Karma Girl

by Jennifer Estep

  That was ego-crushing enough, but that hadn’t been the worst part. I’d foolishly submitted the portraits for inclusion in the senior art show, which was run by Arthur’s teaching assistant, an odious, sniveling weasel named Terrence Torres. I’d thought Terrence might have a different opinion of my work, especially since I was sleeping with him at the time. But no. Terrence had totally trashed every single piece I’d given him. He’d called my work amateurish and flat and boring and lacking any semblance of artistic merit. Then, he’d put my portraits in the senior show—as an example of what not to do. Terrence might as well have just burned the pieces in front of me. Oh, and he’d dumped me too, claiming our artistic visions were just too different. I didn’t find out until later that he’d been cheating on me with another student, one with a more suitable vision—and a C cup.

  Between Arthur and Terrence, I’d never had the heart to show anything else I’d done to anyone outside my family, no matter how good I thought it was.

  “Sometimes,” I murmured, answering Arthur’s question. “Not so much since my father died.”

  My father had been the one who’d encouraged me the most, the one who thought I had real talent. He’d been the one who kept telling me not to give up, to keep on drawing and painting and sketching, no matter what. He was also the one who’d threatened to run over Terrence and Arthur with his motorcycle. It was one of the many things I missed about him.

  Arthur nodded. “Well, I can understand that. But you should keep working. After all, a true artist never gives up, no matter how long it takes to find success.”

  Sheesh. What a sugarcoated platitude. “Of course not.”

  Arthur got to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to lock up and call it a night.”

  “Just let me grab my purse, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “I’ll be waiting here to let you out.”

  I headed down the hall to the small office where I’d stashed my things this afternoon before the benefit. I put my purse strap across my chest and made sure my pepper spray lay in the top of the bag. Granny Cane might be a superhero, but even she couldn’t stop all the muggers out there. It would be just my luck to run into the one guy she hadn’t carted off to the police station tonight.

  I flipped off the lights in the office and headed back to the new wing. I wanted to check on things one more time before I left.

  I stopped in the archway and peered inside. The benefit had barely been over an hour, but all the glasses and food and trash had already been cleared away. Kyle Quicke and the rest of Quicke’s staff, along with the museum’s, were extremely efficient. All the items seemed to be in their proper place, with the Star Sapphire in the middle of the room, standing guard over everything.

  I turned to go back to Arthur’s office, when I felt my luck flare up. I froze.

  What was I going to do now? Fall on the slick floor? Knock over one of the statues and shatter it? Get one of the paintings on the wall to burst into flames? Hmm. That last one wouldn’t be so bad—as long as it was Joanne’s velvet Elvis painting that was in the line of fire.

  But instead of pulling me down or sideways or causing the art to fly around, my power quieted, returning to its usual, steady hum.

  I shook my head and took a step forward

  POP!

  Debonair puffed in front of me. I managed not to scream or fall or otherwise do something stupid. I’d sort of been expecting him to show up. Looking forward to it, actually. Which wasn’t like me at all.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Come to steal something else?”

  Debonair bowed his head. “Of course not. I came to congratulate you on your success. Your hard work really paid off. Everything went smoothly tonight.”

  I thought of Devlin Dash again and grimaced. “Not everything.”

  “I take it you’re referring to the champagne you spilled on Mr. Dash? I wouldn’t worry about that. Although, the man did look like a deer blinded by headlights. The whole scene was rather amusing.” Debonair smirked.

  “I like Devlin,” I said, defending the awkward businessman. “He’s a nice guy. Unlike you.”

  “Don’t you know nice guys finish last?” Debonair flashed me a sexy smile. “And that women, real women, like bad boys better?”

  “Bad boys?” I snorted. “Oh, give me a break. Women like to fantasize about bad boys, but no one in her right mind would actually want to have a real relationship with one.”

  Debonair looked amused. “Really? Why not?”

