiling. “My problem, not yours. Skat!”
Frowning, Nova turned away. She moved faster now, passing Winston’s abandoned platform without so much as a glance. When she arrived at Leroy’s train car, she heard yelling coming from within. She went inside without bothering to knock. Ingrid and Leroy were both filling boxes and tote bags with as much of Leroy’s lab equipment as would fit.
“Honey says we’re leaving?”
They both glanced at her, and Ingrid’s expression, which was already angry, now turned positively enraged. She didn’t respond, just turned her back on Nova, giving her a good glimpse of the bloodied scarf tied around her upper arm, where Nova had shot her.
“We’re leaving,” confirmed Leroy. “Pack up what you truly need, leave the rest.”
Nova shook her head, her heart beginning to thump painfully in her chest. “We can’t leave.”
“We must.”
“What about—”
“The Renegades are coming, Nova.” Leroy looked up from the box he was packing and fixed her with his black, penetrating gaze. “They could very well be on their way at this minute. I trust you know that better than anyone.”
She shook her head. “We can fight. We’ll have the advantage of a familiar field. Maybe … maybe this is our best chance to really strike out at them. We can lure them down here and then—”
“We have already considered this,” said Leroy, with a heavy sigh. “We have plans to slow them down. Diversions that will help us get out safely, before they can follow us. But it will not be enough. There are too many of them. We cannot win. We must leave.”
She stared at him, aghast. He made it sound so simple. They would just leave.
But it wasn’t that simple, and they all knew it.
Leroy’s stern face slipped into something almost sorrowful. “I know,” he whispered. “It won’t be forever.” He pointed his chin toward the door. “Now go, gather your things.”
Clenching her jaw, Nova turned and ran. She did as she was told, because that seemed easiest. She pulled her duffel bag from beneath the bed and took a moment to contemplate what she truly needed.
Nightmare’s hooded jacket and face mask. Her throwing stars and the netting bazooka. A few changes of clothes.
She looked around, but found that she had little attachment to anything else in this abandoned train car. What really mattered to her?
The bracelet her father had made, and the safety of the Anarchists. Her family.
Slinging the duffel bag over one shoulder, she jumped down from the train car. Across the way, her eye landed on an old advertisement hung on the tunnel’s wall. It was promoting a book—a thriller from some bestselling author Nova had never heard of—though the protective plastic over the poster had long ago been tagged with graffiti. The bright splotches of paint continued into the tunnel’s shadows.
She let her bag fall with a loud thud onto the tracks. She stepped up to the poster, dug her fingers around the edges, and yanked.
A narrow, cobwebbed passage disappeared into blackness. The air inside was stale and damp, and that smell brought the memories surging back. The tunnel had seemed bigger then, when she and Honey had run from the cathedral tombs, eventually landing inside the subway tunnels. It was tall enough for even Ingrid to stand up in, but so skinny that the others had been forced to go sideways through parts of it.
Nova knew that Ingrid had set off a bomb on the other end, right beneath the cathedral’s nave, preventing anyone else from finding the tunnel and following them.
This was not an escape.
But …
She had taken a single step inside when she heard an unfamiliar yell.
Her pulse skipped.
Nova pulled her foot out and slammed the poster shut, checking that all signs of the tunnel were disguised, before grabbing the bag again and running toward the screams.
She found the others gathered in front of the tiled mural for Blackmire Station, standing on the platform where Winston had set up his circus tents. Honey was giggling madly, her eyes glazed as she bent over the tracks, watching the tunnel. Leroy was crouched a few feet away, fidgeting with what looked like a hand grenade, while Ingrid and Phobia hovered near the staircase that led back toward the surface. It was an exit none of them ever used, given that the entrance at the top had long ago been enclosed with sheets of steel.
“They’re here?” she asked.
“Oh yes, they’re here,” said Honey, tittering. “And they’ve just learned how very painful a sting from the red-jacketed needle wasp can be.” She glanced at Nova, smirking. “Some say it feels like a molten hot knitting needle being plunged into your flesh.” She laughed again. “And I just let loose the whole hive.” She giddily clapped her hands. “Oh, it feels so good to be doing something, finally. Even if that something is running away.”
