Heroine's Journey

by Sarah Kuhn

  “Doesn’t sound very complimentary to me,” I muttered.

  “Leave us alone so we can work,” Aveda said, making shooing motions at Maisy.

  Maisy looked like she wanted to retort, but settled for turning on her heel and huffing off.

  “That’s one of my most important superheroing lessons, Bea,” Aveda muttered, her gaze following Maisy as she stalked across the room and started tidying up one of her displays. “Be on the lookout for users who want access to your fame and will relentlessly pick you apart for their own personal gain.”

  I nodded, trying to take it in. Maybe I should have brought that notebook after all. During my posterboarding, I’d of course thought about the fun parts of superhero fame—the love and adoration of devoted fans, the eventual trading cards and comic book covers featuring me in my glorious sparkly outfit. But I hadn’t considered the darker side of being well-known that so often plagued Evie and Aveda.

  Even though my sister had experienced a meteoric rise to fame the past few years, I’d remained fairly anonymous. I’d run Team Tanaka/Jupiter’s social media for a while, but that was all about shining the spotlight on them, not me, and I hadn’t really been interested in developing my own online presence—I wanted to achieve full fabulousness before I put it out there for all the world to see.

  Sure, some of the more hardcore EVEDA fans had figured out that Evie Tanaka had a younger sister and that she worked in a bookstore, but the ones who managed to track me down mostly just came into It’s Lit and hovered and gawked and whispered. They almost never got up the nerve to actually approach me.

  But it was very likely all of that was about to change. What would that be like? Zillions of fans lined up out the door of It’s Lit? Catty comments from the Nemesis Nicoles of the world, side-eyeing my loud hair color choices and judging me for who knows what else? Hot takes from people like Maisy that made me feel like I had yesterday, when Evie and Co. had dismissed me as a Kitty Pryde-esque upstart in a goofy costume?

  I turned that idea over in my head. I remembered some of the nastier feedback so-called “fans” had posted about Evie and Aveda when I was running their social. I needed to figure out how I was going to deal with that sort of thing. I probably should have thought all this through when I was preparing one of my many presentations, pushing so hard to join the team. I could practically hear Evie lecturing me about jumping headfirst into something without considering any of the consequences.

  Well. What did the imaginary Evie know—always popping into my brain to scold me? And why was I letting her suck every ounce of fun out of my big accomplishment? I’d pushed to join the team because I knew I was ready. If I could handle the supremely annoying likes of Ichabod Lite and Nemesis Nicole every single freaking day, surely I could handle whatever this superhero gig might send my way.

  “Bea?” Aveda shot me a quizzical look.

  “Sorry,” I said, snapping out of my reverie. “Thanks for the tips, Aveda. You don’t need to worry about me, though. I’m not—”

  “A baby—yes, I know,” Aveda said, one side of her mouth quirking into an amused half-smile. “But you are my intern, and that means I must guide you as best I can. Aveda Jupiter never does anything less than her absolute best. Now. Let us turn to the task at hand.” She nodded at Rose. “Shall we get to scanning?”

  “Let’s do it.” Rose brandished the scanner—a clunky gray bar that looked a bit like the hand-held metal detectors wielded at airports by TSA officials. The scanner was part of an array of tech that had been developed back when demons burst through the first Otherworld portal. The initial hope was that these gadgets would be able to detect and predict portals before they opened, but they mostly just sensed lingering supernatural energy, and they were capable of telling us when portals were closed and staying that way. That didn’t mean they hadn’t been useful over the years—whenever a scanner detected something supernatural, it did a quickie analysis of the elements contained in the energy. If those elements required further analysis, someone (usually Nate or one of Rose’s more experienced team members) took the results to a lab to examine more closely.

  But the scanners had definitely gotten worn and dated over time. The results they provided had always been kind of unreliable, but now they were straight up wonky. I knew Rose and Nate had been working to get funding to assemble a new development team—they wanted to update the scanners and some of the other demon-related tech. I’d always been fascinated by these bits of tech and itched to get my hands on them and take them apart. I imagined Evie would use that as yet another example of me getting distracted by shiny things—and now that I finally had a chance to prove myself as a superheroine, I’d best focus on that.

