Heroine's Journey

by Sarah Kuhn

  I cast a look at the bathroom, where he was rustling around, trying to locate the missing pants.

  It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when you’re having this kind of fun with someone, it always stops being fun for one person before it stops being fun for the other. The thing was . . . usually I was the one who got to “eh, this isn’t fun anymore” first.

  This was definitely one point I did not want to lose to him.

  I looked at my phone, trying to distract myself. There were a ton of messages from Leah, which had apparently been piling up all morning. I scrolled through them, my grip on my phone tightening as I took in the information.

  “Sam!” I called out, momentarily forgetting about the weirdness between us. “Come back out here, I think we’ve got a lead on finding the poet-artist girl from the Wave Organ!” I stood up on the bed, draping the sheet over myself like a toga and bounced up and down a couple times, re-reading Leah’s messages.

  “For real?” he said, coming back into the bedroom. He still wasn’t wearing pants. I tried not to get too excited.

  “Leah took Pancake to his favorite café out by the Marina—it’s not too far from the water?”

  “Pancake has a favorite café?” Sam said, his brow crinkling. “Like, a human food café?”

  “Yes, Samuel, Pancake has very expensive taste, and he can’t get enough of the croissants from this place,” I said. “Anyway. Leah saw a teenage girl drawing on a big sketchpad and being the curious artistic soul that she is, she glanced at what the girl was doing. The drawings were like the ones I described—outlandish mythical creatures punctuated by emo poetry.”

  “There could be more than one teenage girl with that art style,” Sam said.

  “True, it’s a possible false alarm,” I said. “But I trust Leah’s artistic assessment—and that girl’s poetry-mythical-creature mashup is actually pretty unique. Since we have precious few leads on tracking her down, I think it’s worth going down there.”

  “Did Leah try to talk to her?” Sam asked.

  “She was going to, but then Pancake barfed up his croissant, and she had to clean it up. By the time she was finished, the girl was gone,” I said. “But she asked the café staff about her and they said she’s a regular. In any case, I have the perfect plan for us.”

  “Us?” he said, trepidation creeping into his voice.

  Still holding my sheet-toga around me, I gestured to him expansively with my phone.

  “Tell Ms. Bore and Mr. Brag to meet us at this café for brunch. We’ll scope the scene, see if Poet returns, see if we can pin her down. And this way, your meal will be inherently less awful because we’ll be on an important mission. Your suffering will be for a cause.” I put my hands on my hips and stared off into the middle distance, affecting a dramatic pose. The sheet slipped a little, and I shifted my dramatic pose to ensure it stayed up. If he’d seemed more receptive to a repeat of last night’s shenanigans, I would have let it fall off entirely.

  I tried to glance at him out of the corner of my eye and was relieved that he seemed to be regarding me with amusement, his strained, distant look from before melting into something more familiar.

  “Ms. Bore and Mr. Brag are not going to be happy about this,” he said. “They made a reservation at a very expensive, schmancy brunch place.”

  “Then this will have the added bonus of irritating the shit out of them,” I said, grinning at him.

  “Sounds like a mission I can get behind,” he said, heading back into the bathroom. “Hold on, I’ll text them.”

  I was about to respond, when my bedroom door flew open and Aveda Jupiter marched in—clad in black leather pants, hair pulled into her sleek power ponytail, commanding expression in place. I half expected dramatic music to accompany her entrance.

  “Didn’t you have a whole thing with Evie where she taught you about knocking being part of the social code?” I said, sitting back down on the bed.

  “Ugh, that’s right,” she said, her face twisting with regret. “Sorry. I forget sometimes when I’m especially amped about a mission.” She smiled at me. “You and I get to go on another exciting mentor/intern adventure this morning! Scott tried the locator spell and couldn’t find Kathy—we’re going to head over to the Market to search her booth, see if we can find any clues. Shruti is going to join us as we may require her talents. Meanwhile, Rose and her team are going to scan the area, including the carnival.” She sat down on the foot of my bed with a decisive thump and leaned in, regarding me keenly. “This will be more great practice getting into the nitty gritty of an investigation, Bea. And a chance to truly explore one of my favorite superheroine lessons: sometimes the key to a particularly twisty mystery is found in the most mundane of places.”