“What’s our plan, exactly?” said Nova.
“You and Honey should start heading up to the surface,” said Leroy. “Ingrid will bring down this next section of tunnels, then come up and open a path out of Blackmire Station for us to get through. While she’s doing that, I will be filling this chamber with a cocktail of poisonous vapors. And…” He glanced at Phobia’s still, dark cloak. “Phobia will act as our last defense—ready to force back anyone who makes it to the stairs.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Leroy glanced at her. “We want you to survive,” he said slowly, “so you might someday destroy them.”
Ingrid snorted.
Nova looked away.
“Here we go, Nova darling,” said Honey, grabbing Nova’s arm and dragging her toward the stairs. Though Nova’s muscles were still sore from the exertion at the library that day, she was propelled forward with a mix of adrenaline and an instinct for survival, knowing that if the Renegades discovered her, she would see only the inside of a prison cell for the rest of her life.
“What happened to your trunk?” said Nova.
“We’ll come back for it later,” she said flippantly. “My babies will watch over it for now.”
Nova frowned, not sure she wanted to know what that meant.
The stairs grew dark as they ascended away from the platform. Nova took the flashlight from her belt.
Honey grinned at her, seemingly unworried by all that was happening, which struck Nova as uncanny. She—who was always so ready to overdramatize everything.
“Ever so resourceful, you little nightmare,” she sang.
Nova ground her teeth, but didn’t bother to rebuke the nickname. They never listened to her anyway.
They had just reached the second landing when an explosion shook the dark walls. Honey tripped, grabbing for one of the rails. “Ow!” she yelped, rolling onto her hip to inspect her knee, which Nova could see was scraped and bleeding. Honey whimpered and dabbed at the wound with her fingertips.
Nova grabbed her elbow. “Come on, Queenie. You could have just been stabbed with a burning hot knitting needle, so let’s keep things in perspective.”
Honey started to glare at her as she got back to her feet, but then she was giggling again. “That was Ingrid, wasn’t it? The Renegades are nearly to the platform.”
“Which means Leroy is getting ready to set off those poisons, which means we need to get out of here.”
Three staircases later, they made it to the top floor, where the thick metal sheeting enclosed the opening. Nova shone the flashlight around the edges, searching for some weakness in the wall.
The beam from her flashlight was joined by the flickers of blue light over the ceiling. Ingrid sprinted up to the landing, eyes flashing as she gripped her blue sphere. “Get back,” she snapped, not looking at Nova or Honey as she stepped forward.
Nova darted back down to the next landing and crouched beside the stairs. She heard Leroy panting as he climbed the steps, and could make out the edges of Phobia’s wisping cloak swooping behind him.
Far down below, she heard the echoes of distant coughing, choking, hacking. She swallowed and wondered how many Renegades would survive this night.
And how many Anarchists.
Her thoughts had just turned that direction when Ingrid’s sphere exploded, thundering through the stairwell.
When the walls had stopped trembling, Nova lifted her head. Ingrid had detonated the bomb against the concrete side wall of the entrance, leaving a hole about three feet in diameter and a lot of broken rubble at her feet. Weak daylight spilled through as dusk crept over the city.
Nova clicked off the flashlight.
Ingrid looked back at the group and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Leroy stood first, still gasping from the climb, and went to join Ingrid. Honey dusted off her sequined dress, fluffed her hair, and strode up to the top floor as if she were arriving at a gala.
Footsteps pounded on the staircase, several stories below. Nova glanced back and saw Phobia on the next landing. His edges seemed to bleed into the darkness and it was as though he were expanding. Growing outward in all directions, until he was nothing but a swell of impenetrable blackness. The sound of thudding boots grew louder and Nova dared to peer over the rail. She did not recognize the figure below, but she did recognize the gray uniform.
Suddenly, Phobia disintegrated, his entire body morphing into millions of swarming black widow spiders. They skittered down the stairs, over the walls, dropped down from the ceiling toward their prey.
Nova wasn’t sure what made her shudder—the sight of so many spindly-legged spiders swarming into the shadows, or the blood-curdling shriek that cut through the air.
“Nightmare!” called Leroy.
