Heroine's Journey

by Sarah Kuhn

  I couldn’t get that world out of my head, so later that day, when everyone else was otherwise occupied, I’d snuck back into the den, dug out my dad’s tiny screwdriver, and carefully removed the back panel of the receiver I’d seen him tinker with. Of course once all of those glorious wires and gears were exposed to me again, I hadn’t been able to leave them there—I’d needed to explore. So I’d taken the whole thing apart.

  Mom had found me sprawled on the floor with the receiver in pieces around me, carefully examining each one, trying to figure out how the whole shebang functioned. Dad probably would have yelled at me. Evie probably would have been super irritated I’d made such a mess. Mom just surveyed the scene, then plopped herself down on the floor next to me.

  “Well, Bug,” she’d said, her voice soft and musical. “What’s all this?”

  I’d very seriously explained what I’d worked out: that the inside of the radio receiver was its own special universe, and I needed to know how it all functioned together. I’d shown her which wires connected where, and what made things switch on and off. She spent the rest of the afternoon on the floor with me, listening. I could still remember how she looked at me as I described every detail: like I was a marvel. Like me taking apart one of my dad’s prized electronics was something wonderful, rather than the sign of an alarmingly destructive child. She’d even explained the whole thing to Dad later so I didn’t get in trouble.

  No one had looked at me that way since. I was an annoyance, a pest, a disappointment—always.

  But I could still stew with the best of them, and that’s what I did after my fight with Evie. I retreated to my bedroom and flopped on the bed, letting the bad feelings wrap around me like vines. My bedroom was, in my humble opinion, the nicest, coziest room in the Victorian. I’d painted the boring white walls a soft lavender and hung up a few of Leah’s paintings and mixed media works. She’d done this amazing series of fantastical creatures rendered in bold, abstract lines and somehow made them look at once ferocious and whimsical. I had her fanged mermaid and her murderous Pegasus, and I loved them both very much. Various half-done tinkering projects—bits of electronics and one of my dad’s old radio receivers, left behind when he set off on his wandering—were strewn everywhere, along with discarded posterboards from my presentations to Evie and Co. I’d strung twinkle lights everywhere they’d fit, giving my room a fairyland vibe.

  If you’re going to wallow around in your bad feelings, why not do it in fairyland?

  I stewed for about an hour before I got bored, wandered over to my messy work table, and started toying with one of my projects-in-progress. I’d been trying to construct an electric paintbrush cleaning gadget for Leah, something she could stick her brushes in when she was done working and then return to later to find them all nice and washed. I’d played around with fitting cleaning bristles together in a plastic canister, and I’d figured out how to automate them so they would rotate, but I was having a hard time finding a balance—the rotation needed to be strong enough to provide a thorough cleaning, but gentle enough to leave Leah’s delicate art implements intact.

  I gnawed on my lower lip, fiddling with the wiring again. My brain settled as I worked through the problem, experimenting with different rotation speeds, trying to find the one that was just right. Or maybe I should switch out the bristles entirely? Would another material be more effective?

  I was so engaged in my project, I didn’t hear the soft knock on the door. Evie shuffled in, looking tired. I didn’t say anything as she crossed the room and sat down on my bed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said without preamble. “You’re right, Bea. I was being unfair.”

  I was still facing my desk, so she didn’t see the shocked expression cross my face. I set aside my not-quite-finished paintbrush-cleaning gadget and went to sit next to her. She flopped onto her back, and I followed suit, both of us staring up at my constellation of twinkle lights.

  “I didn’t mean to go all Tiger Mom and put my own fantasy aspirations for you above what you want,” Evie continued. “The bottom line is I just want you to be happy. Really, that’s it. But sometimes when I see you . . .” She trailed off, and I could practically hear her thinking, How do I put this in a way that doesn’t sound totally jerky?

  “Flitting from thing to thing?” I supplied. “Diving into potentially exciting adventures without thinking them through even a little bit? Getting distracted every time there’s something new and shiny?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “No,” I said, focusing on a particularly dazzling cluster of twinkle lights. “Look, you’re not wrong. About all that. And I’m sorry, too. I said the worst thing I could think of to you.”

  Somehow it was easier for us to talk like this, not looking at each other, mesmerized by the web of lights. Maybe we should conduct all our conversations this way.

  “Let’s call it a draw in this latest round of the sister feels dust-up,” Evie said gently. “But there’s something else you said earlier that I can’t stop thinking about.” She hesitated. “About Dad. You said you were dumb enough to have hope. Bea, I . . . I don’t think that’s dumb. I love that so many times, you choose hope. Even when it’s not the obvious choice, even when the odds are stacked against it. I love that you can find that hope. You were like that when you were a kid. I mean, you believed in Santa Claus until you were eleven.”

  “Or maybe I just realized that meant double the presents,” I muttered.

  But she was right. I’d believed in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy well past the age most kids buy into such things. I had been convinced they were all part of a secret cabal, though, and switched off roles every year.

