Heroine Complex

by Sarah Kuhn

  “Force field . . . like at the Yamato . . .”

  “Can see this one . . . ”

  “No way in . . . we have to . . .”

  “She’s choking . . .”

  I heard snippets from Nate and Lucy piercing their way through the bubble surrounding me.

  “God . . . damn . . . it,” I choked out, rage swelling inside of me.

  Let it out, a little voice piped up in my head. Remember how you suppressed it just now? With Bea and Aveda? Let. It. Out.

  My palm heated. I let the rage flood through me, drowning out everything else. I pressed my hand against the cold blob on my neck and felt its fingers loosen, a shocked response to that brush of warmth.

  Okay, I thought at the fire, you’ve got to come out slowly. So I don’t incinerate my neck.

  I focused on my rage, focused on my palm, focused on channeling all my feelings in that one direction. The hand’s fingers loosened further around my neck. I seized the opportunity and yanked hard, pulling it off me.

  Now, I thought at the fire. Now, now, now.

  I sent my fire blazing into the gloppy thing and flung it away from me just as it burst into flames. The bubble prison vanished.

  I scrambled to my feet, gulping in mouthfuls of sweet, sweet oxygen. The hand of flames careened through the air with an ominous whoosh, flying dangerously close to Maisy, grabbing at her yellow skirt. She shrieked and batted at it. I made it over to her just as she managed to knock the hand to the floor. It disintegrated into a pile of smoking dust.

  “Maisy!” I grabbed her hand. “Are you okay?” I gave her hand a quick once-over. There were no red marks, but a few bits of skin seemed to be flaking off, slightly discolored. Shit, had she been burned? Guilt stabbed at me. “Let me help you with—”

  “I’m just fine, Rude Girl,” she said, snatching her hand back. She held up her other hand. Which, of course, still contained that damn digital recorder. “Care to explain what you just did?”

  “Yeah, care to explain?” echoed Shasta.

  I swallowed hard. The reality I’d managed to block out the moment the hand wrapped itself around my neck came crashing back in and I realized the entire crowd was staring at me, goggle-eyed.

  I’d just used “Aveda’s” new power. No glamour, no disguises, no ridiculous boots. Just me. As myself. In public.

  “Uh.” I thought fast. “It’s this . . . new facet of Aveda’s power. Wherein she’s able to temporarily transfer it to others. We just discovered it and I was trying it out. Temporarily.”

  “That’s right,” Aveda said, shuffling up next to me. A way-too-sweet smile was plastered across her face. “And I’d be delighted to share more about that right now—”

  “Um, no,” I said. Was she high? “We need to go.”

  “As you know, Evie, I have all the time in the world for my fans.” Aveda said. She turned to Maisy. “Sorry, my assistant is so protective.”

  “Really, Aveda, we must leave.” I placed a firm hand on her arm. “We have to get out of here, regroup, figure out what that thing was,” I hissed in her ear. I cast a sidelong glance at the pile of ashes on the floor. Maybe there was something in there we could dissect. “Not to mention the fact that you’re putting your health—and your reputation—in danger.”

  “No need for histrionics,” Aveda hissed back, attempting to pull out of my grasp. “I know you’ve gotten used to being in the spotlight, but you need to remember who the real Aveda Jupiter is.”

  “As if you’d ever let me forget.”

  “Ladies, can you speak up, please?” Maisy shoved the recorder under our noses, eager grin in place. But underneath it, I saw a flash of something else: raw hunger for a story. The sense that there was something bigger going on and she could be the one to let the world know about it. For all her faults, Maisy was really good at being nosy.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to stop filming.” I put a hand in front of her recorder. “Any interview time with Aveda needs to be scheduled through our press office.”

  “I’m okaying it,” Aveda said. “It’s fine.”

  “It is not fine,” I insisted.

  “Freedom of the blogs!” cried Shasta. “We will have our say!”

  “Shush, Shast,” Maisy said. “We don’t need to take that tone with our good friend Aveda.”

  “She is not your good friend!” I said, exasperated.

  “I’m everyone’s friend!” protested Aveda, wrenching free from my grasp. “Friend to all fans: that’s my new slogan. Make a note so we can get T-shirts made.”

  “You aren’t even a friend to your friends!” I yelped, my frustration boiling over. “You blatantly ignore their advice, manipulate them into doing your bidding, then act like an idiot child when the half-baked plan you came up with actually starts to work.”

  Aveda’s expression shifted, her eyes turning to pure ice. “You need to remember your place.”

  “Really?” I retorted. “Because it sure seems like I’m doing a damn good job taking yours.”

  “Aveda,” Maisy said, her forehead crinkling, “what does that mean? And are you limping?”

  “Evie.” I heard Nate’s warning voice behind me. But I just wanted Aveda to stop bulldozing and listen.

  “You wouldn’t have been able to take down that severed hand thing,” I hissed under my breath. “Not the way I just did.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Shut up!” I balled my fists at my sides. “Just shut up and listen. And for once in your life, give me just a little bit of fucking credit for cleaning up your mess.”

