Page 77 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

“Here,” Kierse said, throwing two twenties at the thing.

It studied the toll and then relented, taking a massive step backward and shaking the entire entrance. Gen glanced worriedly up at the ceiling as dust rained down on them.

Kierse grasped her hand and tugged her forward into the gloom of the subway system. They quickly swiped their MetroCards and pushed through the turnstile, heading to the platform. When they got there, they found a handful of beleaguered people clustered opposite a particularly ferocious-looking panther.

“Panther shifter,” Gen whispered.

Kierse grinned. It was so good to be home. She’d almost forgotten what a melting pot New York was.

When the 2 train finally rolled into the station, the panther snarled at the people before pouncing inside. A guy screamed and dashed out, following the rest of the passengers into a separate car.

Gen took an available seat, and Kierse stood over her, holding the overhead rail and watching the rest of the passengers with wary apprehension. Her glamour wascarefully in place. Not that any of these people would likely understand what her ears indicated. Her natural suspicion had only intensified with the knowledge that someone had tried to kill off everyone like her. It was good that she trusted so few people.

“We’ll change trains at Times Square,” Kierse said.

“Yeah,” Gen said, sucking on her teeth. “I still hate it there.”

“I know. If the theaters are all reopening, though, it can’t be as bad.”

“Just hard not to think about it like it was during the war,” she whispered.

Times Square, for all its capitalistic splendor, had been carved up and taken over by rival monsters during the war. They still killed enough humans, even post-Treaty, that almost everyone avoided it if they could, but before it was known-disputed monster territory,manyhumans had died. The aftereffects of those deaths still made people shudder.

When they got off at Times Square, both girls stopped and stared in surprise. The only word Kierse could think of to describe it wasbustling. It looked like the pre-war Times Square station, with tourists braving the heat to see the city as summer approached and monsters jostling for space the same as the humans. It was shockingly…normal.

Kierse and Gen exchanged a glance before joining the crowd to change platforms. Kierse followed Gen to the RW line and waited there until the train arrived. The RW train let them off at Prince in the Lower East, where they passed a troll that worked for the Roulettes. When they were out of the subway, they both took a deep breath of relief. It had been nice on the Upper West by Graves’s brownstone andconfusing around the tourist trap areas, butthiswas home.

There were fewer monsters on the street and more humans hurrying to their jobs. Roulettes manned the corners outside local bodegas. They passed Bowery and crossed over to Delancey, and Kierse’s heart constricted for one beat. Torra, her ex-girlfriend, had lived there. She’d gotten caught up with the vampire, King Louis, and sold to a vampire brothel in Third Floor. Kierse had thought she was dead for a year after their breakup but had discovered her situation while doing reconnaissance on the spear and had made sure Torra walked free at the end of the mission.

“You think she’s somewhere thriving?” Kierse asked, still lost in her memories.

Gen squeezed her hand, following her train of thought without missing a beat. “You saved her. I’m sure she got the hell out of the city.”

Kierse squeezed back. “You’re right. That was all she wanted.”

Gen looped arms with her, and Kierse tried to put the past out of her mind. She wanted to live in this moment where anything was possible. Her mouth watered as they passed her favorite bagel and lox place.

“Wish we had time for a detour,” Kierse said.

“As if the food isn’t free and plentiful at the brownstone,” Gen said.

“Free and plentiful it is, but even Isolde can’t match New York bagels.”

Gen laughed, and they continued forward, just two girlsalmostcarefree on the city streets. Neither the gangs nor the crumbling brick buildings nor the hurried steps of the locals could dampen her spirit.

She’d had so little time for carefree growing up. Even when she’d picked pockets on the Upper East Side and indulged in her favorite bakery’s black-and-white cookies and cinnamon babka, she’d always had to keep both eyes forward. She’d eat her treats sitting on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It wasn’t open to the public any longer, but she had gotten to go inside when Kingston had visited Graves. She wondered if it was still closed off now that things seemed to be turning around.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed those days, staring up at the statue of Coraline LeMort, the vampire who had sparked a war she never would have agreed to, which they’d installed out front of the museum. She’d asked Graves once if he’d met her, and he’d confessed to hearing her speak—a good orator, but young, with the eyes of an idealist. She had wanted unity and only through so much loss, her own death included, had New York begun to accomplish what she had first set out to do.

They turned the next corner and smiled at the sight of Colette’s brothel. Kierse had left the attic behind when she and Gen had moved to Dublin, but it would always be home.

A Roulette was stationed at the door, watching stragglers leave the premises. Early mornings were for walks of shame and for the workers to rest. An all-night establishment meant the girls, guys, and gays worked third shift and slept most of the day.

They nodded at the Roulette as they passed. He gaped at the pair of them. It’d been months since they’d been around, and likely news was going to run rampant that they were home. Gen tugged open the door and stepped inside. The front room was clouded with smoke and led to a longwalkway that branched out to various sitting rooms. The silence was comforting as they continued down the hall toward Colette’s bedchambers.

Gen raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could. Standing there, in all her glory, was Madame Colette. Her curvy figure was on full display in a long, flowing robe made of a dark, rusty-pink velvet with delicate lace trim. Her red hair was piled into a twist at the back of her head, and her makeup was still a vivid mask of her aging features. Yet somehow, she was still the most beautiful woman Kierse had ever seen.

“Girls,” she said with a quirk of her lips. “What a surprise.”

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