  “I saw you lose some of that when we lost Mom,” Evie continued, her voice soft and wistful. “I was afraid maybe you’d lost it forever—that ability to hope. But it seems like it’s come back the last few years. I mean, you’ve kept pushing for this superhero thing, even though Aveda and I have said no like a zillion times.”

  “I guess over the years I’ve felt like pieces of myself have come back together,” I said. “But there’s a piece of who I’m supposed to be that I’m always kind of looking for, you know? You’re right; I do get distracted by shiny things. My brain always feels like it’s overwhelmed by so many thoughts and I can’t keep up with all of them.” I flipped over on my side to face her. Her face was open, earnest. She was really listening. “I want to have that purpose, like you do. Like Aveda does. I want to be able to focus on something that actually excites me. I want to be a superhero.”

  Evie studied my face for a long time, like she was finally trying to see me for who I was now, rather than the broken twelve-year-old she’d been saddled with all those years ago.

  “Okay,” she said.

  I goggled at her. “What . . . really? That’s it?”

  “What, you want a parade?” she said, nudging me playfully. “Aveda and I discussed it. We’re willing to give you a chance to superhero alongside us on a trial basis. We’ll take it one step at a time, see how it goes.”

  “Like an internship?” I said, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Sort of,” she said, laughing. “Don’t quit your day job. We’ll work around it. And we do have some guidelines: you have to actually listen to us. And you have to use your power responsibly. No changing people’s moods or shattering whatever you want just for the fun of it. I know you, ah, use your power on some of your bookstore customers and I don’t love that—and this is a much higher-stakes situation.”

  “You got it,” I said. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. “You so got it.”

  “And in return,” she said, “I will try my darndest to stop Momming you. I will try to see you—and treat you—like the adult you actually are.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” I arched an eyebrow.

  She laughed again, and threw an
arm around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder.

  “I love you,” she said. “Never forget that.”

  “I love you too.”

  Warmth surged between us, and I smiled, reveling in this rare bit of sisterly bonding. In the back of my mind, I knew the peace probably wouldn’t last—but just for a moment, it was nice to lie there in silence, watching the twinkle lights blink across the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I DON’T KNOW what I expected out of my first official day of superheroing, but it was most definitely not the illustrious Aveda Jupiter barging into my room at six a.m., throwing open the curtains, and depositing herself on my bed with the kind of gusto that comes from being a hurricane-like force of nature who is great at kicking ass and bad at listening.

  “Buh . . . ?” I sputtered, sitting up and rubbing sleep from my eyes. I’d fallen asleep with a huge, dorky smile on my face and dreamed of fighting an army of gigantic stone monsters that quaked with fear at my presence, then crumbled to gravel at my feet (which, in my dream, were now shod in more durable purple ankle boots with magic hole-proof soles).

  “Time to get up, Bea,” Aveda said, clapping her hands together. “Didn’t you use to be an early riser?”

  “Yes, when I was a teenager,” I retorted, shielding my face from the onslaught of light pouring in through the window. “My aging body can no longer handle this ungodly hour.”

  “Nonsense,” Aveda sniffed. “This is the hour when I get the most done—because everyone else is still asleep. Now that you are an official superheroing intern here at Jupiter/Tanaka, Inc., you have duties to attend to. And those duties start now.” She flashed me one of her trademark imperious looks. “You and I are going to head down to Pussy Queen, meet up with Rose, and see if there’s anything weird going on with the portal—perhaps it will give us clues about yesterday’s Wave Organ dust-up.”

  “I have questions,” I said, holding up an index finger. My brain was slowly waking up. And it was confused. “One: Is Pussy Queen even open yet? Two: I thought we’d determined the source of the supernatural energy yesterday was not the Pussy Queen portal, so why do we think it will give us any clues? And three: where’s Evie?”

  “Pussy Queen will open at any hour for Aveda Jupiter,” Aveda declared, straightening her shoulders. “And yes, we did determine that, but given that the PQP has been the source of all supernatural hijinks for the last four years, it’s worth examining in person to see if there’s any connection. Finally: Evie’s still in bed. But she gave me full authorization to take you on this mission and instruct you as necessary.” Aveda beamed at me, rubbing her hands together with something that looked way too much like glee. “This is so exciting. We’ve never had an intern before.” She cocked her head at me, her expression turning earnest. “I’m glad our Evie finally signed off on this. As you are and always have been her responsibility, it was her call—and I’ve told her since the beginning that I’d back her up, whatever she wanted to do. That’s part of being on a superhero team—you must always present a united front.” She glanced around the room, her brow creasing. “Do you have a notebook or something? I have many important lessons to impart and you might want to write them down.”

  “I think I’ll be all right,” I murmured.

  “In any case,” Aveda continued, “after yesterday’s amazing display at the Wave Organ, I believe you deserve this chance. And I am thrilled to provide you with my expert guidance on your journey.”

  “Wow. Thank you, Aveda,” I said, genuinely touched.

