Wonder Woman: Warbringer (DC Icons #1)(31)

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 tolls 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.”