Karma Girl

by Jennifer Estep

  Abby and I said our good-nights to Arthur and the rest of the staff. Hannah had left hours ago, claiming she had an important business meeting. Grace and Joanne had called to tell me that everything was a go at Quicke’s, and they’d packed up shop too. Abby had stayed to the bitter end, although I’d had things more or less under control. But she was a perfectionist that way.

  We stepped outside, and a cool, crisp, fall breeze kissed my face. I shivered and stuck my hands in my pockets, wishing I’d brought my wool pea coat.

  “I’m heading for the subway. Want to walk together?” Abby offered.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “My car’s right there.”

  Abby frowned and looked at my car parked at the bottom of the museum steps. “How did you manage to snag that spot? There’s never any parking on this street during the day.”

  “Oh, a car pulled out right when I drove by.”

  Despite my dislike of my supposed superpower, I could always find a parking space, no matter how crowded the street was. It was one of the few things I was consistently lucky at, along with miraculously avoiding death and broken bones from exploding exercise equipment. Sometimes, I could even put an extra hour on the meter just by focusing on it. When I didn’t make it crumple into a metal heap.

  Abby and I went our separate ways. I got into my silver Benz, locked the doors, turned on the heater, and headed for home. The downtown streets were mostly deserted, except for the occasional homeless person huddled over a steaming subway grate. The wind picked up, and a rain of dry, brown leaves splattered against my windshield and off into the night.

  The usual nighttime sights greeted me as I headed for home. A few shoppers walking out of Oodles o’ Stuff, their arms full of bags. The three-story-high F that marked the entrance to Fiona Fine Fashions. Reporters huddled in the doorway at The Exposé offices puffing at cigarettes, while the skyscraper loomed over them with its winking blue lights. The same scene over at The Chronicle. Muted shrieks of childish glee and calliope music drifting out of Paradise Park.

  The light in front of me flashed to red, and I cruised to a stop. I never ran traffic signals, not even this late at night. With my luck, a cop would be waiting just around the corner who’d be more than happy to write me a three-hundred-dollar ticket. And impound my car when my taillights and windshield spontaneously shattered. It had happened before.

  I sat at the intersection, waiting for the light to change, and a strange sort of thump-thump-thumping sound caught my attention. A man in black flew through the air, across my windshield, and smacked into the pavement. I winced. Definitely not the most graceful landing.

  The man struggled to get up, but a seventy-something woman sprinted into view and brought a diamond-topped cane down on the man’s most sensitive area. He howled, curled up into a tight ball, and grabbed himself. The woman smacked her cane in her hand, ready to dish out another wallop if the guy did anything but whimper. A large, white pocketbook dangled from her arm while gravel-sized pearls hung around her throat. A purple, angora sweater fluttered like a mini-cape around her shoulders, and a flower-shaped mask covered most of her face.

  Granny Cane. One of Bigtime’s older and most respected superheroes. She didn’t have any powers I knew of—just a diamond-topped walking stick she used to beat muggers and purse-snatchers into submission. Granny claimed she kept the streets safe for the elderly. I thought she liked dressing up and showing off, just like all the other heroes and villains. C’mon. A stun gun would have been much more effective for subduing bad guys than a wooden stick.

  Granny hauled the injured man to his feet, grabbed his ear, and stepped into the crosswalk. She yanked him along after her, evidently not caring that he now had a pronounced limp and would probably never be able to have children. I averted my eyes, pretending she was just another little old lady crossing the street—albeit one with a weeping, masked man in tow.

  Granny Cane made it to the other side and kept walking. She was probably heading toward the Bigtime Police Station to turn in her latest capture. It was only a couple blocks away.

  I shook my head and kept on driving, hoping she’d be the only superhero I’d see.

  No such luck.