  She gave me a small smile. I realized then that despite all the time I’d spent fighting to join the team, I hadn’t thought much about how Evie, Aveda, and I might work together as a unit. Aveda and I had always had a sort of odd relationship—we’d known each other nearly our whole lives, but we’d become part of each other’s worlds solely because of Evie. I didn’t know that we had much in common beyond her. We had spent one infamous night getting drunk off our asses, back when I was a rebellious sixteen-year-old and she was supposed to be looking after me, and I’d introduced her to the wonders of the cocktail known simply as “mix everything in your liquor cabinet together.” But that had mostly been yet another scheme of mine to get back at Evie for some infraction I couldn’t even remember now.

  Aveda was sort of like an overly dramatic Auntie I admired from afar: I’d always appreciated her tenacity and confidence and penchant for fabulous boots. Maybe this was our chance to bond?

  “Give me a few minutes to get dressed,” I said, attempting to shake off the last of my sleepiness. “Then I’ll be ready for this mission.”

  “Excellent,” she said, hopping up from the bed. She started toward the door, then turned back to face me, going all serious. “And Bea—”

  I leaned in eagerly, wondering if she was about to share something momentous that would totally kick off our epic bonding.

  “You really should bring that notebook,” she finally said. “I have so much to teach you.”

  * * *

  “Good morning to you!” Maisy Kane sang out, throwing open the door to Pussy Queen. A twee meowing chime sounded as Aveda and I filed in and Maisy locked the door behind us. “Only our most VIP guests are allowed in at this hour,” Maisy continued, making a big show of adjusting the flowery calligraphied sign that declared the store closed. “But of course I am always at your service, Aveda Jupiter.” She beamed at Aveda and clapped her flaky gray hands together, her ghoulish glowing eyes sparking with excitement. Aveda gave her a tight smile. Maisy had briefly been one of evil wannabe demon queen Shasta’s minions and was turned into a demon-human hybrid in the process. She’d since reformed and built Pussy Queen into one of the most successful small businesses in the city while maintaining various versions of her popular blog.

  Aveda has never trusted her, though, and with good reason: Maisy loved nothing more than using her blog to fan the flames of juicy (and usually very exaggerated) gossip—and as one of the city’s beloved superheroines, Aveda was often at the center of said gossip.

  Maisy might have been annoying, but there was no denying she had good taste: her shop was peppered with creative displays of beautiful lingerie. Lacy wisps of panties were attached to a makeshift clothesline near the front of the shop; colorful scraps of stationery hung next to them, inscribed with explanations of the design origins of each piece. In one of the back corners, a trio of mannequins wearing “superheroine-inspired” looks posed dramatically, flexing their plastic biceps. Another corner housed Shruti’s pop-up version of her boutique, racks packed with beautiful vintage dresses.

  And smack-dab in the middle of the room was the infamous portal, a malevolent black pit disrupting the shiny pink and white tile of the floor. The portal had opened during Evie’s climactic battle with Shasta—the one where I’d let loose with my big scream for the first time—and Maisy maintained it as a tourist attraction, complete with silk ropes cordoning off the area and a “do not touch” sign.

  “We need to examine the portal,” Aveda said, straightening her spine and giving Maisy a commanding look.

  “Indeed, indeed,” Maisy said, ushering us to the center of the room, where Rose Rorick was already crouched down, waving a scanner over the jagged black insides of the portal. “Right this way, ladies.”

  I winced a little as we walked over. I’d forgotten about the broke-down state of my purple ankle boots and jammed them back on my feet this morning in my rush to keep up with Aveda. The sole definitely had nothing less than a full-on hole now, and full-on pebbles had made their way inside, jabbing into the bottom of my foot. I shook my leg around, trying to rid myself of annoying boot debris.

  “Aveda, Bea,” Rose said, nodding to us as she got to her feet. She turned to me and gave an extra head bob of recognition. “Congratulations on your superheroine promotion,” she continued, cracking a small half-smile—which, for her, was the equivalent of an ear-
to-ear grin. “Lucy told me. I can think of no one more deserving.”

  “Thank you so much!” I said, a warm glow blooming in my chest.

  “What’s this, Bea’s officially on the superteam?” Maisy—always in search of a good scoop—cocked her head at us. “Because my readers will definitely want to know—”

  “No,” Aveda snapped, positioning her body in front of mine, as if to shield me. “She’s just starting out, Maisy, she needs to be able to find her way without your intrusive bullshit.”

  “Ah, but she’s in the public eye now, is she not?” Maisy said, giving me a shrewd look. “Surely her superheroing antics are fair game for—”

  “Covering newsworthy heroics is fine,” Aveda said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Writing long, speculative screeds about her personal life or tearing her down with snarky fashion ‘critiques’ about whatever she’s wearing are not.”

  Maisy pressed a hand to her chest and made an injured face. “I would never—”

  “Yes, you would,” Aveda said, her eyes narrowing. “That’s what you do.”

  “My angle would be very complimentary,” Maisy retorted. “All about how a former problem-child baby sister overcame her bratty ways and ascended to sidekick status.”