  “What have we got?” I said to Rose, nodding toward the scanner. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I sounded ridiculous—like I was trying to imitate some grizzled crimebuster I’d seen on TV.

  “Nothing. I haven’t started yet,” Rose said, exchanging an amused look with Aveda. My face flushed—we were back to problem-child Kitty Pryde territory. At least neither of them patted me on the head or let loose with an “aww!”

  Rose held out the scanner, tapped a button, and held it over the portal. I kept my eyes glued to the scanner. If there was supernatural energy present, we’d get a flash and a loud beeping sound and then things would get really exciting, and hopefully everyone would forget about me acting like an inexperienced dork. But the early morning silence permeating the store was disrupted only by Maisy shuffling around and rearranging a display on the other side of the room.

  “Hmm,” Rose said, studying the scanner. “So there’s no active supernatural energy present—”

  “—and the code you’re getting in the read-out area is the code you usually associate with the Pussy Queen portal,” I said, leaning over her shoulder and tapping a series of numbers flashing across the small black screen at the top of the bar.

  “That’s right,” Rose said, nodding. “The lack of beeping and flashing means we’re in the presence of dormant supernatural energy—the portal itself—but this code—”

  “—is what’s helped you and Nate theorize that all supernatural encounters the past few years have originated from PQP,” I said. “Because this code is always present whenever there’s been some kind of incident or attack.”

  “Correct,” Rose said, giving me another half-smile. “Even though the portal itself isn’t doing anything terribly interesting, our working hypothesis is that its presence has allowed supernatural energy to leak through from the Otherworld. Or at least that’s been the case for the last four years.”

  “Ever since we dumped our little puppy demon friend back in after it caused all that trouble at Evie’s wedding,” I said, side-eyeing the portal. “’Cause prior to that, it gave us pretty dead readings, right?”

  “Yes, but that could also be due to the unreliability of the scanners,” Rose said, shaking her head ruefully. “In any case, the readings we got from the Wave Organ yesterday . . .” She frowned. “They were entirely different from anything we’ve seen the past four years. What showed up on the read-out was mostly a bunch of garbled, random characters.”

  “And at least from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like there have been any changes to this portal,” Aveda said, casting a suspicious gaze at the black pit on the floor.

  Its insides resembled a glittering, jagged crystal, and every time I looked at it, I saw a gaping mouth full of way too many teeth, trying to suck the rest of the room inside.

  “That’s my conclusion as well—at least for now,” Rose said. “I’m going to go join my team down at the Wave Organ and see what they’ve found—they’re doing more thorough scans of the area today, and we’re hoping they’ll tell us something we can—”

  “Rose!” I shrieked, flapping my hand at the scanner. It still wasn’t giving us any red flashes or loud beeps, but a bunch of nu
mbers flashed across the read-out area, scrolling by faster than I could catch them.

  Rose turned back to the scanner, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. “Wow,” she said, her voice jumping ever-so-slightly from its usual even tone. “What’s this?”

  “I’m ready for it, whatever it is,” Aveda snarled, going immediately into her fighting stance. “Show yourself, asshole!” she exclaimed into the empty air. “I’ve taken down invisible demons, and I will do it again!”

  “Still no beep or flash,” I said, holding up a hand. “That means no active supernatural energy, but what is that a code for?”

  “I have no idea,” Rose said, her brow furrowing as she studied this new barrage of numbers. “Of course, it could be a glitch. But this is so strange. Do you think Nate could take a look? I really need to get down to the Organ.”

  “I’ll take the scanner to him, you go to your team and do what you need to do,” Aveda said, holding out a hand. “Oh, and Bea, this is another good lesson for you to write down: A heroine is only as good as her team. We must endeavor to always support each other in order to accomplish the maximum amount of superheroing possible.”

