Diana found Alia flopped on a canopy bed heaped with snowy linens in a large chamber at the other end of the hall. This room had a floor inlaid with wood in the pattern of a huge sunburst, and one wall was painted with a misty view of a lake dappled with pale pink water lilies.
“Monet,” Diana said, finding the name in a memory of one of her art history lessons.
“I was really into that story ‘The Frog Prince’ when I was a kid,” Alia said to the ceiling. “Mom wasn’t big on princesses, so we compromised with a lily pond.”
But the wide windows that overlooked a vast swath of parkland had already captured Diana’s gaze. From this height, the city was transformed. It was like looking into her mother’s jewel case—a city of silver spires and mysterious ironwork, windows that glinted like gems in the afternoon light. The park was rigidly symmetrical in its boundaries, hard lines demarcating where it began and the city ended. It was as if someone had set a door into another world at the center of the city, someplace lush and green, but contained on all sides by strong magic.
Alia’s room seemed full of small magics, too. Her desk was stacked with textbooks and a little hourglass sat beside the lamp, but the sand in it seemed to be lodged at the top. Diana shook it, then flipped it and gasped.
“Is the sand in this flowing upward?”
Alia rolled her head listlessly on the pillow. “Oh. Yeah. It’s because of the density of the liquid inside it instead of air.”
A framed photograph sat on the corner of the desk: a young Alia and Jason on a boardwalk, their hair braided into tight rows, Alia’s head studded with plastic barrettes. Behind them stood the same couple Diana recognized from the photo in the study—a man with a craggy, friendly face, his blue eyes sparkling, his cheeks reddened by the sun, and a woman with dark-brown skin and a soft cloud of hair held back from her face by a cheerful red headband. They were all striking a silly pose, flexing their muscles like comic strongmen. Jason’s smile was broad and open, his dimple carved deeply into his left cheek. Maybe Alia was right about how much he’d changed.
“And what are these?” Diana asked, pointing to a shelf of neatly stacked patterned boxes.
Alia groaned. “It’s super nerdy.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m trying to collect the element that corresponds to my age every year for my birthday, like Oliver Sacks. He was a neuroscientist.”
“I know. We have his books.”
Alia lifted her head. “You do?”
“We try to keep up with the outside world.”
Alia flopped back against the pillows. “Yeah, well, here’s hoping I make it to argon.”
Diana heard footsteps on the stairs and tensed, preparing herself. Alia might trust Nim, but Diana couldn’t afford to.
The bedroom door banged open and a girl stormed through—though she was less like a girl and more like a human whirlwind. She wore open-toed boots that laced up to her dimpled knees and a smock dress that sparkled. The side of her head was shaved and the rest of her hair fell forward in a slick black sheaf that flopped over one eye. The other eye was black as jet and rimmed with gold, and her visible ear was studded with silver and gems all the way from lobe to top.
“I cannot believe you lasted all of what? A week in Turkey? I thought this was supposed to be the big adventure, Alia. The moment when you cast off your chains and—” The girl’s voice broke off as she caught sight of Diana standing by the window. “Sweet mother of apples.”
“Pardon?”
“Nim—” Alia said, a note of warning in her voice.
The girl strode forward. She was round cheeked, round shouldered, round everything.
“Poornima Chaudhary,” she said. “You can call me Nim. Or whatever you like, honestly. God, how tall are you?”
“Nim!” snapped Alia.
“It’s a totally reasonable question. All in the name of research. Your text said we need clothes.” Nim hooked her hand around one of the bedposts and muttered, “Please tell me this girl is less of a pill than the last one you forced me to hang out with. No offense,” she said to Diana. “But, excluding me, Alia basically has the worst taste in people ever.” Her one visible eye narrowed. “Are those bruises? What the hell happened in Turkey?”
“Nothing,” said Alia, fluffing her pillows and propping herself against them. “Boating accident. They had to cut the trip short.”
