Heroine Worship

by Sarah Kuhn

  I didn’t hear the rest of what she was saying. Because at that moment, after pawing my way through several dozen dresses and rejecting them immediately—too puffy, too cleavage-y, too weird—I found the perfect thing. It was made out of layers of soft chiffon, the delicate material contrasting perfectly with that sharp mermaid cut I knew would highlight Evie’s curves. Strapless, sweetheart neckline. And best of all was the tiny bit of decoration: a series of bright scarlet silk flowers that crept up the bodice and swirled over one side of the neckline. Like a little trail of flames.

  I could practically hear the choir of angels singing as I pulled it free from the rack. I didn’t see a label, so maybe it was vintage? But I knew by eyeballing it that it was about her size.

  “Here, try this on,” I said, pushing the dress at her.

  “I . . .” Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a place to change. But the bridal tent was definitely not home to anything so civilized as a fitting room. Women were dropping everything and yanking off their clothes, or pulling the dresses on over whatever they were already wearing.

  “I’ll stand in front of you,” I said. “Don’t worry, no one’s looking. They’re all too wrapped up in their own thing.”

  I gestured to the chaos, which seemed to have reached a fever pitch. Tension hummed through the air. Women were practically snarling at each other, trying to protect their bounty. I looked for Shruti, but couldn’t locate her amidst the mass of tulle, sweat, and rage.

  “You probably won’t be able to get the whole thing on yourself,” I called over my shoulder. “Let me know when you need help.”

  She was quiet for so long, I thought maybe she’d managed to sneak off and escape the tent entirely. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally heard her voice, small and uncertain: “Okay.”

  I turned to face her and my jaw dropped. She had managed to push past her embarrassment and get out of her clothes and mostly into the dress and she looked stunning. The soft fabric made her appear ethereal and timeless, while the cut kept it modern and even a little bit sexy. Her skin seemed to glow next to the cream of the chiffon, her freckles standing out adorably. And that little trail of scarlet flowers—wow. It just popped.

  “Evie,” I gasped. My eyes filled with unexpected tears. “You look like a bride.”

  “I do?” she said, smoothing the material over her hips and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “There are no mirrors in here, so I can’t see . . .”

  I whipped my phone out and snapped a quick picture.

  “No pictures allowed!” someone screamed. “They should be kicked out!”

  “Jesus,” I muttered. I ignored them and showed Evie the picture. As she studied it, a surprised smile spread over her face.

  “Wow,” she said. “I totally look like a bride.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so we’re buying this.” A rush of pride surged through me. I’d completed a major step in my maid-of-honor mission! Check!

  “Wait, though,” she said. “Yes, it looks nice, but I feel kind of . . .” She picked at the bodice of the dress. “Constrained. And it’s much fancier than what I’m used to.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “It should be. It’s your wedding dress.”

  My happiness was interrupted by a shriek behind us, which started as an animal-like yelp of fury, then morphed into actual words: “Oh my fucking god!”

  I whipped around to see one of the Bridezillas from before—Shruti’s redhead customer who had been so upset over her stolen Minji Chen whatsis whatever—stomping toward us, fists balled at her side. She’d pulled the lacy dress Evie had suggested over her clothes and it looked like it would be gorgeous on her once it was fitted properly. But right now, she clearly didn’t care about that. Right now, all she cared about was rage. And it was aimed directly at us. The sparkly clip in her hair was coming loose, banging against her head in a way that could not have been pleasant.

  “Listen, ho-bag,” she screamed at Evie, “you need to keep your grimy mitts off my dresses!”

  “But I’m not . . .” Evie shook her head in confusion and took a step back. “You’re wearing your dress now. And I’m not touching it.”

  Bridezilla came to a stop in front of Evie and jabbed a finger in her face. “Not this one,” Bridezilla growled. She gestured to Evie’s chiffon number. “That one.”

  Evie frowned and a hint of anger sparked in her eyes. “This one’s mine.”

  “No, it’s not,” Bridezilla said, leaning in even closer. Spittle flew out of her mouth and pelted Evie in the eye. “Take it off.”

