Nightingale (44 page)

“Of course,” I murmured.

Fiona and I knew a few things about well-dressed women, because we both worked as fashion designers. Fiona fronted Fiona Fine Fashions, while I ran the design portion of Bulluci Industries. Fiona and I had completely different styles, and we’d been friendly rivals for years. She created garments that screamed
Here I am! Look at me! I’m fabulous!
with their bright colors, wild patterns, and mounds of sequins and feathers. I preferred simpler styles, with muted hues, clean lines, and absolutely, positively no sequins. Ever.

Don’t get me wrong. I liked Fiona just fine. Her father too. And I was glad Johnny had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

But there was nothing I hated more than superheroes and ubervillains. Dressing up in those silly costumes. Calling themselves absurd names. Plotting and scheming and planning elaborate ways to take over the city and rule the world. It was all so dramatically ridiculous.

C’mon. Who would want to rule the world, really? It’d be nothing but a giant headache, with everyone constantly whining and crying at you. Not to mention all the paperwork and demands on your free time. But the ubervillains always tried to reign supreme, and the superheroes always stopped them. The cycle was endless.
 

Unfortunately, I had lots of experience with superheroes. Or rather pseudo heroes. All of the men in my family masqueraded as Johnny Angel in their youth, riding around Bigtime on a tricked-out motorcycle, getting into trouble, and taking on ubervillains when the mood hit them. Masquerading as Johnny Angel was how my brother had first met Fiona a few months ago.
 

And how my father, James, had died.

I was happy for Johnny, but I couldn’t help shuddering at the fact that he’d added another superhero to the family tree. Five of them. Six, actually, if you counted Lulu Lo, the computer hacker who was engaged to Henry Harris.

Oh, I liked Fiona, Carmen, Sam, Henry, and Chief Newman just fine when they were themselves. It was their nightly habit of turning into Fiera, Karma Girl, Striker, Hermit, and Mr. Sage that had me concerned.
 

And knowing the Fearless Five’s secret identities was sort of like being in a mob family—once you were in, you were
all
the way in whether you wanted to be or not. And you couldn’t get out, no matter how hard you tried. Whenever we had any of the heroes over for dinner, all they talked about were their latest epic battles and daring escapes. Or the new equipment Henry Hermit Harris had purchased for their underground lair. Or the current ubervillains populating Bigtime. Or a dozen other superhero-related things that made me grind my teeth. Last week, Fiona had even asked me if I thought her costume needed a redesign. Sheesh.

My power flared up at my dark thoughts. I didn’t know how the other superheroes felt their power, but mine was sort of like standing in a ball of static electricity. My skin hummed. My fingertips itched. And worst of all, my caramel-colored hair frizzed out to alarming proportions. There wasn’t a conditioner on the market that could tame it. Believe me, I’d tried them all. Together. At the same time.

The overall sensation wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was aggravating. Because the static, the power, the energy, built and built until it had to be discharged. And when it did, well, watch out. More often than not, whatever was around me either exploded, shattered, fell from the sky, or spontaneously combusted. Sometimes all at once. My luck was like some sort of supercharged telekinesis I couldn’t control. Stuff just happened, whether I wanted it to or not. And here’s the really annoying thing about having luck as a superpower—it can be good or bad.
 

Sometimes, if I thought about something, wanted it to happen, willed it to be, I’d get my heart’s desire. I’d catch the subway a second before the doors closed. Snag the last seat in a crowded movie theater. Find the only dress in my size. I even won five hundred dollars in a sweepstakes as a kid just by staring at my entry form before I sent it in and wishing I could win.

But just as often, my luck turned on me. I’d catch the subway, but rip my jacket on the doors. Get the last seat, but sit down in a puddle of sticky soda. Find the perfect dress, but forget my credit cards. Win the lottery, but lose my ticket.

Luck, the most capricious thing in the world. That was my supposed power. My curse was more like it.
 

My jinx.

I always felt the static energy around me and did my best to keep it clamped down and under control. But the sudden surge told me that it was time for it to let loose—and for something to happen. I could never tell whether that something would be good or bad, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
 

I slowly, carefully, calmly pushed my chair back from the table, making sure I was clear of the tablecloth, candles, bread basket, wine glasses, plates, silverware, and anything else I could drag down or knock off or upset in any way. Then, I stood.

With small, thoughtful steps, I backed around the chair until I stood five feet away from the table—and out of range of everyone and everything. Now, nobody else would get caught in the crossfire if something crazy happened, like the chandelier above my head plummeting from the ceiling, despite the ten or so bolts that held it in place.

“Bella? Are you all right?” Chief Newman asked, his eyes flashing a brilliant green. “Is your power bothering you again?”

Chief Newman had offered to work with me, to try to find some way to help me control my power. I’d refused. You couldn’t control luck. I’d long ago given up hope of ever taming it, along with my hair.
 

The doorbell rang, saving me from an explanation.
 

“I’ll get it,” I said. “It’s probably more trick-or-treaters.”

It was late October and still several days before Halloween, but little ghosts and ghouls and goblins had already started showing up asking for candy. Or else. Halloween was a two-week-long event in Bigtime that wouldn’t wrap up until the night of the thirty-first. The extended holiday gave everybody, kids and adults alike, a chance to go around town all dressed up, instead of just the heroes and villains.

“What are you giving them?” Fiona asked, her eyes gleaming at the thought of Halloween candy. “Snickers? M&Ms? Chocolate Twinkies?”