  Even though it was after midnight, it was still a hot time in the old town tonight because the superheroes were out in full force. Swifte sped by me a couple of times, followed by police cars and an SNN news truck. Pistol Pete, a superhero who dressed like a cowboy, pulled out his six-shooters and performed some quick-draw tricks for a crowd of onlookers near Laurel Park while the Fearless Five van cruised around the downtown area.

  I also drove by more than a few villains trying to get the upper hand on the heroes. Big, brawny Yeti Girl duked it out with Black Samba on top of one of the city buses. But Black Samba danced away from her every time while the snakes on the superhero’s arms and in her headdress hissed their displeasure at the ubervillain.

  Hot Stuff, an ubervillain who thought she was, well, hot stuff, threw Molotov cocktails at Wynter from her perch on top of the Bigtime Public Library. But the superhero used her ice-based powers to shield herself from the worst of the explosions.

  And finally, there was the Mintilator, the villain devoted to making the world a germ-free, minty fresh place. He was trying rather unsuccessfully to fend off Halitosis Hal and his horrid breath over next to the entrance to the marina.

  Sheesh. Didn’t these people have real lives? Wives and husbands to go home to? Kids to take care of? Elderly parents to visit? Apparently not.

  After a few more unwanted hero and villain sightings, I reached the house. The light above the front door burned, but the rest of the mansion was dark. I’d called Grandfather hours ago and told him not to wait up. Looked like he’d taken my advice. That, or he hadn’t come home yet. He’d told me he had a date with his lady friend and might be late.

  I’d asked him once again whom he was going out with, but Grandfather had been his usual cagey self. He still hadn’t introduced me to his lady friend, something I was going to rectify, even if I had to start following him when he left the house. Maybe I could get Lulu Lo to put some sort of tracking device in his silver angel cufflinks. She was good at that sort of thing. The best, actually. With her computer skills and shady contacts, Lulu could find out anything about anyone. Lulu was like a sixth member of the Fearless Five, even though she didn’t have any official superpowers. She’d been let in on the group’s secret identities when she’d started dating Henry Harris.

  I fished my keys out of my purse and got out of my Benz. It had been a hectic, stressful day, and I was completely exhausted. I needed a hot shower before climbing into bed—

  POP!

  Debonair puffed into view on the hood of my car. Surprised, I screamed and stepped back, slamming my butt into the driver’s side door. Despite my love of pasta and potatoes, my ass isn’t that big, but the metal still caved in with a screech, forming a dent about two feet wide and a foot deep.

  “Well, that wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” Debonair said in his low, seductive voice.

  I rubbed my butt until it quit throbbing. Then, I balled up my fist, focused on the car door, and smacked my hand against it. The massive imprint popped right back out. This wasn’t the first time I’d put a dent in my car—or taken one out. Things like this were rather routine in my life, along with odd items like air conditioners falling from the sky and coming thisclose to hitting me in the head. I didn’t even flinch anymore when that happened. I just kept walking.

  “How are you tonight, Bella?” Debonair asked, lounging on the hood like some lingerie model.

  “I was fine, until you showed up,” I muttered, trying to pretend the thief didn’t look as sexy as ever in his leather costume. Blue-black leather was not attractive. The same color in cashmere? Maybe. Leather? No. Definitely not.

  “Well, I didn’t want to teleport into your car. That’s how accidents happen.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you say
ing? That you’ve been following me tonight? Why?”

  So, I hadn’t been imagining him lurking around these past few days. I wondered why he was following me. And how many times he’d seen me explode or shatter or destroy something. I might have been cursed with bad luck, but what I really hated was for other people to see the messes I made. I couldn’t stand the thought of other people laughing at me. If Debonair had been following me, he would have seen and done both. Many, many times.

  “Well, I couldn’t exactly talk to you at the museum. Arthur Anders tends to get a little upset whenever he sees me. Did you know the even-tempered curator actually has a shotgun in his office with my name engraved on it?”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I sniped. “Oh, wait. Yes, I can. Perhaps it’s because you go around town stealing art.”