  “Excuse me?!” Evie said. The spark in her eyes flared. “I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s calm down,” I said, attempting to step between them. I addressed Bridezilla. “Look. You seem to have found a lovely dress for yourself, and I’m guessing you only need one, so—”

  “You have no idea what I need!” Bridezilla shrieked. Her arm swept to the side and hit me square in the chest. I wasn’t expecting that and it sent me tumbling backward onto my ass, the wind momentarily knocked out of me.

  “How dare you!” Evie cried. “That’s my maid of honor!”

  I saw her hand raise, saw the very beginnings of a flame.

  What the hell?

  What was she doing? Yes, Bridezilla was a jerk, but surely she didn’t deserve to be burned for it? I scrambled to my feet and tried to hustle back to Evie’s side. But a crowd was forming around the potential catfight. I found myself being pushed farther back as the mob of brides—formerly dispersed, now coming together to form one amoeba-like ball of rubbernecking—closed in, trying to get a good view.

  “Evie!” I called out, but she couldn’t hear me over the din of titillated murmurs.

  “You need to learn some manners,” Evie hissed, her angry gaze locked on Bridezilla. Bridezilla, apparently unafraid of the flame that was about to be all up in her face, grabbed the top of Evie’s dress and yanked. I heard the riipppppp and the “Oh, no, you did not” and then I saw fire arcing through the air and all I could do in the moment was reach out instinctively with my telekinesis, my invisible mental feathers sweeping Bridezilla to the side before she went up in flames.

  “Annie!” shrieked Evie. “I know that was you! What are you doing, we can’t let this asshole bride get away with this!”

  Evie’s flame careened through the air and landed on a rack of dresses off to the side—and luckily, out of the way of any actual humans. I reached out with my telekinesis to grab a dress that had landed on the floor and tossed it over the blaze, extinguishing it. Then I turned back to the fight. The crowd had really closed in on them now and I could barely see what was going on. And if I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t move it.

  Okay, fine. If I couldn’t push my way through physically, I’d have to resort to something else. I reached out with my mental feathers and started moving people in my sight line to the side, creating a path to Evie and Bridezilla. A murmur ran through the crowd as they were unceremoniously moved. I couldn’t move them all at once, unfortunately—a task of that size was outside the scope of my abilities, although I was determined to master it once I figured out the whole moving-objects-I-couldn’t-see thing. But at least I’d be able to get eyes on Evie.

  Bridezilla, undeterred by, well, anything—the fire or Evie’s anger or the fact that I’d swept her out of the way just moments earlier—was on her feet and lunging for Evie again. I hustled down the path I’d created, reaching out with my telekinesis to move Evie or Bridezilla or both or maybe just to tell them to calm down and stop acting like unruly children, when all of a sudden, a long, dark shape flung itself through the crowd and wrapped itself around Bridezilla’s neck.

  “Shit!” I yelped, jumping out of the way.

  I squinted at the shape. It looked like . . . a braid? Made of hair?

  “Can’t . . . breathe . . .” gasped Bridezi
lla. The braid pulled tighter and her face turned blue.

  Evie didn’t make any moves toward her and neither did anyone else—they all appeared to be frozen in place, totally confused.

  That was fine. Aveda Jupiter was here and Aveda Jupiter would take care of this shit.

  I flung my mental feathers at Bridezilla, locked them around the braid, and pulled hard. It loosened slightly. But not before Bridezilla let out a last, strangled gasp and crumpled to the ground.

  The braid fell to the floor, and I whipped around, trying to find its source. It had snaked its way around the racks and through the chaos of the entire bridal tent. My eyes followed it to a lone figure standing on the opposite side of the tent, away from the gathered crowd.

  It was Shruti. And the braid was attached to her head.

  Her hair had nearly choked the life out of someone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “SO ARE YOU evil now or what?” Bea gave Shruti a suspicious once-over. “Because it would be a total shame if I had to add someone with such on-point outfits to the Bad Guy List.”

