“Maybe,” said Nova, once the cart was secured below, “you stay here for me.”
Ingrid guffawed. “Oh, sweetie. You took a shot at the Captain himself today.” She clicked her tongue but, for the first time since Nova had come across her on the platform, her eyes did take on a hint of warmth. “You might just be the craziest of us all.”
“It was your idea.”
“Exactly.”
By the time Nova had dropped off the cart of supplies in the storehouse beneath the yellow line, which was overrun with cockroaches and usually went ignored during the Renegades’ visits, her arms were vibrating from pushing the cart’s wheels over the bumpy tracks. She was glad to finally make it to her own abandoned train car and drop off the duffel bag.
She took a moment to prepare a cup of tea with a small electric kettle. It was one of the rituals that regulated her days. Though the tea never put her to sleep or even seemed to do much to calm her mind, like it was supposed to, it still signaled to her body that the day was over and nighttime was about to begin. It gave her a suggestion of normalcy—something as simple and comforting as a bedtime routine, even if she skipped over the going-to-bed part.
With the mug in one hand, she headed back into the tunnels.
Honey’s wails grew louder as Nova approached her utility room, the crying offset only by the buzzing of her hives.
“Honey?” Nova said, nudging open the heavy steel door with her shoulder.
Honey Harper, the infamous Queen Bee, was in one of her moods. She had dolled herself up like she did when things got really bad, with thick, sparkling black eyeliner and blonde curls teased into a gravity-defying bob. She was in a slinky dress that cascaded over her generous curves as she stood in front of a full-length mirror, alternating between admiring herself appreciatively and sobbing into her hands.
She would have been a picture-perfect reflection of a long-ago movie starlet, all dramatic and flashy, bordering on the ridiculous … except for the bees.
Besides the room’s sparse furniture—a messy bed, vanity, antique wardrobe—every spare inch of space was taken up with hives and nests and the little creatures whose cumulative buzzing could be louder than a chainsaw. Sweet, chubby bumblebees and efficient, hardworking honeybees and hornets and wasps and yellow jackets, some as big as Nova’s thumb. Though they came and went from the tunnels, there were always thousands of them in here, working, building, producing. A few dozen were crawling along Honey’s dress and skin, and Nova could see that two had gotten caught in the sticky, hair-sprayed strands of her hair.
Nova had once pointed out to Honey that, scientifically speaking, hornets and wasps weren’t bees at all, and how was it that she could have dominion over them if her power was supposed to be all about bees. But Honey had just smiled and pet her cheek, murmuring, “It’s good to be queen.”
Nova had been only a child then—that was before they’d been run down into the tunnels.
When the Renegades had defeated them, Honey had taken it the hardest, feeling that it was a personal assault to force her and her precious subjects into these dark, sunless caves. She truly had lived like a queen in those days, and often pretended she still did. Nova was fairly certain her adamant denial of their new reality had turned her delusional.
“Honey?” she asked again, louder now, to be heard over the buzzing.
Honey spun toward her, cheeks flushing. “What?” she snapped.
Her eye makeup was running, leaving dark tracks along her cheeks, but it didn’t make her less beautiful so much as it made her look like a distraught mess that needed fixing. The sort of woman that a lot of guys probably would attempt to fix if it wasn’t for the black wasp wandering over her cleavage.
Seeing Nova, she drew herself up to full height, so she could peer down her nose as she gathered herself. A phantom smile crossed her shiny lips. She never wore lipstick, only slathered them with honey—nature’s best moisturizer, she reminded Nova again and again, not so subtly suggesting that maybe Nova could use some herself.
“Apologies, darling,” Honey said with a sigh. She reached for a martini glass on her vanity, ignoring the bumblebee on the rim as she took a sip. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s all right. Could I borrow—”
“I thought you were out. It’s been quiet around here today. Where has everyone gone?”
Nova pressed both hands into the sides of the mug. It was cold in the tunnels, and the warmth coming through the clay felt good on her fingers. “The parade?”