  Debonair gave a not-so-modest shrug. “Everyone should have a hobby.”

  “And stealing is yours?”

  He smirked. A horrifying thought struck me, and my hair morphed into a bush around my head.

  “You didn’t steal anything, did you? Tonight? At the museum?”

  “Would I do something like that?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

  “Absolutely.”

  Debonair held his arms out, giving me an unobstructed view of his chest. His very broad, very solid chest. “Well, why don’t you come here and frisk me? And see if I took anything from the museum?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was serious or just being kinky. I stared at him, and he looked at me. His lips twitched. A slight little quiver that somehow made him more attractive. Making fun of me. He was making fun of me.

  Pushing my buttons, yet again.

  Somehow, he seemed to know every single one, even though we’d only spoken a few dozen sentences to each other.

  My power surged, my hair frizzed, and I just lost it.

  I threw my shoulder bag at him. The black missile hit Debonair in the chest and exploded.

  Literally.

  The straps snapped. The pockets sprang open. And the zipper ripped off the top. Pens and papers and lipstick and loose change flew everywhere, plinking away into the dark, cool night. I knew I’d never find everything. I was still picking up apples from the trick-or-treating fiasco, and they were a lot easier to spot.

  Debonair chuckled, amused by my humiliation. Red-faced, I curled my hands into fists, wishing I had the strength to pummel him. Where was Fiera when you really needed her?

  “Well, that was something,” Debonair said. “Do your purses always do that?”

  “Just when I’m around you,” I snarled.

  Debonair put his arms behind his head and leaned back on the windshield like it was a recliner. I could see him striking that same pose in bed, after a night of long, slow lovemaking—

  “I rather like you, Bella Bulluci. You’re spunky.”

  “Spunky?” I said, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now. “You think I’m spunky? Wonderful.”

  “What’s wrong with spunky?”

  “Kids are spunky. Old ladies who speak their minds are spunky. Lots of things are spunky. I’m not one of them.”

  “What are you then?” Debonair asked. His blue eyes flashed like the Star Sapphire in the darkness.

  I ignored the suggestive tone in his voice. “Listen, I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, why you decided to visit—and I use that word loosely—me tonight, but I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”

  “I told you why I’m here. I like you.”

  “You like me? Like me how? Like a cold sore on prom night? Because that’s exactly how I like you.”

  Debonair smiled. “That’s how you like me now. But you’ll warm up to me once you get to know me. Everybody does. So, how about dinner? Say, Monday night?”

  My mouth fell open. “Are you asking me out?”

  “Yes, on a thing called a date. I’m sure you’ve had at least one before.”

  “Of course, I’ve been out on a date before,” I snapped. “But why would you want to go out with me?”

  “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Debonair gave me an appreciative leer. “Those big hazel eyes, that mane of hair, those killer curves. You’re gorgeous, Bella. Not to mention that wild, passionate personality, just waiting to get out from under all this buttoned-up repression.”

  He thought I was gorgeous? A little thrill of excitement surged through me, along with my usual wave of static electricity. It lasted about three seconds. Then, I snapped back to reality.

  “Forget it,” I said. “I don’t date superheroes or ubervillains or anyone in between.”

  “Why not?” Debonair asked, looking puzzled.

  “Let’s be clear. I don’t like thieves, despise ubervillains, and barely tolerate superheroes. You’re a bit of all three. You and me? Never going to happen. So, go pop off to one of your Slaves for Superhero Sex groupies, and let them fawn all over you, because I’m not interested.”

  It was the truth. I’d made a vow a long time ago to never get involved with superheroes and ubervillains. In any way, shape, or form. I’d been successful at keeping it too, until my brother had decided to become Johnny Angel in order to track down our father’s killers. Then, he’d gone and fallen for Fiona, who’d brought not only herself but the other members of the Fearless Five into our lives. Now, I couldn’t take two steps in my own house without running into a hero or listening to them talk about how hard it was to avoid a panty line under their spandex suits.