  “I’m not!” Shruti insisted, as she had for the last three hours. “And, uh, thank you.”

  Bea gave her a solemn nod. Shruti probably had no idea that Bea actually did have a Bad Guy List, currently contained in a shiny silver notebook and rendered in a rainbow of sparkly gel pen colors. It was meticulously organized, down to Bea’s hand-drawn grid that sorted various nemeses into specific categories like, “Actually Evil Down to Her Very Soul,” “Marginally Annoying in Group Situations, Okay One-on-One,” and “Cut in Front of Me at Starbucks, Jury’s Still Out.”

  The aftermath of the bridal tent incident had been a confusing affair. I’d had to muster every ounce of that mojo I was working so hard to reclaim and project some serious authority in order to maintain a semblance of civilized behavior amongst the bridal mob. I was pleased, though, to have happened upon a situation where both my telekinesis and my top-notch maid-of-honor skills proved to be essential.

  The redhead Bridezilla nearly strangled by Shruti’s hair had been taken to the hospital, but was ultimately fine, save for some neck bruising. She and Evie had exchanged faint, hazy-eyed apologies as she’d been taken away—like they both had only a vague recollection of what had gone down. I’d managed to get the rest of the brides to disperse and I’d also made sure we hadn’t forgotten Evie’s wedding gown in the process. It was torn down the side seam where Bridezilla had ripped it, but I was confident a good seamstress could take care of that. I’d even snagged a proper garment bag from behind the counter of the bridal tent before Evie simply wadded it up under her arm and dragged it back to HQ.

  Sure, we’d just been attacked by a rogue Bridezilla, who in turn had been attacked by a rogue hair braid. But at least we’d gotten Evie’s dream dress out of it.

  It’s important to acknowledge every victory, no matter how small.

  Right after the incident, Shruti had appeared dazed. No, she couldn’t explain what had just happened, and no, despite her ability to grow her hair at will, it had never acted in such an energetic, powerful fashion before. She’d thought Evie was in serious danger, had wanted to defend Evie from Bridezilla—had felt that want deep in her bones—and then suddenly, her braid was expanding and flying through the air.

  Shruti had willingly returned to HQ with us and submitted to a multitude of medical and magical tests. Now we were all gathered in the cold gray basement lair that also served as Nate’s laboratory, waiting for more information—about Shruti’s braid and what had caused Evie and Bridezilla to wig out so badly in the first place.

  “None of our testing indicates that Shruti is, as Beatrice puts it, ‘evil,’” Nate said. He and Bea were standing in front of a giant white board at the front of the lab, facing me, Evie, and Scott. Rose, Lucy, and Shruti were leaning against a counter off to the side. “That is to say—uh, Bea, what are you doing?”

  Bea looked up from the white board, where she was using her extensive palette of markers to scribble a diagram. Right now, it consisted of a stick figure in a violet dress with a happy face. “I’m illustrating your report for those of us who process info in a more visual way.” She gestured to the stick figure. “See, that’s Shruti with a smiley face. ’Cause she’s not a bad guy.”

  “Got it,” Nate said, without missing a beat. “In any case, our combined tests actually show that Shruti has attained . . .” He paused and turned to Shruti. “Do you want to tell them?”

  “It’s my power level-up,” she said, giving us a small smile. “I guess it decided to finally take hold. In addition to being able to grow my hair, I can control it now—make it move around and stuff.”

  “Whoa, that has definite kickass superhero potential!” Bea yelped, drawing a long, undulating braid on the Shruti figure’s head. “How cool!”

  “What’s not so cool is I apparently don’t know my own strength yet,” Shruti said, wincing. “Which is how I almost strangled that lady. It was like I reacted from pure instinct. I thought she was hurting Evie, and I desperately wanted to protect my friend.”

  “I had some weird instinct-type reaction back there, too,” Evie said, frowning. She leaned forward and drummed her fingers on the countertop. “The way that bride came at me, the way she pushed Annie—it flipped some kind of rage switch in my brain. I normally wouldn’t even think of using fire against non-powered humans, especially in such a mundane situation. And Bea, that looks nothing like me.”

