by Julie Kenner
For a moment, he thought she was going to protest. That she didn’t understand his ruse. She licked her lips, looking up at the largest loudspeaker. Then she nodded. “All right,” she said. “Because I do want to stay with you, Nikko. I want that more than anything.”
“We’ll make it work,” he said, meaning a life together more than the unspoken plan of escape.
“The shoes,” Ruthless shouted. “Take them off.”
“Unstrap my arms,” she said. “And my waist so I can bend over.”
“Hang on,” Nikko said. “Unstrap all of her. You’re teleporting us out of here, right? She doesn’t give up the shoes until I see a show of good faith.”
A pause and then, “Oh, all right. She’s mortal, after all, and without those shoes, she’s nothing. Release her.”
The moment Ruthless spoke the words, Lydia felt her bindings loosen. She bent over and unfastened her boots, her heart beating so loud she was sure Ruthless could hear it. Hopefully, he’d think it was because of Nikko’s protestation of love and not because of their risky plan. A plan she could only hope she was interpreting right.
For that matter, she hoped that she was reading the truth in Nikko’s words—that he really loved her and wanted her, and that it wasn’t all a clever ploy to defeat the bad guy.
Because the truth was, no matter what she’d told him, she wanted him, too. And though they might never have forever, if she could squeeze a few more minutes out with him . . . well, surely she could store up enough to last a lifetime?
She pulled off one boot and tied that lace to the lace of the boot she still had on her left foot. Then she took the connected boots off and stood up, holding them tight. “They’re all yours,” she said loudly, wondering where exactly Ruthless was. “The key to your stupid machine.”
“Excellent,” the voice called—was he really named Rex Ruthless? “Put them down in the machine well and step away.”
“Right,” she said, drawing in a breath. Now or never. She leaned down, pretending to place the boots, then swung back and let them fly, tossing them backward and into the air above Nikko.
Things happened in slow motion, then. He reached up with his super-duper cell phone and fired a laser blast that not only destroyed the shoes—good-bye superpowers—but also blew out the glass panel in the roof above them.
“Noooooooooo!” Ruthless cried. “You fool! You absolute fool!”
“Am I?” Nikko asked, as men in lab coats rushed to cover him with their weapons. “I destroyed the part you need and saved New York. I’m actually feeling pretty good about myself.”
“Enjoy it,” Ruthless said. “You’ll be dead in moments, the girl soon after you.”
“No!” Lydia screamed. No more. It was suicide, maybe, but she wasn’t about to stand back and watch as those cretins harmed the man she loved. If she was going to die, she was going to do it on her terms, trying her damnedest to rescue him.
And with that thought fixed firmly in her mind, she jumped into the fray, kicking and biting and shoving and doing everything she could to get the thugs off Nikko. And, in the process, actually giving him room to maneuver, room to fight back.
Best of all, miracle of miracles, they actually seemed to be making some progress. Some being the operative word, because the truth was, they were outnumbered, and though she’d tried her best, without her shoes she wasn’t much use in the fighting department. And Nikko, with all his powers, couldn’t fight five armed thugs with Council-issued weapons designed to keep Protectors at bay.
They ended up trapped and surrounded, Nikko’s hand closing over hers. “You did great,” he said. “You were perfect.”
“A nice thought,” she countered, “but considering we’re about to die, I’m thinking I didn’t do so hot.”
“No? You’re the reason we’re about to win,” he said, his curious announcement explained almost immediately by the abrupt arrival of dozens of Protectors—entering from the hole in the ceiling, the main doors, through the floor. A full-fledged invasion. And as they secured the bad guys who held Nikko and Lydia at bay, he pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t you need to go fight?”
“I think they’ve got it covered,” he said. “Thanks to you.” He looked up at the gaping hole above them. “Tossing the shoes so I could blast out that panel saved us. It let the tracking device signal get through to headquarters.”