Diana was surprised at how easily Alia delivered the lie. But how many tears had Diana hidden from Maeve? Some sorrows had to be borne alone.
Nim crossed her arms, bracelets jangling. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
“The jet lag is just messing with me.”
“You weren’t gone long enough for jet lag.”
“I—”
Nim held up her hands. “I’m not complaining. Summer in this dump of a city sucks without you.” She cast Diana an assessing glance. “And you definitely know how to bring back a souvenir.”
Alia tossed a pillow at her. “Nim, quit flirting. You are here for style-emergency purposes.”
“Your life is a perpetual style emergency. So much money, so little chic. Am I right?” She turned to Diana. “Who are you exactly?”
Diana took in Nim’s bright, inquisitive eyes, her head cocked to the side. She looked like a sparkly, round-cheeked sparrow. “Diana,” she said, and smiled. “But you can call me Diana.”
“Are you going to help us or not?” said Alia.
“Of course I am. I love spending your money. But how did Jason convince you to go to a party?”
“Guilt bomb.”
“Typical. All right, my females,” Nim said, whipping out a measuring tape and flipping open what Diana realized was a computer on Alia’s desk. “Let’s go shopping.”
“We can’t go out,” said Diana, though she hated to dampen Nim’s enthusiasm. “We’re already taking enough risks.”
Nim pulled out a pair of green plastic glasses and plunked them on her small nose. “What’s that, now?”
“Jason’s being strict on security again,” Alia said hurriedly. “We’ve had some threats.”
“Crazy, right?” Nim asked Diana. “Can you imagine living on lockdown?”
“Come on, Nim. It’s not like I have that many places to go.”
Nim waved her hand dismissively. “Someday, Alia, we will have all the places to go and all the clothes to go there in. And don’t worry,” she said to Diana. “The shopping comes to us.”
They gathered around the computer on Alia’s desk—Nim at the keyboard, Alia and Diana huddled behind her—and the next hour was a blur of confusing talk and images flying by on the tiny screen. Nim knew a great deal about textiles and design, and apparently, she’d helped Alia shop this way before. She took Diana’s measurements, all while catching Alia up on how she’d spent the last two weeks, the course she’d just finished at some place called Parsons, and how disgusting the heat in the city had been.
Diana mostly listened and nodded, enjoying their chatter. Nim was a little like Maeve, but her cheer and boldness were somehow more vivid. It reminded Diana of the bright shelves of the drugstore, everything noisy with electric color, even the candy. You dance differently when you know you won’t live forever. Was this what Maeve had meant? There was something reckless in mortal joy that Diana liked. It held nothing back.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Nim said, looking up at Diana suspiciously. She pushed back from the desk in her chair. “You’re not silently seething over something I said, are you?”
Diana startled. “Not at all. Why would you think that?”
Nim shrugged, taking out her phone and sending another text to someone Diana thought she’d called Barney Buyer. “Nothing personal. I just never get along with Alia’s friends. We tend to do better on our own.”
“It’s true,” Alia said thoughtfully, leaning against her bookshelf.
“And we’re delightful!” said Nim. “Even though Alia is a total jinx. If something can go wrong around her, it will. I swear, she’s a drama magnet.”
Alia gestured at the screen. “Focus.” But Diana knew she was thinking about all of those tense moments, those disagreements, those broken opportunities for friendship in a new light.
Diana peered at Nim, whose head was cocked to the side as she sucked thoughtfully on her lower lip and tapped at the screen of her phone. Did Diana feel hostile toward her? She didn’t think so. She’d wondered if her conflict with Jason had been influenced by Alia’s powers, but she and Nim seemed to be getting along just fine. The Oracle had said Alia would not cause her to sicken; maybe her powers had no effect on Diana at all. “Nim, do you and Jason get on well?”
“As well as anyone can get along with that pill.” Nim whirled in her seat and clutched a hand to her chest. “Don’t tell me you’re into him.”
