Heroine Complex (12 page)

“Yeah.” I stared at my palm and hiccupped again. “I guess that's what happened.”

Nate took two wide steps, closing the gap between us. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and wrapped it around my shivering body.

“Aveda would have killed it tonight.” I resumed my babbling as he adjusted the jacket over my waterlogged form. “She would have schmoozed it up like a champ. She would have somehow, through sheer force of will, gotten those bitches to be her best friends. She would've made herself the hero of this sink disaster. And she would have pulled off this dress like nothing else.”

And she never would've hallucinated a fucking imaginary demon and thrown her shoes away trying to chase after it.
I was too embarrassed to even vocalize that part.

I bit my lip, snuffling and shaking. Nate unhooked one of his cufflinks and used it to pin the jacket closed around me.

“We need to get you warm,” he said.

He frowned, intent on getting the jacket to close fully, unpinning and repinning the cufflink. I absorbed the cocoon-like warmth, the silk lining whispering over my skin. It smelled clean, fresh—like soap and spearmint and the air after a rainstorm.

“If we can trap some heat around you and get you out of here, you should be okay,” he said, readjusting the cufflink. He bent his head and leaned in closer, trying to get the pesky cufflink to cooperate, his breath warming the patch of exposed skin near my collarbone. A jolt of electricity ran through me, shock at the unexpected heat.

I wanted to start babbling again, but the words died in my throat. And as his fingertips closed over that cufflink, they brushed against that same patch of skin—that
exposed, sensitive bit the jacket just wouldn't seem to cover—and the electricity coursing through me intensified into a lightning bolt of pure feeling that shot through my body, arcing from head to toe and making a few very important pit stops in between.

“Sorry,” he murmured, still concentrating on the cufflink.

I barely heard him. I was too focused on this new feeling, a feeling so foreign—more than enjoyment, more than tears—that I had to stop and parse it for a full minute before I could identify it.

Lust.

Wait, what? Seriously?
Lust?!?

But there was no denying it. My eyeballs were fastened to his long, graceful fingers closing over that cufflink, and I was making a special note of how long and graceful they were, how they seemed at odds with his big hands, his big body. I had the dim realization that I'd never been this close to him, never had cause to study him in such detail. Whenever we were standing next to each other, we were usually fighting.

But now I was silent: unable to stop breathing deeply, unable to stop trying like mad to get more of the scent of his jacket into my lungs. My heartbeat sped up and I wondered if he could hear it. To me it seemed like the loudest thing in the room.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I should have been grateful for the extra warmth, but all I could think was,
What the hell is wrong with me?

If I was going to feel lust for someone after all this time, why did it have to be him? Why not someone who didn't aggravate me? Why not someone I wasn't constantly at odds with? Why not someone I actually
liked
?

I gulped in a few mouthfuls of air, which only served to make me dizzy.

It's because you're vulnerable and cold,
I thought wildly.
You're not used to being vulnerable
or
cold. You've just experienced emotional overload and he's close and warm . . . and . . . and . . . Dead-Inside-O-Tron is malfunctioning. Or something. Oh my God, stop looking at his hands. Stop it.

“Aveda might've faked her way through small talk with those two awful women, but that's all it would've been,” Nate said. “And she wouldn't have been able to make herself the hero of the sink disaster because there wouldn't have been a sink disaster. Because she can't do what you do.”

Finally satisfied with the jacket/cufflink configuration, he nodded briskly. “Let's sneak out. There appears to be an alternate exit behind that.” He gestured toward a partition I hadn't noticed before at the far end of the bathroom. The partition was so whiter-than-white it practically blended in with the wall, but if I craned my neck, I could see the top of a doorway peeking out from behind it. “Based on the layout of the building, it probably leads into a back hallway,” Nate added.

“Okay.” I scraped a hand over my eyes, trying to shake off the strangeness that had overtaken me. I had to get my control back. It was the only thing that was going to get me through this whole Being Aveda Jupiter deal. Hell, it was the only thing that had gotten me through life so far.

Nate patted the pinned cufflink one last time, then stood up straight, putting some distance between us. Okay. That helped. I took in a few deep breaths. “We'll make up a story about Aveda getting called away on a demon emergency,” I said. “I can spin a press release that makes her look extra-heroic.”

“Yes.” One side of his mouth tipped up in a ghost of a smile. “And Evie. What you were saying about Aveda . . . pulling things off. You look nice.”

I shook my head, still trying to get my bearings back. “What?”

He placed a hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. “The dress. You look nice in the dress.”