  I nodded, trying to look like I totally got that. The truth was, I didn’t really get a lot of Aveda’s superheroing “lessons”: they sounded like inspirational sayings she was making up on the spot. And the bonding I’d hoped for hadn’t exactly materialized yet.

  I was momentarily tempted to mind-mojo her to leave so I could get some more sleep (or maybe talk pantsless Sam into some more . . . something else), but then I realized that even if her aphorisms didn’t totally make sense, the proposed mission did. If I could track down Kathy, maybe that would help me find Mom. And hey, the Market had taken me to the Otherworld once—maybe it could happen again? Yes, so the rest of Team Tanaka/Jupiter had forbidden me from trying to jump through to our favorite demon land, but maybe it would just happen, I’d be transported without doing anything, and they couldn’t really protest that—

  “Bea?” Sam chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom (wearing pants—bummer).

  Aveda’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” she said. “Well. I didn’t realize . . . well.” She rose from the bed, her posture stiff. “Hello again, young man.”

  “Sam, I’ll meet you for brunch with Ms. Bore and Mr. Brag later—and I’ll text you the address of the restaurant,” I said, stifling the giggles that were threatening to spill out of me. “I need to go on another mission first. And Aveda, I’ll meet you downstairs in ten. Sam was just leaving. He needed to find his pants.”

  “Yup,” Sam said, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. He patted his thighs. “Found ’em.”

  “Excellent,” Aveda said. “Good for you.”

  Then, at a loss for anything else to say, she shuffled out of the room, ponytail twitching.

  I waited until she was out of earshot to release the mighty cackle I’d been holding in. And I tried not to dwell on the fact that instead of trying to challenge me or laugh with me or fall back into bed, Sam just gave me a half-smile and went looking for his shirt.

  * * *

  Aveda and I borrowed Lucy’s car, picked up Shruti, and booked it over to the East Bay. On the drive over, I chattered to them about Leah’s possible Poet-sighting and my plan to follow up later. Aveda said she approved of my initiative-taking—and, thankfully, didn’t press me about the half-naked Sam she’d found in my bedroom. It wasn’t until we reached the Market, which was now empty and cordoned off by police tape, that I realized something was off.

  “Evie didn’t want to come?” I said, as we approached Kathy’s booth. “I know she’s not a morning person, but this mission is directly related to our mom.”

  “She had other things to do,” Aveda said, waving a dismissive hand. “There’s a lot to investigate, and we needed to divide and conquer.”

  I frowned. There was a lot to look into, but it was weird to me that Evie hadn’t wanted to come. I didn’t really get what was going on with her—she seemed withdrawn and reluctant whenever the Mom angle of the investigation came up, yet she’d been willing to do stuff like visit the grave site and go through the letters with me. Maybe it was because she was embroiled in her own complicated web of feelings and didn’t really believe we were going to find Mom at the end
of it—not like I did. She hadn’t connected with Mom the way I had during my first trip to the Otherworld, hadn’t heard that familiar musical voice echoing through her head. But still. If there was even the slightest possible chance we could be reunited with our mother, why wasn’t she jumping in with both feet at every opportunity?

  A memory bubbled to the surface: Evie and me at Mom’s funeral, wearing hastily thrown together all-black outfits. Mine had involved a way-too-big cardigan over a t-shirt—to try to conceal the fact that I was wearing a t-shirt, I guess? We hadn’t had the time, energy, or money to shop for anything fancier.

  I’d cried through the whole thing, wiping my runny nose and puffy eyes on my cardigan sleeves until they were encrusted with snot. Evie sat next to me, back posture perfect for the first (and maybe only) time ever, staring straight ahead. And her eyes stayed totally dry the whole time.

