Page 28 of Renegades

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 hercheeks, 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?”

One heavily penciled eyebrow shot upward. “Was that today? How did it go?”

Nova opened her mouth to tell Honey what a failure the mission had been. She hesitated, though, and instead told her, “They had an actress portraying you on the villain float.”

Honey started. The bumblebee slipped into her drink and she reached in and plucked it out without looking, dropping the sodden creature onto the vanity.

“She was really pretty,” Nova added. “I mean, not quite on par with”—she gestured at Honey’s gown—“but still, she did a good job. Very classy. I don’t even think she got hit with any fruit.”

Honey looked down into her glass, her long, fake eyelashes brushing against her cheek, and for that moment she looked like a portrait. Sad and forlorn. A queen divided from her kingdom.

“Perhaps they haven’t forgotten me, after all.”

“Oh, come on,” said Nova, bobbing the bag of tea in the mug. “How could they forget about you?”

A faint smile climbed up Honey’s glistening lips, just as a yellow jacket made its way over them.

“On another note…” Nova held up the steaming mug. “Could I borrow some honey?”

Honey looked at her, eyes shining, and sighed.

The tea was already cooling when she left Honey’s room and headed for the fork in the tunnels. Nova passed another abandoned platform, a mural of chipped and grungy tiles marking the stop for Blackmire Station, and again she paused, considering.

The platform was set with three children-size circus tents, each one barely big enough to stand up in. Their wide stripes done in once-vibrant primary colors had been dulled with years of dirt and grime. The tents were connected through flaps torn into the fabric and stitched together with shreds of old sleeping bags and bedsheets, forming a sort of miniature tent-palace. The most striking change, though, was that their pennant flags had been replaced with skewered doll heads, one to each tent, their dull black eyes watching anyone who dared approach.

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