“Oh . . . Well.” I smiled ruefully. “You mean Aveda does.”

He reached over and gently tugged a sproingy lock of my still-damp hair. I realized my glamour had worn off completely.

“No,” he said. “I mean you.”

DRESSBACLE!

Aveda Shows Us Some Skin!

by Maisy Kane, Bay Bridge Kiss Editrix

Morning, 'Friscans! As it turns out, Aveda Jupiter's ready to reveal a whole lot more than a new power! Girl was rockin' quite the daring number at last night's League soiree and when I say “daring,” I mean, “Holy cow, A-babes! Those perky nips are a superpower all their own! And hey, maybe ease up on the fancy date snacks—those suckers are like 90 percent lard and that dress is already tight enough to pop!” (Kidding! But seriously, A, I'm happy to provide fashion consultation free of charge. Your new power seems to be a megahit with my readers—not to mention a whole slew of brand-new fans from all over the world! Greetings to those of you reading BBK for the first time!—so you want to be extra careful about the image you're putting out there, eh? You don't want your fans getting the idea that you're all boobs, no brains. Kidding! But definitely call me. We have an exclusive interview to do, remember?)

A. Jupes also had to leave us a bit early due to a “demon emergency.” I can't help but wonder if said “emergency” involved the hunky mystery man who was escorting her last night. No word on the identity of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Frowny, but can I just say, RAWR. Your pal Maisy may not approve of A's fashion mishaps, but she definitely approves of those biceps!

Now, before I sign off, a final word of warning for my dear readers: I've received tips that stray demons from Whistles—the ones who took the form of Aveda's glorious swag statue—have been sighted around the city! Seems a few of them escaped A's notice. No casualties yet, but keep an eye out and be extra-super-careful! Being chomped to death by the mirror image of San Francisco's Beloved Daughter would be a fate
worse than death! Well, actually, it would just be death, but you get what I'm saying.

Shasta's Corner! Shasta (Maisy's bestie) here. I've got nothing to add, but Maisy's line about “nips” was pretty funny, right? (Editrix's Note: Ugh, Shast! It's like you're not even trying.)

“EVIE! GET IN
HERE!”
Aveda's voice blasted from the bedroom.

“Goodness.” Lucy winced. “Why can't her lungs be broken, too?”

I dragged myself down the hall, leaving Lucy to fend for herself. We'd just returned to HQ after “a little morning run,” which was part of Lucy's Total Superheroine Workout Plan. I definitely didn't like it. After stumbling around a park trail for an hour, I was drenched in sweat and all of my limbs felt like they were about to fall off. I'd have to figure out a way to tell her I wasn't interested in exercising ever again.

I found Aveda in what was becoming her regular perch: in bed, surrounded by pillows, focused on the iPad in front of her. Nate was staring out the window, scowl in place. The half-smile from last night must've been a fluke.

He turned from the window and goggled at me. “What happened to you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I swiped a hand over my face, wiping away excess sweat. “A far cry from last night's boobtacular number, I know.”

He opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to think of what came after that, so he went back to looking out the window.

“Explain this,” Aveda said, thrusting the iPad in my direction. I dutifully accepted and scanned Maisy's latest blog post. And then my heart dropped.

“Other people saw the statue demons!” I blurted out.

Nate turned away from the window again. “What?”

“The Aveda statue demons from Whistles!” I said, pointing to the screen. “I saw one last night at the benefit and now other people are reporting sightings around the city!”

“Back up,” he said, frowning. “You saw one? Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because I thought I imagined it—”

“Which you did,” Aveda said, waving a dismissive hand. “Honestly, Evie. You know how this works: our citizens are often so traumatized by seeing all those demons spilling out of a portal, they start dreaming up sightings in the days after. And clearly you were
very
traumatized from that night at Whistles, so you're also affected. Didn't you destroy them all?”

I called up my shaky memory of the Whistles incident. My fire had blazed through all of those statue demons, leaving nothing behind.

“Yes, but . . .”

But what?

I frowned, trying to make sense of it all. Last night I'd been convinced I was hallucinating. But now . . . I wasn't so sure. And after seeing one of the statue demons again, I couldn't help but go back to the idea that there was something super-weird about the way they moved—

“I'm sorry these last couple days have been so trying for you,” Aveda said, interrupting my thoughts. “But we need to have a discussion.” She tapped her index finger against the iPad. Her silver nail polish was starting to chip and a piece flaked onto the screen.

Nate glanced at the iPad screen and did a double take. “Wow,” he said. “There's a picture of . . . us.”