  I’d always wondered why she hadn’t shed a single tear. I knew she hated crying, but wasn’t that the time to do it? Or was she already thinking ahead and resenting Mom for leaving her with an unruly, snotty-sleeved kid?

  “All right,” Shruti said, bringing me back to the present. “Where should we start?” She cocked her head, studying Kathy’s booth. “This is quite the mess.”

  It really was. Shards of the broken vases from yesterday were scattered on the ground, and Kathy’s cat-hair crafts were strewn all over the tables, mixed in with her button and key jewelry. The colorful scarf tablecloths were rumpled and askew beneath the unorganized jumble of goods, and one of them had a huge rip down the middle, exposing the weathered wood of the table.

  “Bea, you’re the only one of us who’s been here before. What do you think?” Aveda said.

  I scanned the mess again. “See that back area?” I gestured to the far left, where the janky cardboard partition sectioned off a corner of the booth. “I think that’s where her register’s set up. Maybe there’s something there?”

  “Hopefully something with less cat hair,” Aveda said, wrinkling her nose at Kathy’s craft table.

  The three of us made our way over to the corner, and Aveda shoved the cardboard aside to reveal Kathy’s bookkeeping set-up. In comparison to the rest of the booth, it was actually quite organized: an old school paper calendar, a neat stack of receipts, and a trio of pens were lined up perfectly straight on top of a battered secretary desk. A bulletin board, propped up to one side, was pinned with a collage of photos. And a small cabinet with a single drawer was tucked underneath the desk. It looked like it had been painted a brilliant robin’s egg blue at one point but now was all chipped and faded.

  “That drawer looks promising,” Aveda said, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Wouldn’t it be amazing if it contained a handy piece of paper that said, ‘here’s the answer to everything, you’re welcome’?” Shruti said with a laugh.

  “Ha! Why do I feel like that’s not going to happen?” Aveda said, shaking her head. She reached down and tried the drawer. “Locked, of course. Go for it, Shruti.”

  Shruti took a deep breath, zeroing in on the rusted lock of the drawer. Her hair grew longer, its dark expanding tendrils reaching outward, floating through the air and snaking into the lock.

  “I do adore this particular element of your power,” Aveda said, giving Shruti an admiring smile. “It’s like you’re one of those super cool ladies who organizes multimillion dollar bank heists, only you use your skills for good.”

  “That’s me—a heister who’s never realized her full heisting potential,” Shruti said, winking.

  While Shruti worked her way through the lock, I studied the photo-filled bulletin board. Most of the pictures were from the era when Mom and Kathy had shared booth space—laughing, greeting customers, displaying their various crafts. There was only one current photo of Kathy. She was by herself, holding up a cat-hair craft and giving the camera a wan half-smile. The pretzel stand loomed in the background, mobbed with customers.

  “Wow, look at your mom,” Aveda said, leaning over my shoulder and tapping one of the older photos. “I forgot how beautiful she was. How vibrant and happy. Looks like she and Kathy had some good times together.”

  “It was pretty much impossible not to have a good time when Mom was around,” I murmured. “She had a way of coaxing the good mood out no matter what.”

  “Why didn’t Kathy stay in touch with you and Evie after your Mom passed?” Aveda mused. “It looks like she remembers her very fondly. And . . .” Aveda scanned the bulletin board, filled with so many images of Mom. “. . . a lot.”

  “I don’t think Evie had the time or energy to maintain ties with any of Mom’s friends after Dad left,” I said. “And Kathy always kept a certain amount of distance, never had much to say to us. I don’t think she knew how to talk to kids, really.” I frowned, cocking my head at the newer photo of Kathy. “It doesn’t look like Kathy’s made many friends in the interim. Maybe it’s lonely, working the booth by herself every day, trying to hawk those terrible cat-hair crafts. Maybe that’s what made her go all evil.”

  “Maybe,” Aveda said.

  We studied the bulletin board for a moment, the silence punctuated by the soft clicks of Shruti’s hair picking the lock.

  “Bea,” Aveda said slowly. “We’re going to solve this thing, I promise. If your mother’s out there, we will find her.”

