like a broomstick, in front of herself. In a pretend-gruff voice, she says, “Youshallnotpass. Always wanted to say that! And you shan’t, you disgusting creatures, pieces of this monstrous murdering city, pieces of shit. Staten Island has chosen to do what is right, and I will not let you interfere with her decision. So let’s rumble, boroughs of New York, soul of Hong Kong! Isn’t that what you call it? A rumble?” Somewhere beneath them, there is a deep, reverberating roil of sound, like a thunderstorm far belowground. Bronca catches her breath, thinking of the Bronx Art Center and the tower that consumed it, but nothing rises beneath them. It’s just a sound, for now. Just a rumble.
And before them, grinning so widely that they can see nearly all of her teeth, the living embodiment of the city of R’lyeh spreads her long-fingered, long-nailed, elegant white hands in open invitation. “Come, then, City That Never Sleeps. Let me show you what lurks in the empty spaces where nightmares dare not tread.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“And lo, the Beast looked upon the face of Beauty”
The cab ride is smooth and uneventful the whole way. Even Madison remarks on it: “Huh, I’d heard there was some kind of protest on FDR—it’s always the FDR, right?—forcing people to make all kinds of detours. But I haven’t seen a single ‘alternate route’ sign. Even feels like the traffic is getting out of our way.”
Manny, who has noticed the faint aura limning the windows and visible exterior of the cab, glances at Paulo, who nods. “Well, you said your cab liked me,” Manny says. “Thanks for giving us a ride, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Madison says. She sounds amused rather than annoyed. “Only reason I’m headed this way is because the mayor wants to do some kind of old New York–new New York photo shoot tomorrow. You’re lucky as hell, dude.”
Paulo nods again. Cities make their own luck, apparently.
Getting into the old City Hall Station is almost too easy once Madison has dropped them off at the vaulted, colonnaded entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall subway stop. There are cops clustered all around it, and Manny sets his jaw, ready for unpleasantness as he and Paulo approach; three of the cops have visible white tendrils jutting from necks or shoulders.
Two of the ones who don’t, however, move to intercept the tendriled ones when they make noises at Manny about not letting anyone into the station due to an apparent bomb threat. “Let ’em through,” says a woman who seems to outrank all the rest. She’s in plain clothes, and seems to be barely paying attention to anything, instead flipping through a sheaf of papers on a clipboard. “They’re here to fix things.”
“Uh, these guys don’t look like Con Ed engineers,” says one of the intercepting cops. The tendril that juts from his left cheekbone is thick as an electrical cable.
The plainclothes woman fixes him with a glare. “There some reason why I have to tell you things twice, Martenberg?”
“No, I just—”
“Did I ask for your opinion, Martenberg?” He protests again, and she tells him off again, eventually lowering the clipboard and squaring off to establish her dominance. While the two cops’ companions watch the combatants, Manny and Paulo walk into the station unmolested.
“Want to tell me what just happened there?” Manny asks as they walk. “Because we really don’t look like Con Ed.”
“Those who would help protect the city see what they need to see.”
Well, alrighty then.
The 6 trains aren’t running, shut down due to police investigation. They pass a few more cops, MTA engineers, some uniformed people who might be Homeland Security, and some actual Con Ed engineers, but no one else stops them, or even seems to see them. These people thin out as Manny and Paulo descend to the train platform, but the tunnels amplify their laughter and jokes. It’s clear they’re not worried about any bomb. Manny can’t see any signs of construction. Someone in authority has simply shut the station down for no clear reason.
On the platform, an empty train sits with doors open and no conductor inside. “Do we just wait?” Manny says, stepping into the lead car. Paulo sits down opposite the conductor’s booth, but Manny can hear that there’s no one in it. He stands at the train’s forward window, peering into the dark that awaits down a curving, downward-angled tunnel corridor.
“If you wait, will it go?” Paulo asks. It seems a sincere and not sardonic question, so Manny doesn’t