“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.”