“Of you and Aveda, you mean,” I said. “Don't worry,
you're not identified. No one knows the illustrious, mysterious, never photographed Nathaniel Jones went to something as frivolous as a party.”

I noticed Maisy hadn't posted a photo with actual nip slips. Maybe she didn't want to fully piss off her “good pal” Aveda.

“We need to
talk
,” Aveda pressed, “about all the publicity I—er, you as me—seem to be getting.”

The wheels in my brain creaked, trying to figure out what she was getting at. I was still stuck on the statues. What, exactly, had I seen last night? “Publicity's good, right?” I said. “Isn't that why you made me go to the benefit?”

“There's publicity, and then there's the right kind of publicity.” She frowned at me. “Now. My Social Media Guru recommends a press conference to refute some of this chatter popping up online. First of all, you need to say you were wearing that dress as a tribute to your . . . er,
my
dead mother. That it was originally hers and that's the only reason you would dream of wearing something so revealing.”

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. Now clearly wasn't the moment to tell her that Maisy could easily refute that explanation, thanks to the local designer story I'd oh-so-cleverly improvised. Otherwise it might've worked. According to our official press documents, Aveda's parents—hardscrabble Chinese immigrants who had once run a humble dim sum eatery—were killed in a freak cable car accident before baby Aveda had a chance to know them. In reality Philip and Linda Chang were comfortably ensconced in Pleasanton, played golf three times a week, and had both recently retired from their professions of choice (accountant and pharmacist, respectively). Aveda claimed that story simply wasn't dramatic enough for a superhero's origin, but I knew the truth: despite her finding a purpose in
The Heroic Trio
and striving to attain it, her parents still withheld their
approval at every turn. She worked her ass off to be the perfect superheroine, but she wasn't perfect in a way
they
deemed worthy. She still wasn't a doctor, she wasn't married or even close to it, and her chosen livelihood was tastelessly flashy and glory-chasing.

In truth, they were embarrassed by her.

Maybe that's why the adoration of the public mattered so much.

“Second, you will clarify that you aren't dating anyone—particularly not ‘mystery men'—because Aveda Jupiter is far too busy saving the world to have time for such pedestrian endeavors.” Aveda crinkled her nose, as if disgusted by the very notion. “Third, you will casually drop in a mention of your insanely high metabolism, which allows you to cram as many dates down your throat as you want.”

She set the iPad down and gave me a frosty look.

“And, please, in the future, Evie, try to embody behavior that is more becoming of Aveda Jupiter. Being me is a big responsibility. And this is simply not up to my standards.”

I took a deep breath, tamping down on the unhinged feeling welling up in me. I had the urge to blurt out every single thing in my overstuffed brain. Like the fact that she'd loved the dress when I'd first brought it to her. Or the fact that taking an escort to the benefit had been her idea. Or the fact that I had
so
seen that statue demon, dammit.

At least . . . I thought I had.

My toe started tapping on the floor of its own accord, seemingly detached from the rest of my body, and I felt adrenaline spike in my veins.

It's fine,
I told myself.
Let her talk. She's probably going stir-crazy from being trapped in here. From being bedridden. From being unable to
be
Aveda Jupiter. That's the one thing that gives her meaning and purpose and drive and now she can't do it, and that's got to be frustrating as
hell. She's micromanaging the shit out of me so she has control over
something
. And she's probably overcompensating with the attitude a bit. Or a lot. Whatever.

It's fine.

“You can actually do your press conference right now,” Aveda continued, examining her flaking nail polish. “My Social Media Guru has noted mentions on Twitter of strange activity at the Yamato Theater. Everyone's freaking out because the movie stopped in the middle with no explanation and they can't find anyone to restart the thing. It's probably nothing. You know our dear citizens think a new portal's opening up whenever they feel so much as a light draft in the room. But me putting in an appearance reassures them that they're safe. And this will give you the opportunity to bring up the talking points we just discussed.”

She smiled at me in her “that settles it” kind of way.

“Aveda,” I said. “What if it's not nothing? What if there is an actual portal with actual demons and I have to fight them? What if I have to, like, punch something? I don't know how to do that.”

“Don't be silly.” She turned back to her iPad. “There's no mention of anything even remotely portal-ish in the tweets, and if you're really concerned, you can take Lucy with you. I've been through this kind of thing a million times and it's always a false alarm. People just want to see Aveda Jupiter. You worry too much.”