  “What’s this about teamwork?” We turned to see Shruti strolling up to us, beaming. As usual, she was wearing a fabulous vintage frock—emerald green with lacy cap sleeves and a full skirt. “Hello, all,” she continued. “Don’t let me disturb you, I came by to do inventory before the shop opens.”

  “Bea’s joined Evie and me on an official superheroing internship basis,” Aveda said. “I am instructing her on all the finer points of how to get the job done.”

  “Ah, fabulous,” Shruti said, clapping her hands together. “And is this your first official mission, Bea?”

  “I guess it is,” I said.

  Wow. I hadn’t even thought about that. I should have done something to mark the occasion—but Aveda had roused me so unexpectedly early, I’d barely had the chance to down a granola bar and a glass of orange juice before leaving the house. I hadn’t texted anything to my group chain with Sam and Leah—usually the first thing I did when something momentous happened. In fact, I’d stayed up so late hashing things out with Evie, I hadn’t even talked to them about my new gig.

  “And how does it feel?” Shruti prompted.

  I bit back my first instinctual reply, which was: Kind of boring, actually?

  I mean. Aveda had dragged me out of bed super early, we’d come over here and taken one piddly scan, and I’d spent almost the entire time feeling like everyone was still determined to treat me like a baby even though I was a shiny, full-fledged superheroine now.

  I guess I’d expected a little more excitement? A little less of the “aww” face from people who were supposed to be my colleagues? And I definitely could have done without Maisy calling me a problem child. The only thing that was even a little bit interesting were those weird numbers that had popped up on Rose’s scan. But . . . I could still make things exciting, couldn’t I? Slap some glitter on this outing and make it at least as fabulous as my posterboard presentations.

  “Um. It’s great!” I said, making my tone as perky as possible. “In fact, let’s take a commemorative selfie so I never forget this awesome moment.”

  I whipped out my phone and Aveda, Rose, and Shruti gathered around me. I framed us so the portal was in the background and snapped away, trying to give the camera my best powerful superheroine expression. Then I sent the picture to Sam and Leah. I didn’t include any explanation; I wanted to tell them everything in person. But this would definitely get them intrigued, thereby setting up my story for max drama potential.

  It was only later, when I looked at the picture again, that I realized I was the only one attempting any kind of powerful superheroine expression. Everyone else was turned toward me, smiling indulgently—and they totally had the “aww” face.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I THINK THE cape should have a more dramatic collar,” Leah said, sketching it out as she talked. “It will really frame your face in all those publicity shots—they’re taking official publicity shots of you, right? To announce that you’re joining the team?” She looked up from her drawing inquisitively.

  “The only thing that can improve a cape is more drama,” I said, trailing my fingers over the drawing. “But you know, I don’t think we’re doing PR pictures or anything like that. This is a trial period, after all. I still have to prove myself worthy.”

  “You can do it, Bebe,” Leah said, nodding defiantly at her sketch.

  I smiled at her, my heart brimming with affection. I’d booked it over for my shift at It’s Lit after Aveda and I had finished up our mission and I’d meant to wait for Sam to show up before I fully spilled the beans—but Leah had a million questions about the mysterious photo I’d sent, and I couldn’t resist telling her everything. She’d been so excited, letting out a squeal and sweeping me into a bone-crushing hug. Then she’d settled in to add more flair to our costume design. All this had re-set my mood and now I was back to being excited about my new superheroic status.

  I may have the ability to shift people’s mental states, but Leah’s infectious enthusiasm is the true game-changer.

  The store was pretty quiet, so I spent most of the morning creating a display of paranormal romances featuring scientist heroines. Then I trawled the internet for different kinds of bristles I could test out in my paintbrush cleaning gadget. Finally, I did my weekly dusting of Charlotte’s porcelain unicorns, making sure all their horns looked sufficiently sparkly. Through it all, my gaze kept wandering to my phone, hoping for a Bat Signal-type call from Evie or Aveda about some exciting new mission. That hadn’t happened yet, so now I was “helping” Leah. She was perched on a stool next to the register, her various drawings spread out in front of her. I was sort of half-sprawled on the front countertop, fantasy images of my grand superhero exploits playing on a loop through my brain.