  “One, they’re probably going to cheat on you. Bad boys tend to think rather highly of themselves. Two, the surly attitude and skintight leather get really old after a while. Three, most of them don’t know anything about art or poetry or music or books. All they want to talk about is their car or their motorcycle or their perfectly ripped abs.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “I want a nice guy. A nice, normal, stable guy who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to women and that it’s his sworn duty to spread himself around to anyone who’ll have him.”

  “You want a nice guy?” Debonair asked.

  He stepped closer to me, and my senses kicked into overdrive. I could smell the smoky scent that clung to his skin. See the silver and black rimming his blue eyes. Imagine his hot mouth pressed against mine. My pulse started to throb—along with other parts of my anatomy.

  “Of course that’s what I want,” I snapped, pretending I wasn’t the least bit attracted to the sexy thief. “That’s what every woman really wants, deep down inside.”

  “And you think I’m a bad boy?”

  I eyed his leather costume and perfect body. “In every sense of the word.”

  Debonair smiled. “Well, then, I guess I should play the part, shouldn’t I?”

  Before I could stop him, Debonair pulled me toward him and lowered his lips to mine.

  He smelled of sweet smoke, like smoldering rose petals. The heady aroma seemed to permeate his skin, his lips, his tongue. I found myself lost in a sensual haze, swept away in a fog of sultry emotions.

  And I did something I would never, ever do. At least not before the end of a first date that included dinner and a movie. I kissed him back. I wanted to taste him the way he was tasting me. Wanted to lose myself in this moment, this feeling, this bright flare of attraction.

  Being on the short side, I had to stand on my tiptoes to weave my fingers through his thick hair. But I did that too, pulling him even closer. Electricity that had nothing to do with my luck rippled against my skin in a most pleasant way.

  The kiss went on for quite a while. I enjoyed every second of it. Every playful nip. Every sure flick. Every thrust of our tongues against each other.

  Debonair drew away and pressed a kiss to the inside of my shaking wrist. My pulse roared under his lips. He dropped my hand.

  “See? I told you bad boys have more fun. But darling, delicious, delectable Bella, I’m afraid I must be on my way.” His voice was as smooth and suave as ever, but his eyes were dim, as if he were troubled by our kiss.

  Had I not measured up to his Slaves for Superhero Sex standards? The thought disappointed me, even as I tried not to stagger around like a drunk. The man was intoxicating in every sense of the word, and he could kiss like nobody’s business. No wonder women threw themselves at him.

  “I’ve enjoyed our time together, and I bid you a very fond good-night.” Debonair tipped his head to me, turned toward the door, and walked away.

  I admired the view for a moment. Then, my head cleared. He’d enjoyed our time together? What was I? A hooker he’d paid for an evening’s amusement?

  Like hell.

  Debonair wasn’t leaving that easily. He wasn’t going to kiss me and walk away like I was another one of the countless women he’d loved and left without a backwards glance.

  My eyes narrowed, and I ran after him, focused on his retreating form. “Stop right there!”

  For once, luck was on my side. Static pulsed around my body, and
Debonair’s boots slid out from under him, as if he’d stepped on a patch of ice. His arms flailed. Then—

  POP!

  He disappeared. I sprinted forward to the spot where he’d been, right in front of the Star Sapphire. It reminded me of Debonair’s eyes—only not quite as blue.

  My power hummed around my body, almost in warning. I turned. Debonair stood behind me. I hadn’t even heard him teleport back into the room.

  He stared at the floor, then raised his gaze to me. His eyes were dark now, almost black. “Did you make me do that, Bella? Did you make me fall?”

  “Of course not. How could I make you fall?”

  We might have just shared a hair-raising kiss, but my power, or lack thereof, was none of his business.

  “I’m not sure, but I find the possibility very interesting,” Debonair said in a smooth voice, moving closer to me.

  I backed up against the display case that housed the sapphire. My fingers itched. My hair frizzed. Static gathered around my body once more.

  And then, the roof shattered.