The only thing Fiona loved as much as Johnny was food. With her fire-based superpowers and high metabolism, Fiona could eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and never gain a pound. Besides her nighttime gig as a superhero, that was the only other thing I really hated about her. Well, that and her sky-high legs. I was just a couple inches over five feet. And her perfectly smooth blond hair and gorgeous baby blues. My tawny locks resembled a bush more often than not, while my hazel eyes just sort of faded into my bronze face. All right, so I really hated a lot of things about Fiona.

“Hardly. I’m giving them apples, fat-free trail mix, boxes of raisins, and bags of unpopped, butter-free microwave popcorn.” I pointed to the far end of the long table, where I’d put the plastic bowls of goodies.

“What’s the fun in that?” Fiona said.
 

“Not contributing to the American epidemic of childhood obesity, for one,” I snapped.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Your house is
so
going to be covered in toilet paper in the morning.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Actually, Bella, I took the liberty of buying some candy bars on my way home today. Just in case you ran out of apples.”

“Chocolate? Where?” Fiona demanded.

I put my hands on my hips and glared at my grandfather. There was a devilish twinkle in his green eyes that I knew all too well.
 

“And how many did you eat before you put them away?”

His lips twitched. “Bella, you’ve told me many times I shouldn’t eat candy. I didn’t have a single one.”

Right. And I looked good in a thong.

“Grandfather,” I warned.

Bobby’s heart, cholesterol, and blood pressure weren’t the best in the world, something I was trying to change. With little success. My grandfather still ate like he was twenty-three, instead of seventy-three, despite doctor’s orders and my constant nagging. And don’t even get me started on his other bad habit—motorcycle riding. Bobby had broken his leg two years ago gallivanting around town, and I’d moved back home to take care of and keep an eye on him.

Bobby ignored me. “They’re in the kitchen, Fiona, if you want to hand them out.”

Fiona snapped to her feet. “Count me in.”

Bobby’s eyes sparkled. “Try to leave some for the kids.”

Fiona sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder again before disappearing into the kitchen.

I grabbed the bowls of apples, raisins, and popcorn, and carried them to the front door. The static crackled around me like an invisible force field, but it seemed to be holding steady. For the moment. Fiona come out of the kitchen and fell in step beside me, candy bars in hand. She opened the door, and I smiled, ready to greet our visitors.

“Trick or treat!” the kids shouted, holding out plastic orange pumpkins.

There were five of them, of course. Each one dressed like a member of the Fearless Five. A girl clad in reddish-orange spandex was supposed to be Fiera, and one in silver represented Karma Girl. One of the little boys sported an Irish green cape as Mr. Sage, while the other had on black leather and two long swords made out of aluminum foil for Striker. The man with them wore black-and-white goggles, representing Hermit.

Superheroes. More stupid superheroes. What happened to the good old days when kids dressed up as princesses and cowboys and monsters?

My smile faltered, but I held out the bowls. “Who wants some apples?”

Silence. Dead silence. I didn’t even hear crickets chirping in the front yard.
 

The kids looked at me, then each other, then at the man. No one said anything.

My power surged again. The static discharged.

And the plastic bowls in my hands shattered.
 

You would have thought I had some explodium in the containers instead of healthy snacks. Raisins and popcorn showered us all, while bits of pulverized apple pelted my thick, curly hair and face. The few apples that survived the explosion intact bounced down the long driveway and out of sight. The pieces of the splintered bowls zipped through the air, embedding themselves in the stone steps like daggers around my feet. In a perfect circle, no less.

I sighed and wiped a bit of apple juice off my nose. I’d long ago grown used to my power—and the embarrassment that went along with it.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, scooping raisins and popcorn into my hands. “I have more inside. Let me get that.”

I’d been prepared for such a disaster. In fact, I always bought five of everything, whether it was candy or jewelry or clothes. Years of bad luck had taught me that my jinxed power would find a way to trash even the safest, sturdiest object. In the past six months, I’d gone through seven purses, dozens of shirts, and more shoes than I cared to admit. And two cars.

“Um, I think we’ll just try the next house,” the man replied, drawing the kids close to him.

Fiona not-so-gently shouldered past me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some Hershey bars right here. They’re a little melted, but they’re still good.”

“Yeah!”

The kids stepped forward, and Fiona gave them each a chocolate bar. The girl in the Fiera costume got two. Naturally.
 

Satisfied, the kids headed back down the driveway in search of more Halloween goodies to rot their teeth and drive their sugar levels through the roof.

Fiona smirked. “See? I told you the kids would want candy.”

I sighed again. I should have known better. After all, it was almost Halloween.
 

And the perfect time of year for my power to play tricks on me.

Excerpt from A KARMA GIRL CHRISTMAS,
 

An e-story in the
Bigtime paranormal romance series

A KARMA GIRL CHRISTMAS

“You want me to babysit a bunch of toys?”

“It’s not just a bunch of toys, Carmen,” Henry Harris said. “They’re the toys for Oodles o’ Stuff’s annual Christmas charity drive—the biggest holiday event in Bigtime. Here, I’ll show you.”

Henry leaned forward and started typing away on one of the computer keyboards surrounding his chair, along with three monitors and twice as many servers. He hit a final button on the keyboard, and a film screen dropped down from the ceiling at the opposite end of the room.
 

We sat at a round table in an enormous library containing every sort of book, magazine, and encyclopedia one could possibly imagine. Volume after volume filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves, while maps dangled from the walls and globes gleamed in the corners of the room. Thick rugs covered most of the floor, giving only a glimpse here and there of the beautiful hardwood that lay underneath. Just strolling through the library, you’d never realize it was located deep underground—and that it had another function besides being a place to relax with a good book.