  “I know Evie thinks it’s not her; that it’s some demon force, fucking with my head.” My gaze locked on a photo of Mom with her head thrown back, laughing uproariously at something, her hair shining in the sunlight. Where are you?

  “Evie just wants you to be safe,” Aveda said. “We all do. Being part of a true superhero team means looking out for each other.”

  “Then when do I get to be recognized as part of the team?” I said, trying to suppress the whine creeping into my voice. “I know I’m still at the intern trial basis stage, but I’ve already had so many newsworthy adventures. Like, a Maisy write-up of yesterday’s mecha Spider mayhem would have been off the freakin’ chain—”

  “Except nobody was there to see it,” Aveda said. “And even if they were . . .” She hesitated, sizing me up. “Bea, I didn’t forbid Maisy from writing about you because I was trying to hide your light or suppress your ever-growing awesomeness or something.”

  “Then why?” I said, my brow crinkling.

  She hesitated for a long moment, studying me. “I did it because you deserve room to mess up.”

  “You think I’m going to mess up?” I bristled.

  “Everybody messes up.” She shook her head in exasperation. “I want you to be able to wear bad outfits, and not say the perfect thing every time, and have a meltdown about getting a freaking zit without zillions of people commenting on it or trashing you or giving their hot take. And none of those things are even ‘messing up,’ exactly, but once you’re a superheroine in the spotlight . . .” She shook her head again. “No matter how confident you might be, you’re going to have moments where you feel like you can never be anything less than perfect.”

  “Especially as a superheroine of color!” Shruti called out. “We always feel like we have to represent well or risk letting down our entire community.” She grinned at us. “Sorry, this lock is super tricky, and I’ve almost got it.” Her face twisted into a look of renewed concentration.

  “Shruti is right,” Aveda said. “I never felt like I had space to be anything less than perfect. And as a burgeoning superheroine who is also my intern—not to mention someone I consider an honorary little sister—I want you to have that space.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her. She was looking at me with something that wasn’t quite her usual imperious look. It was still commanding and full of attitude, but shot through with streaks of deep vulnerability—the Annie Chang side of herself she didn’t let many people see.

  I realized then that even though her not-entirely
-inspiring “superhero lessons” didn’t always make sense, Aveda was making a valiant effort to guide me. She really wanted me to be the best superheroine I could be. She was hoping to shield me from some of the hurt she’d dealt with when she first got the gig—all those not-so-fun sides of being a hero that I hadn’t considered before diving in headfirst. And as for that bonding I was after . . .

  “You think of me as a sister?” I said, my voice small. I’d always imagined she saw me as sort of an Evie add-on.

  “Of course I do,” she said, looking offended at the idea that she’d see me any other way.

  “Guys!” Shruti cried out.

  We both turned to look at her.

  “Sorry to interrupt a truly lovely discussion,” she said, grinning. “But I think I’ve finally cracked this dang lock.”

  We heard a final click as she pulled the drawer out from the blue cabinet, and the three of us crowded around to see what was inside.

  “A document?” Aveda said, cocking an eyebrow and pulling out a yellowed, crumbly bit of paper. It looked thick, like some kind of old school parchment.

  “What are these markings?” Shruti said, tapping the parchment. “They look almost like, I don’t know, runes of some kind.”

  “I think that’s actually an Otherworld demon language,” I said, studying the markings. They were a series of faint lines and dots marching across the page, impenetrable. “Nate and his demonologist colleagues have seen stuff like this before, but they’ve never been able to decipher it.”

  “Is there anything else in here?” Aveda felt around the bottom of the drawer, then stopped, her eyes going wide. “Wait. This thing has a false bottom.” She moved the extra piece of wood out of place to reveal . . .

  “More papers?” Shruti said.

  I peered inside. It was, indeed, a whole mess of papers. But these weren’t the yellowed parchment of the weird demon thing we’d found. No, these were neat, official, eight by ten documents, carefully stacked. And emblazoned with my mother’s name.