  “Are you sure? Because I think the two of us could have a good time together,” Debonair said, his voice husky, his eyes flashing. “A very good time.”

  I let myself fantasize. With his hard body and suave ways, and my general loneliness, we could have more than a good time. Much, much more. If Debonair was as good as everyone claimed, the sex would be amazing. I got a little out of breath just thinking about it.

  After about a minute, I put the fantasy aside, just like the smushed fries I’d refused for dinner. They might taste good going down, but I’d regret eating them later. Just like I’d regret doing anything with Debonair.

  “Sorry, I’m not interested. Besides, if you really wanted to show me a good time, you’d help me pick up everything that was in my purse.”

  Debonair gave me a small, slightly sad smile. “All you had to do was ask, Bella. Your wish is my command—whatever it might be.”

  Anticipation pulsed through me, despite my pretending I was completely indifferent to his suggestive proposal.

  Debonair snapped his fingers in rapid succession. The bag appeared in my hands and began to fill. A minute later, I stared down at it in awe. I didn’t know how he did it, but everything was in there. My compact, cell phone, wallet, keys, lipstick, quarters.

  “Um, thanks,” I said, not sure what to make of it. “That was actually kind of nice of you.”

  Debonair slid off the car hood and sauntered over to me. I clutched my purse to my chest, as if that would protect me from him. And all my conflicting emotions.

  “Think nothing of it, Bella. Until we meet again.”

  Debonair grabbed my wrist and kissed it, just as he had before. His lips lingered on my skin, and I knew he could feel my roaring pulse. Then, Debonair straightened, gave a little flourish with his hand, and—

  POP!

  He teleported away into the starry night.

  Chapter Six

  An hour later, I sat on my bed, combing out my tangled mane of hair. After Debonair had teleported away, I’d taken my much-longed-for shower. I was almost ready for bed, but I wasn’t tired anymore. In fact, I doubted I’d be able to sleep much tonight.

  And it was all his fault.

  I kept replaying my meeting with Debonair. I didn’t understand the handsome thief. Why had he come back to see me? I’d made it perfectly clear I had no interest in him. Hell, I’d given the police a statement about the robbery, which had led to a warrant being issued for his arrest, one of many already on fi
le. Maybe he was one of those guys who pursued you that much harder if you rejected him. Or turned him into the cops.

  Since I couldn’t sleep, I grabbed one of my sketch pads and went out into the hall. The house was quiet and still, the night air chilly on my bare feet. From the carpet to the crown molding to the light fixtures, angel eyes followed me from the floors and walls and ceilings, tracking my every move. Some people would have found them creepy, but they comforted me. I always thought of them as my own guardian angels, watching over me.

  I turned into a hallway filled with portraits of my ancestors. Generations of Bullucis stared back at me. Some smiled, some didn’t. Some were old, some young. But there was something in their eyes, an intensity, a look that told you they had a zest, a passion for life that couldn’t be denied. I’d spent many hours here, going from portrait to portrait, trying to capture that elusive sparkle on paper—and wondering if I had it too.

  I stopped in front of the painting of my father, James. Tan skin. Blue eyes. Slightly bushy, chestnut hair. He looked the same as always—and I felt the familiar ache gather in my heart at his loss. I ran my fingers over the nameplate on the bottom of the painting, then moved on.

  A large, cushioned window seat lay at the end of the hall. Besides the kitchen, it was my favorite place in the entire house. The window seat looked out into the backyard, with its exotic trees and shrubs and flowers. I’d spent many hours here, daydreaming and sketching. I sank onto the cushion and curled my feet up under the hem of my thick, cloud-covered, terrycloth robe.

  I stared into the backyard, admiring the way the moonlight frosted everything, from the leaves and branches of the trees to the tiny blades of grass. Then, I flipped to a new page in my pad and started doodling nothing in particular. As my charcoal pencil moved over the blank paper, my thoughts turned back to Debonair.