“And signaled the cavalry,” she said, understanding. “Then, it really is over. . . .”
“It’s over,” he said, swinging an arm around her and pointing across the room where a team of well-armed Protectors was leading Ruthless out. “I think we both done good.”
It took several hours to rid the lair of its evil bad guys and catalog all the gadgets and gizmos found in the room, and during that time, Lydia stayed firmly attached to Nikko, dreading the time when it would all be done and they would go their separate ways.
Slowly, everyone was leaving, and when Nikko stood up, she joined him, feeling the weight of loss pressing on her already. She didn’t want to lose him, and yet what other choice did she have? They were from two different worlds, and no matter what he might say, she had to believe it mattered. She wasn’t really a superhero, no matter how much she might wish it were so. And why would he want plain old Lydia?
“Ah, Nikko,” an elderly man with white hair and a beard said, striding forward. “An excellent mission. Excellent. And you, my dear,” he added, turning his attention to Lydia. “A true hero.”
He bowed, then kissed her hand as Lydia fought an amused grin.
“I am so sorry about the loss of your precious shoes,” he continued. “However, I believe that the Council can do more than thank you for your efforts. We can, you see, offer you a job.”
Her brows lifted. “As a superhero? That’s a really great offer, but I’m not sure I’m cut out—”
“I think you have proven yourself most capable,” he said, looking around the room. “You did quite a bit of damage without powers just now, simply trying to free Nikko from his captors.”
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t actually manage,” she said. “You guys had to come to our rescue.”
“Mmmm,” he said, as if truly considering her counterpoint. Beside her, Nikko squeezed her hand, giving her the kind of smile that suggested forever. A forever she wanted to grab on to. Honestly, though, she didn’t know how.
The elderly man turned his attention to Nikko. “And what about you, young man? Now that you are off probation—congratulations, by the way—are you going to return to Colorado and avoid all Council assignments, or do you intend to get back into the thick of things?”
“I’m back,” he said. “I missed it. I missed doing good. This,” he added, sweeping his hand around the room. “And even the purse snatchings and cat rescues we did together.”
“Standard superhero fare,” Lydia said with a grin.
“Something like that,” he agreed.
“I wonder if perhaps you would like a partner?” the elder ly man asked with a twinkle in his eye. Lydia did a double-take remembering another twinkling eye when she was much younger. Surely he wasn’t . . .
“A partner?” Nikko responded. “Not on your life.” But then she saw his hesitation as he realized that the man was looking right at her. The question was, why was he looking right at her?
Surely she couldn’t be his part—
“Then again . . . that,” Nikko said firmly, “I’m completely up for.”
“And what about you, my dear?”
“We’re right back at square one,” she said. “I’m hardly qualified. And the truth is . . .” She trailed off, looking at her feet before drawing the courage to say what she truly wanted. A courage that came far faster than it would have mere days ago. “The truth is I don’t want to play personal assistant or mortal sidekick. I liked having the powers, and I don’t think I’d be happy working in your world without them.” She pressed her lips together, not willing to go further with
the statement. Because even though she couldn’t work in that world, she did want a man from that world.
She simply wasn’t sure how she could have one without the other, or if he would even want her.
“I think you misunderstood my proposition, my dear. The Council has significant technology at its disposal. You handled yourself well with your rather intriguing shoes. You can also handle our technology.” Zephron frowned slightly. “Shoestra,” he muttered. “I will have to look into that.”
Lydia wasn’t interested in the shoes at the moment. “Do you really mean it?”
“Of course. So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?”
She couldn’t even nod. For that matter, she could hardly breathe. On the one hand, she’d proven to herself that she could stick up for herself, even without the shoes. That was good—great, in fact. She almost wished Darla from her old job was there, just so she could show her former nemesis up. Then again, Darla wasn’t worth a second thought. And the new Lydia could be so much more with a little help from Protector technology.
Not that she needed to be more than herself.
