Karma Girl Part 17

"Stop that!"

Henry gave me a small grin. "Unfortunately, having your mind read comes with the territory around here."

I eyed one of the empty soup tureens. I wondered if putting it on my head would block my thoughts from Chief Newman. Or maybe I could make myself a hat out of aluminum foil. That was good for keeping the aliens away. At least, that's what all the crazy homeless people at Paradise Park claimed.

Chief Newman chuckled. "I imagine that would look rather funny, Carmen."

I gave him a sour look. He chuckled again.

"Even though Fiona has decided to leave, we still need to discuss our next move," Sam reminded us.

The mood darkened.

"First things first." Sam turned to me. "You've got to stay here at Sublime, where you'll be safe."

"Until when?"

"Until we figure out a way to stop Malefica for good."

"How long might that be?"

"I have no idea."

"I can't stay here forever. What about my job? My apartment? My overdue library books? I have a life, you know." I clapped a hand to my head and groaned. "I bet they've already fired me. I haven't been to work in almost a week."

"Actually, I took care of that," Chief Newman said. "You've been given a brief sabbatical from the newspaper, and your rent's been paid up through the end of the year."

"How did you manage that? I've already used up all my vacation days for the entire year." I'd blown through them after Travis Teague's suicide. There was something about driving a man to take his own life that made you want to never be seen again.

The chief laced his fingers together. "I merely called up some of the editors and told them what a valuable employee you were, what a hard worker. They were more than happy to give you the time off."

"What he means is that he hypnotized them into doing what he wanted," Henry added. "It's one of his more useful powers."

"You hypnotized my bosses?"

"I prefer the term suggestive encouragement." The chief 's blue eyes twinkled.

KarmaGirl.

"Oh. That doesn't matter. I still can't stay here." Panic strained my voice. "I just can't."

I didn't belong here among all the glitz and glamour, and I didn't belong within twenty feet of any superheroes. I certainly didn't need to be in such close proximity to Sam Sloane for any length of time.

Given my intense attraction to him, eventually I'd do something stupid, like lock him in my room and beg him to make love to me again. My heart had already been broken once. I couldn't risk it a second time, especially not with my bad karma with men and superheroes. And everything else for that matter.

"You can stay here, and you will," Sam snapped.

His authoritative tone grated on my nerves. If there was one thing I hated, it was when another person tried to tell me what to do. No matter how s.e.xy the person might be. "It's my life, and I want to get back to it as soon as I can. I'll do what I want to."

"And if you want to keep it, you'll stay right here where it's safe, where we can protect you."

My blue eyes narrowed. Sam glared at me, his silver gaze s.h.i.+mmering with emotion.

"Why don't we just take it one day at a time and see what develops?" Chief Newman suggested.

"There's no need to make a hasty decision now we might regret later."

I drummed my fingers on the table. Besides my unwanted, relentless attraction to Sam, my other major problem was Malefica. If I left the safety of Sublime and went back to Bigtime, she'd track me down faster than a Southern bloodhound treeing racc.o.o.ns. I'd felt Malefica's rage, her absolute hatred of me, at the park. I had dared to stand up to the ubervillain, and Malefica hadn't liked it. Not one little bit.

I shuddered to think what would happen if she got her inch-long nails into me. How could I deal with this threat? Despite my reprieve from work, I couldn't spend the rest of my life hiding from the Terrible Triad. There had to be a way out of this mess. I turned the problem round and round in my mind.

Besides her superpowers, Malefica's only real advantage was her anonymity. That, however, was something I could change. And it would drastically level the playing field.

"Did you guys bring all my stuff from my apartment?"

"Yes. We shoved everything into those cardboard boxes in your suite," Sam replied.

"All of it? Even the papers I had on the coffee table?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Because if my notes are here, I can get back to work."

"On what?"

"Uncovering Malefica's real ident.i.ty."

The three superheroes exchanged worried glances. I stood and paced back and forth beside the table.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to expose you or dig up your deepest, darkest secrets, but we need to uncover Malefica's ident.i.ty. If I do that, I can serve her up to you, just the way she wanted to give me to Frost. You guys can ambush her, and she'll never know what hit her. Once she's safely locked away for the remainder of her natural life, I can get back to mine, and you guys can go back to saving Bigtime on a weekly basis. Everyone wins. It's the same game plan I had in the beginning, the same one I told Striker about. Except now, I have all your ident.i.ties. That should make Malefica much easier to unmask."

"Do you think you can really do that?" Henry said. "Uncover her ident.i.ty? I've been trying for years."

I shrugged. "I've done it before. It's really not difficult. You superheroes and ubervillains aren't nearly as clever as you think you are."

The three men stared at me.

"Well, you're not," I said in a defensive tone. "Anyone with half a brain and a little bit of time can KarmaGirl.

figure out who most of you are. C'mon. What sort of lame-a.s.s disguise is a pair of gla.s.ses and skin-tight spandex anyway?"

KarmaGirl.

16.

I started Operation Unmask the next morning. By nine o'clock, I'd dressed, put on my usual war paint, and was ready to face the day and my superhero hosts. I opened the door to my room and stuck my head outside. An empty hallway greeted me.

"h.e.l.lo? Is anyone out here? h.e.l.lo?"

Silence echoed back.

I pushed the intercom b.u.t.ton. It squawked.

"Um, Sam? Are you there?"

No one answered. So much for my call being routed through the manor. Perhaps I was the only one up.

Maybe superheroes slept late because they fought crime into the wee hours of the morning. Matt had certainly never been able to get up early. Matt. For once, it didn't hurt to think about him. No needles of pain pierced my heart. Maybe I was finally getting over his betrayal. Or maybe I just had bigger things to worry about at the moment, like keeping my head attached to my body and free of frostbite.