Alia banged her head against her bookshelf. “Can we not?”
Nim fluttered her fingers as if casting a spell. “Girls lose all sense around Jason Keralis.”
“It’s the billionaire factor,” said Alia.
“It’s not just the money: It’s the cheekbones, the icy disposition. I had three kinds of a crush on your brother before I matured enough to realize he’s a total bore.”
“That isn’t a secret, Nim. You used to steal his T-shirts.”
Nim folded her arms, but her brown cheeks pinked. “So?”
“His dirty T-shirts.”
Diana grimaced, but Nim didn’t seem deterred.
“All I’m saying is most guys who are that rich and that young are either awful legacies with ‘the third’ after their names or gross Internet entrepreneurs. Jason’s mad-science angle is hot.”
Alia scoffed. “Could have fooled me.”
“Totally different standard for girls. Guys don’t care if you have a sexy brain.”
Diana recoiled. “You can’t mean that.”
Alia tossed a pillow at Nim. “She doesn’t mean it. Nim, you’re the worst.”
“I’m the best. And I can’t help it if we live beneath the thumb of the patriarchy. Why don’t you go yell at your brother for being a tool and only dating supermodels and socialites?”
“What’s a supermodel?” Diana asked.
Nim stared at her.
“Uh, Diana’s homeschooled,” said Alia.
“Under a rock?” asked Nim.
“Her parents are just super weird. Hippies, kind of. You know, no TV, only public radio.”
Nim took Diana’s hand in both of hers. “I am so deeply sorry.”
Diana raised a brow. “I manage.”
“Do you?” Nim asked with a sincerity so profound Diana couldn’t help laughing. Nim grabbed her other hand, holding Diana’s wrists out. “Wow, cool bracelets. Are these soldered on?”
“Um, yes.”
“I can’t even see a seam. That is some amazing craftsmanship. What are they? It’s got to be an alloy, but—”
“Nim makes jewelry,” Alia explained.
Nim dropped Diana’s hands. “Don’t say I make jewelry. That sounds like I’m someone with a BeDazzler and an Etsy shop. I make art.”
Alia rolled her eyes. “Okay, how about this? Nim is really good with textiles and just about everything else visual, and that’s why I invited her over to berate us.”
“Also I’m great company.”
Alia grinned. “That, too.”
“What makes these models super?” inquired Diana, still curious. “Do they have powers?”
Nim burst out laughing. “I love this girl. Yes, supermodels have the power to make you buy things you don’t need and feel terrible about yourself.”
Could that be true? “You used that word to describe me,” Diana said to Alia. “It doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
Alia hurled herself onto the bed and said, “It is a compliment. Nim just thinks she’s being clever.”
“Speaking of which,” Nim said, consulting her phone. “Marie pulled a bunch of clothes for us. They should be delivered in a couple of hours.” She hopped up on the bed and settled next to Alia. “Prepare for perfection.”
“I don’t need to be perfect,” Alia said. “Just passable.”
Nim held up her pinky. “Bubble, bubble.”
Alia sighed and hooked her pinky into Nim’s. “Make some trouble.” She cast a glance at Diana. “This all probably seems really silly to you, right?”
Diana wasn’t entirely sure what ritual she’d just witnessed, so she said, “The dresses? Attire is important. It sends a message to everyone you meet.”
“Yes!” Nim declared, fists held aloft in victory.
“Nooo,” wailed Alia, burying her head in the pillows. “Now there’s two of you.”
“You said as much in the drugstore,” Diana pointed out, leaning against the desk.
“But there’s a difference between looking respectable and saying, Look at me!”
“Perhaps you should think of it as armor,” suggested Diana. “When a warrior readies herself for battle, she doesn’t just worry about practicality.”
Alia rolled onto her side and propped her head on one hand. “I’d think not dying would be the big concern.”
