Wonder Woman: Warbringer (DC Icons #1)(32)

“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.