She glanced sideways at Nikko, who was looking back at her with love in his eyes. The truth was, she did need a job. And what better than to sign on as Nikko’s partner?
She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll take it,” she said, then stuck out her hand to seal the deal. “At least,” she added, eyeing Nikko, “I will if you want a partner.”
He answered with a familiar grin, and Lydia knew without a doubt that she’d found not only a life she loved, but the man of her dreams.
BY JADE LEE
Kung Fu Shoes!
Thank you Julie and Marianne for being so brilliant and sharing space with me. And thank you to Chris Keeslar for letting me use shoes instead of boots and for being so creative in the first place! As a gesture of my thanks, editor extraordinaire, I will let you have my first pair of magic shoes. Well, maybe not if they’re really cool. Maybe you’ll just get a fruit basket instead. Anyway . . . thank you all!
CHAPTER ONE
Michaela Becker’s heart sank as she reached for The Scarlet Letter. Sure, she loved discussing the fate of a woman branded by passion, the issues of male-dominated religion run amok, of government repression, stoic women, and sex, sex, sex! But she doubted her classroom of sneering, giggling, or comatose high school kids were going to engage in spirited debate. At this point, she’d be thrilled if any of them had read the American classic. Even the comic book version.
Putting on her perkiest smile, she stepped out from behind her teacher desk and began the last class of the day. Please, she prayed, let them listen. Let me reach someone today. If that’s not possible, please let someone’s hair burst into flames so I can cancel class while I put them out.
No one listened, not even God. At best, her questions on the story received nonresponsive stares. At worst, well . . . heads in the back bobbed to “hidden” iPods while other students texted each other on their phones. And nothing burst into flames, except perhaps her dream of being an inspiring teacher.
As the period wound toward its inevitable dreary end, Michaela understood why she’d been nicknamed “Micki Mouse.” She was a complete failure as a teacher. She’d wanted to revolutionize education; instead she was just another ineffective warm body standing uselessly amidst the chilling tide of teen boredom.
Maybe she should strip naked and stand on her head; that might be better than setting someone’s hair on fire. A dozen other maybes filtered through her thoughts, but Micki didn’t act on any of them. She never acted on them. Instead, she stuck to her initial plan: kill them with kindness. Surely just a little more effort on her part, a little more understanding and compassion, would do the trick.
The bell rang—thank God—but Micki wasn’t done yet. There was one student whom she still hoped to reach: Lucy Varner, a smart girl with a bad boyfriend. Last year, Lucy’s brother had gotten high and shot a cop. Now the boy was in jail, her single-parent mom was exhausted from working two jobs, and Lucy was at loose ends. Or she had been until she hooked up with her brother’s best friend and fellow druggie. But the way she was headed . . . If only Micki could connect with the girl, maybe the child would see that she could do so much more.
“Lucy, could you wait a moment, please?”
The dark-haired girl looked up from collecting her things, and her dark eyes blinked beneath ragged bangs. Unlike some of the other girls in class, she had yet to develop a woman’s curves. In truth she appeared very average for a fourteen-year-old brunette, especially in her Goodwill jeans and tee, though her skin and eyes held a hint of Mediterranean beauty. One day the girl could turn into a willowy Sophia Loren, but for the moment she was just a little kid without makeup, without confidence, and without a real friend.
“I wanted to compliment you on your short story,” Micki said. “It was wonderfully written, but so sad.” The piece had been about a young girl who looked for a protector in a world that betrayed her at every turn. She found her answer in a fairy godmother who ended up getting raped and murdered by a drug lord. Then the magic wishes turned bad, and the heroine ended up dying of an overdose. If fiction was a window to the spirit, then Lucy’s soul was in dire need of a miracle. Micki so wanted to be that miracle. “Can you tell me a little about why you wrote it?”
Lucy said nothing.
