Heroine Complex (25 page)

THE NEXT WEEK
whizzed by in a blur. We all went about our business and Aveda mostly avoided us, holing up in her room and mainlining way too many reruns of
Toddlers and Tiaras
. She claimed to have come around to my Big Maisy Takedown Plan, but her overall demeanor was listless and disinterested, as if the act of nodding her head in agreement was a lot of fucking work.

A couple new portals opened up around the city, but the resulting demons were of the boring, non-hybrid sort. I used them to practice my newfound ability to call up fireballs. Lucy taught me a few handy fight moves, including something called the running punch, wherein I hopped in range of my demon target, jammed my fireballed hand against it, then hopped off in the other direction. This technique nicely compensated for the fact that I still couldn't
throw
the fireballs.

On the research front, Rose told us the disembodied hand's DNA didn't have any matches in the system. But I just knew it had to be Stu. Meanwhile Bea reported that Tommy Lemon was still supposedly in the Andes and the Aveda statues were no longer being sighted around town. After menacing many a citizen—including me—the statues appeared to have vanished entirely.

Oh, and Nate and I had lots of sex. My newfound fireball control meant I was more confident about trying
things out spur of the moment. There was even a day where we came very close to doing it in Lucy's car, which we'd borrowed for a routine grocery run. But the idea that we were in semi-public and semi-visible to every judgey eye in the Bay Area put a crimp in my passion. The stick, as they say, does not fall far from the mud.

Still, I was having fun. Our orgasms-only arrangement was pretty much nothing
but
fun.

We also tried to draw Maisy out in the vain hope I might be able to take down her demon ass before the karaoke contest. But she remained unmoved by Bea's tweets documenting where one might find Aveda Jupiter if one were so inclined. In fact, the usually ubiquitous Maisy Kane was barely seen in public at all. Even her blog posting was light. I started to wonder if she'd given up and returned to the Otherworld.

Until three days before the karaoke contest, when Bea received an obnoxious email with an even more obnoxious demand.

“You're sure it's from Maisy?” I asked, pacing the kitchen. “And she wants
what
?”

Bea looked up from her laptop. “As a show of good faith, she's demanding a meeting with a representative from Team Aveda to ensure the rules of the karaoke contest are understood and adhered to.”

“So I'll go as me. Or Lucy can go.”

“No.” Bea shook her head. “She says it has to be a specific representative.” Her gaze slid over to Nate, who was leaning against the counter. “It has to be him. Or she's pulling out of the contest.”

“Ugh.” I blew out a long, frustrated breath. “How do we know she's not bluffing?”

“Maisy Kane never bluffs,” Bea said. “It's one of her Ten Commandments of Maximum Kane-osity.”

“I can go,” Nate said. “All I have to do is sit with her somewhere for an hour and pretend I understand karaoke, right?”

I was already shaking my head. “It could be dangerous. What if she chooses that moment to show her true demon-y colors?”

“Maisy can't risk revealing herself before the big karaoke to-do,” Bea said. “That's where she wants to, as she's written on her blog, ‘show San Franciscans who the real superhero is.'” She looked at me. “She's trying to rattle you before the contest. To make you give in to her demands and show you she's in charge or whatever.”

Nate put a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stop pacing. “Let's not display any weakness. I'll go.”

I frowned at him. I knew Bea was probably right, but I hated the idea that Maisy was getting away with something. And if I was being honest, I really hated the idea that she was getting away with something involving the guy I was currently having amazing sex with.

But it's
just
sex,
I reminded myself.
Orgasm purposes only, remember?
No need to get all crazy-possessive.

“Fine,” I said. “But it has to be in a public place, like a restaurant. And Lucy's going with you. She'll sit a few tables away, make sure Maisy doesn't try anything sketchy. And I'll position myself somewhere nearby. Just in case.”

Nate smiled. “Just in case.”

For some reason, his smile irritated me even more.

“I've seen a karaoke bar before, Evie,” Aveda said, casting a skeptical eye at our surroundings. The Gutter hadn't opened for the day yet and the fluorescents were turned up high. In the wake of Stu Singh's disappearance, the place was soldiering on. The piano sat on stage gathering dust between its keys, a macabre reminder of Stu's absence. Kevin had been forced to invest in an actual karaoke machine and was none too pleased about it. He also wasn't thrilled about us hanging out in the bar before business hours—Kevin believed in preserving something he called
“the sanctity of the karaoke space”—and he kept sending disgruntled looks in our direction while wiping down the bartop. I'd told him Aveda needed to “properly engage with the venue for her upcoming performance.” He'd grudgingly agreed, but apparently we had to put up with his snippy attitude as part of the deal.

Hopefully, it would be worth it. I figured if I showed Aveda the setup, she'd be able to visualize how heroic the Big Maisy Takedown Plan was going to make her look. Then maybe she'd stop sulking and get more enthusiastically on board with it. If I was going to pull it off, I needed everyone's support.

Of course, I hadn't thought a whole lot about
how
I was going to pull it off. You know, beyond “burn her.” Or maybe “singe her enough to subdue her so she doesn't kill everyone.” And we still didn't know what, exactly, being the Golden Princess meant. We didn't know if Maisy was the same as the hybrids, whether she'd ever been human, whether she was at all human now. We'd talked through the possibilities so many times, my head swirled just thinking about it. Whenever I started to consider the fact that I was about to battle a possible demon princess, that the fate of the city and possibly the entire world rested on my shoulders, my chest seized up and my brain collapsed under the weight of it all.

So I was doing my best not to think about it. After all, I'd been the one to confidently declare I was going to take Maisy down, and I needed to keep up that bold veneer for the rest of Team Aveda.