She turned and ran, diving through the hole Ingrid had created. Leroy’s yellow car was waiting for them, miraculously, and Nova wondered how long this escape plan had been put into place. Was it something they had drawn up ages ago—in case of emergency—and never bothered to tell her?
“Do we know where we’re going?” said Nova.
“Your place,” said Honey, sweeping around the car and dropping gracefully into the passenger seat. Nova stared. It was only a two-seater sports car, but she supposed this was not the time to worry about seat belts or comfort.
“My place?”
“Honey, scoot in to the middle,” yelled Ingrid. “You can sit on the center console. Nova, get in the trunk.”
“One moment, Detonator,” said Leroy, putting himself between Ingrid and the car. “I think it will be best if you find other accommodations.”
She recoiled. “Excuse me?”
“You acted rashly at the library today, and this is the result. You brought this on us, and the Renegades will focus their efforts now on finding you above all else. I’m afraid I cannot permit you to come with us.”
Her nostrils flared and she turned to Nova. “None of this would have happened if she hadn’t been confused about her loyalties.”
“Me?” yelled Nova. “If you’d just warned Cronin like you were supposed to—”
“If you’d just killed those Renegades, like you were supposed to!”
“Well maybe,” said Nova, her voice rising, “you should have bothered to tell me your plan, rather than leading me right into your stupid trap!”
“You wouldn’t have had the nerve to go through with it! You never follow through. You never pull the trigger when it counts, Nova. You might be Ace’s niece, but you are not one of us!”
“Enough,” Leroy growled, grabbing Ingrid’s arm. She snarled and turned her hate-filled gaze toward him, energy sparking around her fingertips. “You lost us the Librarian. You brought the Renegades to our door. If anyone is no longer an Anarchist, it’s you.” Without taking his focus from Ingrid, he nodded toward the car. “Nova, get in.”
“No.”
Leroy turned to her, surprised.
Pacing to the car, Nova tossed the duffel bag into the trunk and slammed it shut. “As far as any of them know, I’m a Renegade. I don’t need to run, or hide.” She shot one last glare at Ingrid, then nodded at Leroy and Honey. “See you at home.”
She walked away. It wasn’t long before she heard the squeal of tires. She glanced back in time to see the car turning the corner. Ingrid was not inside, but even as Nova scanned the street, she could find no sign of her.
Dragging in a long breath, Nova made her way back to the café where she’d buried her communication band and strapped it back to her wrist. She did not linger long on the city streets, but headed into a nearby alley and up the rickety fire escape of an apartment building, one she’d climbed hundreds of times. When she reached the top, she crossed the roof to where she could see Renegade Headquarters in the distance, the tower lit up in white and red like a beacon. Enormous spotlights around its spire shone disks of white on the clouds overhead.
Nova swung one leg over the concrete parapet and laid down, letting her foot dangle. She turned her face up to the sky and let herself breathe deeply for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Her hair and clothes stank of smoke. Her muscles were wound as tight as springs and she found it difficult to relax now that there was no one to fight, nowhere to run.
Dusk was turning fast to night. Though the sky was full of clouds, to the east those clouds were tinted deep purple and heather gray. Somewhere beyond the gloom, the sun was setting.
And she listened.
To a chorus of dogs barking at one another from building to building. To the screams of a couple who were arguing in the apartments below. To the sirens that echoed up from distant streets. Sirens meant Renegades, and she imagined some patrol unit, somewhere, rushing to help whoever needed it. Maybe even rushing to help their comrades trapped down in the subway tunnels.
She knew Adrian, Ruby, and Oscar wouldn’t have been down there, otherwise she would have been called to action, too, as part of the team. But how many Renegades had been a part of the raid? How many were hurt? How many had died?
Ingrid had set off another war today, and the Anarchists had just won their first battle. Would they be celebrating tonight, without her? Or would they be mourning the loss of their home, the loss of that little bit of independence their arrangement with the Council had afforded them … even, perhaps, the loss of Ingrid?
Nova shut her eyes and thought, if she were a villain worthy of the name, she would be with them now. Celebrating, or mourning.
And if she were a hero, she would be hurrying to help any Renegades who might be trapped and hurt beneath the rubble.
Instead, she listened to the sounds of a city in distress, and did nothing.