The World We Make (Great Cities #2)

by N.K. Jemisin

Thus does the Queen of Queens reclaim her throne—only to belatedly realize somebody stole her aloe plant. Fucking city. She loves it so much.

There are few words for the peculiar abilities that come of being a city—and really, so much of it is less skill than instinct, resonance, comfort, self-acceptance.

The avatars of living cities aren’t supposed to need rest, but tired isn’t always a physical thing.

And then they have the nerve to come here waving banners that say Our city not yours. People like this only want to use New York. They steal our tragedies to hype themselves up. They claim ownership of a New York that never existed outside their imaginations. And they actually think they can tell us who we are!”

There’s been no attack, no freaky white tendrils coming through the door, no monsters in the swimming pool. She doesn’t know if this has been some sort of flanking maneuver on the part of the Woman in White, and it doesn’t matter, because no corporation needs help from eldritch abominations to do awful things. Neither does ICE. And yet.

What frustrates her is that race shouldn’t matter—not here, not now, not when something as simple as a music choice can help Panfilo. She gets that not everyone likes Black people, but everybody likes Wu-Tang. Don’t they?

It’s always refreshing to meet a young person who has a good head on his shoulders and a clear vision of the way the world needs to go. They aren’t always right, but they do make things so very interesting, and frequently better. God willing, those better days will come soon.

Every court is a horror movie setting at its core, where property matters more than human lives and justice gets measured in billable hours.