“Yes, but the goal is also to intimidate. A general wears her rank. The same is true of athletes when they compete.”
“That’s true!” said Nim. “I read that football players play more aggressively when they’re dressed in black and red.”
“Nim loves trivia,” said Alia.
“I love information.”
Diana lifted Nim’s measuring tape from the desk and curled it over one finger. “Where I’m from…I get a lot of attention because of my mother.”
“Who’s your mom? Is she famous?”
“Um…”
“Only locally,” interjected Alia.
“Anyway,” said Diana, “I know people will be judging, so I have to think about what to wear. My mother does, too. She’s really good at it. And it isn’t just about battle. Sometimes everything feels like a fight. You know, like just sitting through a dinner.”
“Or walking down the street,” said Nim.
“Or making it through an hour at a party,” Alia said.
Diana found herself smiling. “It’s just an hour. We’ll manage it.” And when that hour had passed, they would be on their way to the spring, on their way to changing the future.
A knock came at the door, and Jason ducked his head inside. “I need to head over to the meeting soon. Traffic’s heavy.”
“Tell me you’re not wearing that to the party,” said Nim.
Jason had donned a suit similar to the ones worn by the businessmen on the train.
He tugged at his cuff a bit self-consciously. “I’d planned to change into my tux at the office. And hello, Nim. So glad you can join us tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jay-jay.”
“Meyers and Perez will escort you to the party. Dez will drive, but I got him to pick up a new car. If anyone’s tracking our fleet, they’re going to miss him coming and going.” Jason held out a piece of paper that Nim snatched from his hand. “If you need to reach him, use this number. I got him an encrypted burner cell.”
“An encrypted burner cell?” Alia repeated. “You just had one lying around?”
“Alia, what do I always tell you?”
“That you only watch reality TV as an anthropological exercise.”
Nim cackled, and Jason rolled his eyes.
“No,” he said. “Enjoy the best, but prepare for the worst.”
“Wise, Jason,” said Nim. “So wise. Ever notice how hard it is to enjoy something when you’re preparing for the worst?”
He ignored her. “Theo and I will meet you at the party at eight thirty. Don’t be late.”
“Oh lord, Theo’s coming?” said Nim. “Talk about preparing for the worst.”
“And what about…” Diana hesitated. “Our ride home?”
Jason gave a single grim nod. “It will be ready to go.” He shut the door.
“Thanks for the invite!” Nim called after him.
Jason’s voice floated back through the door. “Just don’t set fire to anything.”
Nim pirouetted and struck a pose. “Nothing but the dance floor. Who’s hungry?”
A cold supper had been laid out for them in the kitchen, and Diana realized there must be staff here, servants who came and went barely seen. She hoped Jason’s faith in their loyalty was justified, and that both he and Alia were right about the party being a worthwhile risk. Even so, she was glad that they weren’t leaving for Greece right away. Once they’d broken the Warbringer line, Diana would have to return home to whatever consequences might be waiting. With Jason’s jet at the ready, she could at least enjoy a few more hours to observe the mortal world. There was so much to see, and if she was honest with herself, she could admit there was something to be said for being Diana Prince, something freeing about being judged on her own words and actions, instead of her origins or her mother’s choices.
As they hovered around the kitchen counter, piling food onto their plates, Diana wondered if Alia and Jason ever used the huge dining room or threw parties on their grand terrace. Or was it always just the two of them and the occasional trusted friend, sharing this huge home with the ghosts of Alia and Jason’s parents, eating standing up at their counter, looking out at the beautiful view?
Diana had felt so alone on Themyscira, but Alia was just as isolated in this massive city—maybe more so. The palace at the Epheseum was large, but it had been built as a communal space, one where people came and went to seek audience with their queen, where classes were taught. The women who served Diana and her mother were also their friends, the same people with whom they ate and trained. Everyone served Themyscira in some way, but they were all warriors, all equals. It was one of the reasons many believed there should be no queen at all, just an elected council. Maybe this quest would free both Diana and Alia. Maybe it would give Diana a chance to truly belong among her sisters and Alia the opportunity to live her life with some measure of peace.