The Gutter just happened to be next door to the trendy hole-in-the-wall Maisy had chosen for her big meet-up with Nate. Which was going on right now and which I was trying not to fixate on. I glanced at my phone. Lucy was supposed to text me if Maisy pulled any demon shit. Nothing yet.

“The setting doesn't seem particularly epic,” Aveda said. She frowned, peering out from under the brim of her
floppy hat. She was disguised in her Bea-approved incognito getup, just in case someone happened to see us out and about. I was dressed as me: jeans, T-shirt, Chucks.

“The setting doesn't matter,” I countered, sneaking another look at my phone. Still nothing. I should've been happy there were no updates. That meant all was quiet on the Maisy front. “But Aveda Jupiter busting a demon princess matters tons. In an epic sense.”

“Will enough people be here to witness that?” Aveda said. She hoisted herself onto a bar stool and propped her crutches next to her. “I thought this was mostly a senior citizen haunt.”

“Bea's promoted it far and wide,” I assured her. “And Maisy's recent posts may be inflammatory, but they're also stirring up interest. Everyone wants to see you two face off. Hipsters, nerds, former popular kids trying to relive their glory days via a few verses of their favorite prom slow jam—they'll all be here. Ready to revel in the power of somewhat competently performed songs. And to drunkenly cheer you on.”

“Hmm.” Aveda cast a sidelong gaze at Kevin. “Can we drink
now
?”

“Sure, why not?” Kevin grumbled, snatching a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. “It's not like you guys are disrupting my preopening cleaning rituals or anything.”

He plunked a glass in front of Aveda and poured whiskey up to the brim. Today his shirt read MIXED PLATE SPECIAL.

“Lovely.” Aveda brought the glass to her lips, tossing the entire thing back in one gulp.

I glanced at my phone again. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

Kevin poured Aveda another drink, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen, feigning boredom. “Just tell me when you want something else. I definitely don't mind putting my real work on hold to be at your beck and call.”

“Pour one for Evie, too,” Aveda said, waving a hand at the whiskey.

“No thanks,” I said.

“Ooh, look at this!” Kevin exclaimed. He waved his phone around. “Wasn't this guy your escort to the last League benefit, Aveda? Looks like he's moving on with your karaoke rival.”

“Give me that!” I said. I snatched the phone from his hand. And immediately wished I hadn't. Because right there on the screen was a Maisy Live Blog! update featuring a vibrant full-color picture of “your pal Maisy out and about with a mysterious hunk who'd prefer to keep his name from the paparazzi.”

I gnawed at my lower lip.
I
knew his name.

In the picture, Nate and Maisy were seated at a cozy table at the bistro next door. Maisy was flashing her Sassy Flirt Grin, her fingertips grazing Nate's thigh. Nate, meanwhile, looked neutral. He wasn't leaning in, but he wasn't exactly recoiling, either.

“Jeez, Tanaka, what's with the major bitch-face? They make a cute couple,” Kevin said, taking the phone from me. “Or is major bitch-face your default look these days, thanks to your moment in the spotlight?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. Ever since Maisy had posted about me, I was getting mentioned a lot more on Aveda's Facebook page. Most of it was in the context of analyzing Aveda's decision-making skills: did lending me her fire represent a single bad choice or had she really lost it? Her most dedicated fans defended her fiercely, calling Maisy's reporting into question and noting that no one at the mall had actually gotten hurt. But some weren't so sure. A particularly vocal skeptic posted a rant suggesting San Francisco should “give Magnificent Mercedes another shot.” Bea deleted that one before Aveda saw it.

I was reasonably certain I could win everyone back to Aveda's side with the Big Maisy Takedown Plan. If I managed to pull it off.

Aveda glanced at the picture of Nate and Maisy on the phone screen, then back at me, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. “I told you: you need a drink.”

“It's two in the afternoon!” I snapped.

“Hey, this one's kind of racy,” Kevin interrupted, waving his phone around again. I looked at the screen. Maisy had uploaded another Live Blog! picture. In this one she was pressing a plump strawberry to Nate's lips, her eyes widening in theatrical delight. He still looked neutral, but he was also accepting it. Taking a bite.

Well, what did I expect? For him to look disgusted, like he was about two seconds from spitting the fruit back in her face?

Yes,
I thought viciously.
That's exactly how he should look.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was thinking like an irrational, harpy-type person. Not a pseudo-superheroine with big plans for fighting a demon princess. I sternly reminded myself that Lucy would alert me if I was needed next door. For now, I would focus all my energy on snapping Aveda out of her bad attitude. Getting her on board with the Takedown would help me feel confident in my plan. I attempted to refocus. To refocus
heroically
.

“Kevin,” I said, “could you leave us alone for a minute? I need to have a karaoke heart-to-heart with my boss, here.”

“Sure, whatever,” he said. “But you guys have to be out by seven so I can open for the night.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and stalked toward his office in the back, muttering about “entitled celebrity karaoke fakers” under his breath.

“Oh, good, now we can really drink,” Aveda said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and filling her glass.

“And how many have you had already?” I sputtered.

“Still a stick-in-the-mud,” she said. “Even after everything that's happened.”

“And what do you mean by that?” I planted my hands on my hips and glared at her. I had a momentary flashback to us as kids, affecting these exact same poses: her all gloaty, me righteously indignant. I didn't remember what we'd been fighting about, but I was pretty sure she'd won. As usual.

“Nothing.” She turned to her drink.

“Not nothing.” I set my hand in front of her glass, so she couldn't get at it. Now that I had compartmentalized my crabbiness over the Nate/Maisy situation, my crabbiness over her constant bitching slid easily into its place. “Look, I know you're going through a rough time and I think I've done a pretty okay job of trying to help. But I'm sick of your passive-aggressive sulky face. I'm trying to save the city from an evil demon princess and make you look awesome in the process. It'd be nice if you could get on board with that.”