  Chapter Nine

  For a moment, I thought my luck had gone completely haywire. That I’d somehow, some way shattered the glass roof hundreds of feet above our heads. Quite an accomplishment, even for me. Then, luck or not, my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I screamed and dove out of the way of the falling shards, sliding across the smooth floor. My power kicked in of its own accord, as it so often did, and the static field propelled me farther than I could have ever gotten on my own.

  Of course, I couldn’t get clear of all of it. I was lucky, not indestructible. I threw my arms over my head, even as bits and pieces of glass sliced into my skin. My blood spattered scarlet against the white floor, reminding me of the red rose on Debonair’s costume.

  Thinking of Debonair, I didn’t hear him pop! out of the way, but he must have, because the sweet smell of rose-scented smoke filled my nose, making my head swim. Well, that and the blood loss.

  The tinkling rain of glass stopped, replaced by the museum’s ringing alarms and a faint, whooshing sound, like I had water in my ears. I looked up. A shadow fell over the sapphire, and a muscular man in a gray spandex suit glided to a stop in the middle of the museum. He was enormous—seven feet tall and almost as wide with biceps bigger than my waist. A gray cowl covered his hair while a black mask obscured his face. A variety of odd items, including what looked like grenades, hung off the silver utility belt around his waist. It too was big—larger and thicker than my arm.

  And so I got my first look at Hangman, one of Bigtime’s preeminent ubervillains. Unlike the Fearless Five, Hangman didn’t hang around with other ubervillains. He didn’t have to. With his ability to fly, superstrength, and gadget-filled belt, Hangman was an army all by himself. Which is why he hired out as a contract assassin, enforcer, and all-around bad guy. If you wanted someone dead, mangled, or beaten to a bloody pulp, especially someone with superpowers, Hangman was your guy.

  So what was he doing at the museum? What was he after? There were all sorts of paintings and statues here that would tempt even the richest—

  The ubervillain drew back his hand and drove his massive fist through the glass case housing the Star Sapphire. I should have guessed. I closed my eyes. Should have known. Hangman was stealing Berkley’s sapphire and who knew what else from the exhibit. Yep, my jinx was definitely working overtime. Although I suppose I should be grateful he’d at least waited until the opening was over.

  Right now, though, I had more important things to worry about. Like getting out of the room alive. My father had died at the hands of ubervillains. I had no desire to repeat his fate—especially at the tender age of thirty. Grandfather had already outlived his only child. It would be a shame for him to outlive me too.

  I rose to my knees, trying not to dig my hands into the supposedly shatterproof, bulletproof, ubervillainproof glass surrounding me like a glittering crystal carpet. Superhearing must have been another one of Hangman’s powers because his head snapped in my direction.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled, reaching for one of the pineapple-shaped grenades on his belt.

  I froze. Panic filled my body. If he threw that, there wouldn’t be enough of me left to put into a spoon—just like my father. I was about to die exactly the way he had, despite all the precautions I’d taken to stay as far away from ubervillains as possible. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  POP!

  Debonair teleported in front of me and glanced over his shoulder. Once he saw I was more or less in one piece, he leaned against one of the Greek columns like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Hey, Hangman. How’s it hanging these days?” Debonair’s voice was low and smooth, but there was a hard, slightly mocking edge to it. “I haven’t seen you flying around the city much these days. Still upset I clipped the wings off that missile launcher Violet Crush paid you to set up?”

  “Not as upset as you’re going to be when I get through with you, runt,” Hangman snarled.

  The ubervillain’s hands hovered over his grenades like he was some gunslinger from the Old West. Debonair just smirked.

  Every hero had his villain, and Hangman was Debonair’s. They’d been battling each other for years. In fact, theirs was the preeminent duel in Bigtime, since the Fearless Five had taken out the Terrible Triad. About a month ago, Debonair and Hangman had made news after one of their battles spilled over into Paradise Park. Another ubervillain, Violet Crush, had hired Hangman to set off some sort of horrible device to blackmail the city into naming a street after her. Or some such nonsense. Debonair had intervened, and the usual round of fistfights, explosions, and daring escapes had ensued. I remembered because Grandfather had made me watch it on SNN with him.