“Funny how you neglected to mention that Theo Santos is going to be there tonight,” Nim said as she stuffed her mouth full of cheese.
“I didn’t know,” said Alia.
“You should have told me so I could better gauge how much cleavage you wanted to show.”
“First you’d have to find me some.”
“Who’s Theo Santos?” Diana asked, selecting a cluster of grapes from a bowl.
“Jason’s junior sidekick.”
“He’s a family friend,” said Alia.
“Hot in a gangly, not-hot-at-all way.”
“He’s objectively attractive,” Alia protested.
“He’s a complete loser. He spends all his time over here or in some dark room gaming and avoiding actual human contact.”
Alia tossed a carrot at Nim. “Actual human contact is overrated.”
When the dresses arrived, Perez went down to retrieve them with Nim in tow. They returned with two metal racks laden with large dark bags dangling from hangers, which Meyers helped carry upstairs. Diana felt a bit guilty watching them struggle up the steps, but she thought it best to let them manage on their own.
Back in Alia’s room, Nim immediately began unzipping the bags and yanking them off to reveal swaths of shimmering fabric and beading. There were several smaller bags filled with just shoe boxes and sheer wraps.
Alia sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Diana nudged her with her elbow. “Armor, remember?”
Alia squared her shoulders and took her pile of dresses into the bathroom. “Those who are about to die salute you.”
“I don’t know why I even bother,” grumbled Nim as they perched on Alia’s bed to wait. “She always picks the most boring thing on the rack, always in basic black. If it’s shaped like a sack, even better.”
“Maybe it feels easier that way, just being invisible instead of always worrying what people think of you.”
Nim’s voice was surprisingly emphatic. “But that’s a choice, too, right? Because people are always going to look. They’re always going to judge, so you can say nothing or you can at least answer back.”
Diana had the sense that Nim wasn’t talking about Alia at all. The tiny girl’s clothes were distinctive, her manner of speech decisive. But her confidence was vibrant and spiky, like a bright flower guarded by thorns.
“What do you think people see when they look at you?”
Nim turned to her. “What do you see?”
“A bold girl. Talented and audacious.”
Nim dropped backward in an exaggerated swoon. “Could you just stay forever?”
“What was that thing you and Alia did?” Diana said, trying to remember. “Bubble, bubble….It was a play on Shakespeare, wasn’t it?”
Nim propped herself up on her elbows. “I know it’s goofy.”
“What does it mean?”
Nim slid off the bed and crossed the room to where a collage of her and Alia was propped on a dresser. She plucked a photo from the frame and held it up: three girls in shredded black robes with pointy hats. “When Alia and I were freshmen, we both got cast as witches in Macbeth along with this Thai kid, Preeda. That’s right, out of the whole school, they cast the three ethnic kids as witches. People would see us in the hall and pretend to shriek and cry. They thought it was hilarious.”
Diana had always regretted not growing up with other children, but that sounded awfully cruel. “What did you do?”
Nim tucked the photo back into the collage. “We just went for it. We cackled and went berserk every night and made sure to always get our lines wrong. Bubble, bubble.”
Diana smiled. “Make some trouble.”
“Come on, Alia!” Nim shouted at the closed bathroom door. “You have to pick one, and we all know it’s going to be the black dress with the long sleeves so you can schoolmarm it up—”
The door opened, and Nim’s jaw dropped.
“She didn’t pick the black one,” Diana observed.
“No shit,” breathed Nim.
Alia wore a dress of shimmering gold scales that moved like light glinting off water—no, like the sun off a warrior’s helm.
“Did you hit your head in Turkey?” Nim said in disbelief.
Alia grinned at Diana and cocked her hip. “Armor.”