  She hopped away from me and put her hands on her hips, arranging her features into their usual imperious configuration. But I noticed the spark of panic in her eyes.

  “Really, Evie,” she said. “I’ll give you a raise if that’s what you want. You don’t need to throw a tantrum about it.” She flashed me a big, fake smile. “You’re a very competent assistant.”

  Molten rage coursed through me, pure and hot, and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that my palms were burning up. But I didn’t care. I ceased to notice the crowd, their titillated murmuring fading to nothing more than an inconsequential burble. All I could see was Aveda in front of me. Trying to bully me into obedience. Trying to boss me around. Trying to put me in my place.

  And after I’d jumped in front of her and saved her damn life.

  Fuck her, I thought savagely.

  “I’m more than that,” I snarled.

  I opened my hand and sent my fire blazing directly at Aveda’s head.

  I saw her eyes widen in fear, saw her stumble out of the way just in time, saw the burst of flame whiz over the crowd and incinerate a hideously expensive pair of boots.

  Then I ran.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I FLEW OUT of Nordstrom, zipping down the escalator, darting between shoppers, pushing my way out to the bustle of the street. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t think about the fact that I usually hated exercise. All I knew was I had to keep moving.

  It was the exact opposite of what had happened during that long-ago library disaster, even though my emotional response was basically the same: pure terror.

  No, back then I’d been the last one standing, rooted to the spot as rubble and flame and crumbling pages swirled around me in a cruel parody of an apocalyptic blizzard. Were it not for the campus firefighter who finally hoisted my shell-shocked body over his shoulder and hauled me from the building, I might’ve ended up forever buried underneath the stately grounds of San Francisco College, a bitter ghost haunting thousands of undergrads.

  I guess underneath the fear, I’d still prided myself on my ability to stick around during a time of crisis.

  This time? There was none of that. I just ran.

  When my pace finally slowed and I took in my surroundings, I re
alized I’d ended up back at HQ. I crawled up the stairs to my room, changed into a raggedy tank top and pajama pants, and lay down on top of the covers. I made my brain empty. Blank. I didn’t want to think about what had just happened.

  Ah, but that is like what happened after the library. You made yourself blank then, too. So blank you haven’t really felt anything in years—

  Nope. Not going to think about that, either. Not going to think about anything.

  I shook my head at the bothersome little voice in the back of my mind, banished all feeling until I was completely numb.

  Eventually I heard voices, rustling around, the opening and shutting of doors. I kept myself still and quiet. I didn’t want to see anyone. I doubted anyone wanted to see me either. I stared out my bedroom window, studying every shade of the changing sky as San Francisco turned dusky and gray. I concentrated on counting the stars as they winked into existence, filled my mind with that task so I wouldn’t have to think about anything else. I was so immersed, I barely heard the knock at my door. I held my breath, hoping whoever was on the other side would go away. Instead the door creaked open and Nate appeared.

  I sat up and stared at him. Maybe if I didn’t say anything, he’d leave.

  “I have . . . I brought you . . .” He shook his head, as if trying to get the words straight. “Your neck.”

  “You brought me my neck?”

  “No.” He stepped into the room and held up a jar of something. “I thought you might have some bruising from that thing trying to strangle you. So I mixed up this salve.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say. Words beyond that would require me to break out of my state of numbness, and I couldn’t let that happen. He crossed the room, settled in behind me, and gently moved my tangled snarl of hair to the side. Cold air hit the back of my neck and I shivered. He hesitated.

  “Is it okay if I . . . I mean, you can apply this yourself, but there might be some places you can’t reach—”

  “You can do it.” My voice was flat, monotone. Nothing to see here. Just keep numb.

  Then he’ll go away and you can go back to counting the stars.

  His hands brushed against my neck, massaging an oily solution into my skin.

  “There’s a bruise right here.” He touched a spot on my neck. “And this looks like a minor burn.”

  “That hand thing must’ve singed me a little before I got it off,” I said.

  “I thought you’d like to know that we managed to collect a sample from the dust it left behind,” he said, his tone turning businesslike and clinical. “Just the tip of a thumb, but it may give us something. I’ve prepared it for dissection tomorrow.”

  His fingertips pressed against the top of my spine and I felt tension I didn’t know I’d been holding evaporate. “Perhaps it can finally give us some answers about the oddities we’ve been seeing the past few days,” he continued. “Because once again: there was no portal. And as with Tommy, no swarm of demons, just this one specimen. I suppose the hand could have imprinted on a mannequin hand or something similar, but that still doesn’t answer the question of—”

  “It moved like the other ones,” I mumbled.

  “What?” His hands brushed another bruise on my neck and I winced. Feeling, both physical and emotional, started to leak back in. My shoulders slumped.

  “It moved like the other oddities—Tommy and the Aveda statues. That weird, zombie-like lurching.”

  “So perhaps the dissection will tell us more—”

  “Nate.” I couldn’t bear it anymore. The gentle warmth of his hands moving against my skin made my bruises come to life, brought every single one of my repressed emotions to the surface. I couldn’t shut them out, couldn’t remain numb any longer. “What else happened? After I . . .”