“You know, when I was your age, I really got into Mae West. You’ve probably never heard of her, but she was beautiful, busty, and bold. She did and said things that nobody dared do, and she’ll be remembered forever for it. I desperately wanted to be her. I even used to strike a pose and say her lines.” Micki dropped a hand on her hip and tried to look sultry. “ ‘His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.’ ” It was the least risqué Mae West quote she could think of right then, but one look at Lucy told her she should have just gone for a sexy line. The girl was clearly bored.
Micki sighed dramatically as she straightened. “Yeah, a complete disappointment. I would look in the mirror and see this.” She waved generally at her tiny chest and boyish curves. “The point is that I was looking at the wrong thing. Magic doesn’t come from big boobs or a magic fairy godmother; it comes from inside. And if I had only known to look at what I could do instead of what I couldn’t . . . well, I would have found something amazing. I just had to look inside.” She searched the girl’s face, wondering if she was getting through. “What do you think?”
Nothing. Wait! Was there a spark in the girl’s eye? An almost-comment? She’d lifted her chin and taken a breath, but she didn’t say anything. Still, there was hope. After a long pause, Micki chose a different tack.
“How’s your mother doing?” She relaxed back against the edge of the desk. Maybe if she was on a more equal height with the girl, it would help. “She didn’t make it in for parent-teacher conferences, but I could maybe meet her at Starbucks. My treat. Do you think she’d like that?”
“Lucy’s mom don’t like rich-people coffee,” sneered a voice from the hallway. Damian Ralston, Lucy’s bad boyfriend, sauntered into the classroom and wrapped his muscular arm around her shoulders.
Micki kept her smile bright, but inside she knew all hope was gone for today. An English teacher just couldn’t compete with a handsome gangbanger. Sure enough, Lucy’s entire demeanor shifted from anxious teen to sneering rebel. “My mom don’t have time to meet you.”
“Surely she has some time off,” Micki pressed. “We don’t have to go for coffee. I know, how about we meet at the mall? You could bring her.” She glanced at Damian, and tried to think of a way to exclude him. “We’ll make it a girls’ night out.”
Score! There was longing in Lucy’s eyes. She started to straighten, even lean forward a bit, but that was as far as she got. Faster than Micki expected, Damian whipped his arm off the girl. He stretched just like a football player, bristling, and on him, those muscles looked really intimidating.
“She said she don’t have
time for you!”
“She doesn’t have time,” Micki corrected without thinking.
“That’s what I said!” Damian shot back, stepping forward. “She don’t have time—”
“Naw, that ain’t what you said,” cackled another voice from the hallway. Three more of Damian’s gang loitered near the door, watching and commenting on every move. “She don’t think you talk right. She don’t think much of you at all.”
“You gonna take that?” challenged one of the others.
Great. A Greek chorus of testosterone. Micki’s smile was beginning to strain, but she directed all her attention to Lucy—only Lucy. “Any time you like, you just give me the word.”
“The word is ‘no’!” Damian growled. His arm wrapped like a vise around Lucy’s shoulders, but that was nothing compared to the jeers and catcalls from the hallway. Micki couldn’t even tell who they were jeering at—herself or their leader. Either way, it wasn’t good. And yet, she just couldn’t leave it alone.
“Do you like how he treats you, Lucy?” She took a step forward and dared to challenge Damian eye to eye—though still from a prudent five feet away. “That’s not how a real man handles a woman.”
Curses flew out of the boy’s mouth, but his fists were faster. Micki had deluded herself into thinking that he couldn’t attack her from that distance. She knew he was the local gang leader with incredible power in this inner-city school. She knew as well that he had a hair-trigger temper and issues with anyone—teacher or otherwise—who challenged his macho image. He was absolutely the wrong person to get in a pissing contest with, and yet here she was trying to take his girlfriend away. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She barely had time to rear back from his fist. Lucy screamed, “Damian!” and then Micki’s foot lost traction and she began to fall, her body tensed and her eyes slammed shut.