  “What do you think, Pancake?” Leah said, waving her sketch at the dog, who was lounging on his special pillow next to the register. Leah had embroidered the pillow with adorable images of various breakfast foods, and customers were always trying to buy it from her. But it was one of a kind, for Pancake and Pancake only. Pancake, for his part, snuffled indifferently, then went back to napping.

  “So blasé,” Leah muttered, shaking her head at Pancake’s snoring form. He was wearing his little superhero cape again, and it wrapped around him like a cocoon. “Maybe we should add bacon to your costume. Then he’d care.”

  “Not a bad strategy,” I said, laughing a little and allowing my eyes to wander around the mostly empty store. My gaze landed on a cute girl perusing Paranormal Romance—she had close-cropped, irresistibly mussed black hair and striking dark eyes that were super-seriously scanning the book she’d picked up. She was dressed in a cool leather jacket and studded boots and . . . I cocked my head, scrutinizing her more closely. She had paint smudges on her hands. Maybe she was an artist?

  I looked from her to Leah and back again. It had been my ultimate goal to set Leah up with her perfect love match since the day we met—which was just after I’d had another fight with Evie about my decision to drop out of college. Well, technically I’d decided not to go at all. I had preemptively dropped out. I’d been offered a full scholarship to San Francisco State (the only place I’d applied), but I’d declined it at the last minute, figuring I didn’t really need to go to a bunch of classes that were just going to bore me anyway since I already knew what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a superhero. And some other kid who really wanted that scholarship and that opportunity should have it instead.

  Evie had been furious and HQ turned into a war zone for a while. After one of our particularly explosive fights, I’d been moping down the street, thinking maybe I’d drown my sorrows in ice cream or something. But all thoughts of sugar-related wallowing had evaporated when I saw the It’s Lit window. It fea
tured a display of Cozy Fall Comfort Reads—books cuddled together on a bright orange and red papier-mâché couch with tiny papier-mâché cups of cocoa in front of them, topped off with tiny cotton ball marshmallows. It was totally adorable and warmed my cranky heart. And right in the middle was a tome that was my favorite of all time, its cover a brilliant rainbow of neon hues.

  Walking into the store felt like walking into a hug, all that light filtering in through the big windows and casting gentle shadows on the cushy pink couch and the whimsical porcelain unicorns. Leah was behind the counter, sketching. She didn’t have Pancake yet, but sometimes I imagined him there retroactively, giving me his disdainful one-eyed stare.

  “Hey,” I said to her. “I wanted to ask about one of the books in the window, um . . . the really colorful one?”

  “Ooooh!” she said, looking up, her eyes sparkling. “That one’s fucking brilliant. It’s a little older than a lot of the titles we sell—but, you know, the tale of a female dragon shapeshifter/biology professor who devises a cure for the plague that’s nearly wiped out the dragon population—”

  “—and ends up finding love with the reformed dragon-hunter who’s supposed to kill her—”

  “—is timeless!” we’d shrieked together, then dissolved into giggles.

  “Seriously, though, it’s like the author bottled up pure joy in book form,” Leah said, swooning.

  “Yes!” I said. “I read it when I was eleven and what’s always stuck with me is how happy I felt while I was turning the pages.”

  “Eleven!” Leah said, one eyebrow shooting up over her glasses frames. “A little young and innocent for some of the, um, mature scenes in that book, no?”

  “My mom gave it to me!” I said, laughing.

  “Daaaaaaamn,” she exclaimed, thumping a fist on the counter. “Your mom sounds cool as hell. Does she still rec awesome-yet-possibly-inappropriate books to you?”

  “Um . . .” My expression froze the way it always did when someone unwittingly referred to my mother in the present tense. I still had my precious copy of the book she’d given me, my name scribbled on the inside cover. I was always looking for additional reading copies so I could keep this original book all nice and perfectly preserved—one of the few mementos I had left of Mom.