“No.” My toe tapping increased to double-time, beating against the floor with the ferocity of a heavy metal drummer during a shred-tastic solo. “I think I worry the exact right amount
.
We should think this through and discuss—”

“Oh, stop being so emotional,” she said, giving me a look. “Really, Evie. Arguing with me about the best course of heroic action? Going on about some statue demon hallucination? These little outbursts aren't just unbecoming of a girl posing as a superhero. They're unbecoming in general.”

“I . . .”

“Take that phone call from last night,” she continued. “You didn't need to get so upset. I had it under control.”

“You called
me
! You were drunk and you let Bea—”

“We were having a good time. I think she's starting to see me as a big sister figure.”

The adrenaline flowing through me turned vicious and icy and my toe dialed up its manic tapping. And before I could stop it, rage built, taking me toward that feeling of unhingedness again. I felt my hands clench. I tried to slow my breathing, to remember how I usually calmed myself when Aveda was being unreasonable.

It's fine,
I thought, trying to repeat my mantra from a few minutes ago.
Finefinefine. So she accidentally let your little sister get her wasted and is now covering by saying it was all in good fun and is trying to claim said sister for her own and come to think of it, this is extra-crazy behavior, even for her
—

CRASH.

I swung around to see a parade of burly men in coveralls hauling stacks of boxes past the bedroom door and down the hall. My eyes went to the source of the crash: shards of broken glass splayed out all over the hallway. One of the coveralled men guiltily tried to sweep it into an overflowing box. I squinted at the shards, which looked familiar.

“Aveda,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. “Is that my lamp? The one that's usually in my home?”

“Hey, boss.” One of the coveralled men stuck his head in the bedroom doorway, addressing Aveda. “My guys are moving a little slow today, but rest assured: we'll get it done.”

“Thank you, Frank,” Aveda said. “Your work is much appreciated.”

A sickening realization took root in my stomach. I turned back to Aveda. “
Annie
. What . . . is . . . going . . . on?”

Nate frowned at Aveda. “You didn't tell her?”

“It's better this way,” Aveda said. “Especially with her heightened emotional state.” She didn't even look up as she started to address me. “Evie: I'm moving you and Beatrice in here. I think you'll agree it's for the best. You've been practically living here the past couple days anyway. And now you can receive my instructions properly and I can look after Bea while you're busy being me.” She finally deigned to look up from her iPad, gifting me with a dazzling smile. “Not to worry, I didn't move your furniture—just your clothes and favorite knickknacks and decorations, so it really feels like home. You can still sublet your old place if you like. It'll be wonderful for everyone.”

“And you just
decided
this.” I looked back at the movers merrily jostling my stuff down the hall. Another
CRASH
rang out.

My wheezing took on a snorty, labored sound.
Why am I letting her get to me? My one true superpower is I
never
let her get to me.

And then, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, my sister bustled into the room.

“Bea . . .” I stared at her in confusion. She had her phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Hey, guys.” Bea nodded at Aveda. “Boss, the tweets about the movie ‘mysteriously cutting out' . . .” She made little air quotes around her clipboard. “ . . . have increased eighty percent in the last forty-five seconds. Evie needs to glamour up and get out of here before the ‘Where's Aveda' hashtag really takes root.”

I glanced over at Nate, but he looked as bewildered as I did.

“Do you even remember that school is a thing at this point?” I blurted out.

“School's for nonstarters, Big Sis,” Bea said. “I have a job now.”

“Job?”

I heard Nate muttering to himself. “Social media . . .”
He put a hand on my arm and an idle thought plopped into my head: Maisy was right about one thing. His biceps were
very
—

For fuck's sake. What was wrong with me?

“That's what Aveda meant just now,” he continued, “when she started talking about the Social Media Guru.”

“Yeah, keep up, oldsters.” Bea snapped her fingers at us. “The world keeps turning while you age. Aveda and I had a good talk about her social media presence while we were hanging out last night and we agreed my talents were being wasted in the public school system.”

“Wasted?” I sputtered. “Was that before or after you got tanked on spiked punch?”

“I mean, your idea for tracking mentions during Aveda's battles wasn't bad, Evie, but there's so much more to be done in that arena,” Bea said, as if I hadn't spoken. “Oh, hold up . . .” She frowned at her phone screen. “The hashtag is imminent. People are pissed about the movie cutting out and the Yamato employees seem to have vanished. They
really
want Aveda. You've gotta get over there, Evie.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. Stared at her some more. Thousands of stray thoughts were warring in my head.
Hallucinations  . . . statue demons  . . . social media  . . . biceps  . . .

I took yet another deep breath. If I wasn't careful, those thoughts were going to mix themselves into emotional stew and cause me to burn HQ to the ground.