  “It was fine,” he said a little too quickly. “Lucy found a fire extinguisher, Aveda made up a story about how the two of you staged the incident for the crowd as a further demonstration of her power-sharing abilities, I gathered the sample, and we managed to leave the scene without additional drama.” He pressed the salve into a spot near my collarbone and I winced again. Definitely a bruise there. He massaged it a little, his hands continuing to ease my tension. “Everyone decided it would be best to retire for the night and regroup tomorrow.”

  His hands slid to my shoulders. Still warm, still gentle. Still there.

  “Evie,” he said softly. “You’re shaking.”

  I looked down at my hands. I was.

  “I used it.” The words slipped out, unbidden. Like they’d been waiting until I was weak enough for them to escape my throat. “It wasn’t like usual, like I was just letting it happen. And it wasn’t like I was defending myself or trying to save a bunch of people from an evil demon thing. I used it on purpose. I used it for a terrible purpose. I didn’t care that it was wrong. I didn’t think about the fact that other people were there. I just knew I could and that was all that mattered. I was so fucking angry and I was going to show her she couldn’t dismiss me, she couldn’t . . .” I closed my eyes. “I used it.”

  “You didn’t hurt anyone,” he said.

  “No, but . . .”

  But I wanted to.

  In that moment the power had coursed through my veins like wildfire, demanding to be released. Demanding that Aveda feel pain.

  I’d wanted to hurt her. I’d aimed for her head.

  “Bea was there,” I said. Now my voice was shaking, too. “What if I get mad at her? I mean, I already do. All the time. But what if I get mad at her like I got mad at the mall? If something happened to her, I couldn’t live with myself. But if something happened to her and it was my fault, I . . . I’m supposed to be taking care of her. After Mom died and Dad took off, I promised I’d be there for her. Always. I’d be there for her like our parents couldn’t be. But what if me being near her is the thing that destroys her?”

  I was babbling, the words pouring out of me like overcooked hangover spew. He said nothing, just kept his hands on my shoulders.

  I turned around to face him.

  “This is what I’ve always been afraid of. That I would get angry over something petty and selfish and I would fucking use it and I would incinerate everything and people would die—”

  That last word clogged my throat, choking me, and then I was crying, tears pouring down my face in messy, unstoppable rivulets. Goddammit.

  Nate’s hands—those big, gentle hands that had warmed my skin while I babbled—cupped my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

  The warmth of his touch soothed me, but the tears still wouldn’t stop and I cried silently, helplessly, unable to do anything else. His thumbs kept brushing the tears away: a rhythmic stroke against my flushed cheek.

  “No one died,” he said. “And I don’t think you’re petty. Or selfish.”

  He brushed another tear away.

  “I think you’re brave.”

  I hiccupped and the tears picked up speed, spilling and spilling and spilling.

  “I think,” he said, “you want to protect the people you love and you don’t always know how. I think you’re smart and resourceful enough to figure out how to take down a bizarre hand creature we’ve never seen the likes of before. I think that right before you lost your temper with Aveda, you saved people from very real danger.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I think you make the occasional mistake. Just like everyone.”

  He leaned closer, his hands still cupping my face.

  “And I think,” he said, his breath warm against my cheek, “that I would give anything to take away your pain right now.”

  I hiccupped again. “Even,” I squeaked out, “your Nordstrom frequent shopper’s card?”

  A smile broke out over his face, slow and surprised. He touched his forehead to mine.

  “E
ven that.”

  I looked up at him through wet lashes. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world for my hands to plant against his chest, to feel his heartbeat through the soft cotton of that ever-present black T-shirt. To feel it speed up at my touch.

  I wasn’t sure who closed the remaining sliver of space between us this time, but somehow my lips found his, somehow I was drinking him in again, the strong, clean scent of him all around me.

  Our first kiss was wild, desperate: insatiable hunger expressed through lips and tongues. This one was softer, more tentative. Exploratory.

  He nibbled at my upper lip, his hands sliding into my hair, pulling me closer. His mouth opened fully under mine, and I tasted the salt of my messy tears. My arms wound around his neck and my chest pressed against his, our heartbeats growing faster and more erratic in unison. Heat bloomed low in my belly and a moan escaped my throat. I repositioned myself, straddling him, wanting to feel every inch of him against me, wanting and wanting and wanting—

  No.

  I broke our kiss abruptly. “We can’t,” I said, my words landing in a staccato rhythm between shaky breaths.

  His right hand dropped from my hair and splayed across the small of my back. I felt his fingers flex, relax, flex again. Like his hand couldn’t decide what it wanted to do. He was breathing hard, his eyes dazed. There was something irresistible about seeing him so unguarded—on the verge of losing every bit of his gruff veneer, of going over the edge.

  “It doesn’t feel right?” he said. “Because you are currently experiencing a disproportionate amount of emotions and you might regret—”

  “What? No!” I took a deep inhale, trying to even out my breathing. “I don’t mean, ‘We can’t because I’m afraid you’ll crush my delicate girl-soul—’”