  Bea was scribbling a stick-figure Evie, complete with bridal veil, fireball in hand, and exaggerated angry expression. “It’s shorthand,” Bea said, waving her marker dismissively.

  “It does actually look a little like you,” Lucy said. “Bea, draw me.”

  “But you weren’t there,” Bea said.

  “Artistic license,” Lucy said.

  “Artistic license belongs to the artist,” Bea said, pointing to herself with the marker. “And while we’re at it, can we talk about the fact that I wasn’t there, either? During kind of an important moment?”

  “You wanted to witness a Bridezilla attack?” I asked.

  “No,” Bea said, whipping around and brandishing the marker at me in an accusatory fashion. “I wanted to be there when my sister picked out her wedding dress. And I’m guessing that as one of her closest friends, Lucy would have liked that, too.”

  “Well . . .” Lucy examined her nails and gave an elaborate shrug. “It might have been nice.”

  I felt a little wave of discomfort and realized it was Bea’s anger, pulsing through the air. Her power was something Evie referred to as “reverse empathy”: basically, she could project her own mood to influence yours. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel it manifesting from time to time, pressing gently against my own emotions, causing them to rearrange into a formation that was some weird amalgam of what I was actually feeling and how Bea was making me feel. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

  “But you knew we were going to the Market to look at dresses,” I said, my brow crinkling. “Both of you could have come along, but—”

  But one of you was all hot to analyze puppy demon data and the other was all hot to analyze Rose’s ass. I was the only one actually thinking of Evie.

  I bit my tongue. That was the kind of blunt, authoritative statement I could have tossed off when we were still thinking of this operation as Aveda Jupiter, Inc. and my word was always the final word. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Now Evie and I were equal superheroines and the group was more collaborative, with everyone welcome to chime in with ideas and strategy. I knew I was supposed to like the fact that the former Aveda Jupiter, Inc. was more of a team effort now, but there were certain elements I disliked heavily.

  “We didn’t think you were actually going to buy anything,” Bea continued, her voice taking on a petulant teenage whine. “You were just supposed to look.”

 
“And the point of looking is to buy,” I snapped, unable to hold it in any longer.

  Honestly. When Aveda Jupiter sets her mind to a task, she means to accomplish it. Otherwise, what’s the point?

  “Evie didn’t seem ready to buy,” Bea insisted. “She got engaged barely twenty-four hours ago!”

  “And she’s getting married in a month,” I retorted. “Time is of the essence, and as maid of honor, I have to step it up in order to ensure—”

  “Okay, okay,” Evie said, stepping forward and holding her hands up. “Clearly a lot of shit went down in the bridal tent. Why don’t you all come with me when we get the dress fitted? That’s when the whole bride thing becomes real anyway, right? That’s when the tears and drama and moments of ultimate bridal epiphany occur? Has no one else here watched Say Yes to the Dress?”

  “Well.” Bea fiddled with her marker, twisting the cap on and off. But she looked mollified. “I guess that would be okay.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Lucy said.

  Evie smiled at them, then gave me a wink. The peacemaker, as usual. I did my best to smile back, feeling slighted. I thought the dress had been a victory.

  No matter what I did, the rest of the team still saw me as Aveda Jupiter, Diva Bully who pressures her friend into doing her bidding. Even though Evie and I had worked things out. Even though I was focusing my Hurricane Annie essence in the right direction, trying to accomplish my mission and help my friend step into the spotlight with grace and dignity—instead of claiming said spotlight for myself.

  Well . . . it made sense. They were used to the dynamic between Evie and me being a certain way, they were used to me being a certain way. They couldn’t see that I was becoming Aveda Jupiter 2.0: Still Awesome, But Now A Way Better Friend.

  Or maybe they just don’t like you—never have and never will, a little voice piped up in the back of my head. They had to be nice to you when you were their boss, but now? Once again, the image is better with you cropped out of it. That’s what everyone thinks. Even Evie probably thinks that.