  Debonair relaxed even more, as though he couldn’t care less that he was standing in an angry ubervillain’s line of fire. “If you’re going to do something, then do it. Because your conversation bores me.”

  Hangman’s fingers fluttered over his grenades, ready to draw down on Debonair.

  “Stop right now! Both of you!” Another voice rang out.

  Striker stormed into the room, followed by Karma Girl, Hermit, and Mr. Sage. Black, silver, more black, green. They formed a colorful line in their costumes, cutting off the front door. The Fearless Five—well, four of them—had finally arrived. For once, I was glad to see them.

  Hangman cursed. His hand flew to his waist, and he hurled a grenade at the four superheroes, taking them by surprise.

  My eyes widened. We were going to die. In about ten seconds. Not to mention all the priceless works of art around us. If that thing went off, the whole room would go up in flames. All the Whimsical Wonders would be reduced to smithereens. Not to mention the Monets, the Renoirs, and the Van Goghs in the upstairs galleries. They’d be destroyed too. I didn’t know which was worse—us dying or the art being obliterated.

  I shouldn’t have worried, though. Mr. Sage used his telekinesis to stop the grenade in mid-air and launch it back at the ubervillain.

  “No! Not at him!” I pointed up to the blasted out ceiling. “Throw it up there! Now!”

  I didn’t know if Mr. Sage heard me or not, or if my luck finally decided to cooperate with my will, but the grenade veered upwards, sailing toward the massive hole in the ceiling.

  Just before the grenade cleared the roof, it exploded. Fire roared out from the small device, filling the room with thick, black smoke. The shock from the explosion tossed me back, thankfully away from most of the broken glass on the floor. I slammed into a life-size statue of a mythological Fenrir wolf made out of toothpicks and bounced off. The statue swayed, but it didn’t break.

  Me too. Everything went dark for a second before my vision snapped back into focus. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. Somehow, I got to my feet and started forward. I couldn’t see the door, though. I couldn’t see much of anything except the smoke blanketing the room.

  Something so
ft and gooey touched my arm. I screamed and jumped back before I realized it was snowing. Well, not exactly snowing, but white foam flew through the air like tiny flakes. The explosion must have set off the museum’s fire-alarm system. Although I couldn’t see them, I knew sprinklers had popped out from their hiding places in the marble walls. That’s where the foam was coming from. It was a special kind of fire-retardant chemical that could be wiped off paintings and other artwork without leaving any stains behind. Practically all the businesses in Bigtime featured some sort of similar system. Most of the homes too. They had to, if they wanted to survive any kind of superhero-ubervillain battle.

  The white foam also helped dissipate the smoke. I waved my hand in front of my face, helping it along. After about ten seconds, my eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I spotted the others. Debonair and Hangman stood next to the sapphire, grappling with each other, while Striker, Mr. Sage, and Hermit hovered around them.

  A shrill, creaking sound caught my ear, and I looked up.

  A chunk of debris broke loose from the ceiling and headed for the pedestal holding the Star Sapphire. My eyes widened, and I felt my power discharge. A second before the debris made impact, the pedestal tipped over, and the gem slid across the floor, landing at the feet of a mermaid statue. Hangman cursed and scrambled toward it.

  POP!

  Debonair beat him to it. The thief reached for the stone, but Hangman crashed into him just before he picked it up. The two of them rolled around on the floor, bouncing off statues, walls, and anything else in their way.

  A hand grabbed my arm. I turned and screamed, right into Karma Girl’s face.

  “Are you all right, Bella?” Karma Girl asked, her eyes glowing a bright blue.

  I swallowed another scream. “I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises. But you guys have to take out Hangman before he gets the gem—and destroys any more of the museum.”

  “We’ll handle it. You need to get out of here.” She pointed me toward the door.

  I nodded and staggered toward the archway, happy to comply. Unlike my grandfather and brother, I had no desire to trade punches with evildoers. At that moment, all I wanted to do was pretend like tonight had never happened.