I pushed the intercom b.u.t.ton three more times, but no one responded. I'd just have to navigate the twisting hallways alone. I saw no one, and nothing moved or stirred. The gigantic house soaked up sound, hus.h.i.+ng the plop of my sneakers on the thick carpet and the rustle of my jeans. The only other people I spotted were the figures in the various paintings that lined the walls, along with the marble statues and suits of armor. Their empty eyes followed me wherever I went. Creepy.

Finally, I stumbled across the kitchen. It, too, was deserted. I settled myself on a stool next to a long skinny island in the middle of the open s.p.a.ce. Surely, the others would come down-or up-for breakfast, given the fancy dinner they'd had last night. Meals seemed to be a group affair around here.

But ten minutes later, I was still alone. I hadn't heard a whisper of movement. My stomach rumbled, reminding me how long it had been since I'd had a substantial meal. I chewed my lip and stared at the stainless steel refrigerators. Sam had told me not to be shy. Of course, I wasn't shy by nature, not by a long shot, but it didn't hurt to have permission from the man of the manor.

I scooted off my stool and opened the refrigerators. Cheeses, meats, vegetables, fruits, breads, juices, milk, and more. It was better than a grocery store. My mouth watered. I helped myself to some fresh fruit, orange juice, bagels, and cream cheese. I rustled through the various drawers and cabinets until I found some dishes and silverware, carried my plates to the island, and chowed down. Ah, the breakfast of superheroes. Or nosy reporters.

Twenty minutes later, I popped the last bite of bagel into my mouth and polished off the rest of my juice.

No one had appeared. I put my dirty dishes in one of the sinks that lined the walls. Well, if no one was going to find me, I was just going to have to find them. Like usual.

I went back upstairs, paying careful attention to the layout of the hallways and various rooms. This time, I made it back to my suite in only five minutes. I tried the intercom again. No response.

I picked up my two boxes of notes on the Terrible Triad and the Fearless Five and lugged them down to the kitchen. I left them on the island and scouted out the rest of the first floor. I wandered through all sorts of theme rooms. There was a room filled with portraits, a room of statues, a room of crystal figurines, and even a game room with multiple pool tables and a big-screen TV. Finally, I found what I was looking for-the wine cellar. I trooped back to the kitchen, retrieved my boxes of notes, and hauled them down to the cellar. I pushed open the door with my foot and walked past the rows and rows of wine bottles. I wrinkled my nose at the sour, musty smell.

KarmaGirl.

I went to the far corner. Empty walls stared back at me, and I felt along them. The stone felt cool and smooth and slightly damp under my probing fingers. I ran my hands up and down and sideways. My fingertips snagged on a jagged spot. A-ha! There it was. I took a step back. If you knew where it was, the secret panel looked just as fake as the plastic rocks people hid extra house keys in and put in their yards. I pried the panel open with my fingernails.

I squinted at the keypad. I hadn't caught all of the numbers yesterday when Sam had punched in the three-digit code, but he'd started with a 5. I tried various combinations for the next ten minutes. The keypad beeped each time I entered the wrong combination. Frustrated, I smacked it with my hand. It beeped again. Stupid computer.

I leaned in and stared at the numbers. It was your typical ten-digit keypad, with an enter key and a few other sundry b.u.t.tons to one side. I scanned the device, looking for fingerprints or telltale grooves or smudges-anything that would tell me which numbers were used. If I only knew the other two numbers, I could try all those combinations until one of them worked. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that a piece of paint had been chipped off the number 5. I leaned closer. In fact, the number 5 looked as if it was the only number ever touched. Hmmm. My inner voice whispered.

I punched in 555.

The door slid open. 555 for the Fearless Five. How . . . predictable. Why hadn't I tried that combination first? It was so obvious. You would think superheroes desperate to keep their ident.i.ties secret would be a little more creative. It was worse than using your birthday as your bank account PIN.

I gathered up my boxes, blew out a long breath, and stepped into the elevator.

The elevator descended into the underground depths of Sublime and floated to a stop. I punched in 555 again. So far, the code on every one of the doors had been the same. The doors pinged open. I shook my head. Some security system. A child could break in here. What would the Fearless Five do if Malefica and her friends came to call one day?

I stepped into the hallway. "h.e.l.lo? Is anyone down here? Anyone at all?"

No answer.

I felt sneaky, tiptoeing and creeping around the manor, stealing breakfast for myself, and now breaking into the supersecret superhero lair. I squared my shoulders. I'd tried to call Sam, and I'd called out to anyone who might be lurking nearby. He was the one who hadn't answered. I'd done nothing wrong.

For a change.

I hauled my boxes through the labyrinth of hallways, past the sick room where I'd woken up yesterday.

Someone had already replaced the gla.s.s window I'd broken. Well, they were certainly efficient. I wondered which one of the superheroes moonlighted as a glazier. Or perhaps Sam had a contractor on call to come out and repair anything around the manor that mysteriously broke. I wondered how he explained all the accidents. I imagined Fiona melted her share of furniture, doors, and walls. Oops, it just broke would only work so many times before a normal person got suspicious. Perhaps the contractor was paid to look the other way. Or maybe Chief Newman hypnotized him into forgetting.

I pa.s.sed more sick rooms, five in all. A long gla.s.s window on my right revealed a gym full of treadmills, elliptical trainers, stationary bikes, and other complicated-looking equipment. A hot tub bubbled on one side of the room, and I spied a wooden door that probably led to a pool or sauna. Interesting. I'd never thought superheroes would have to work out to stay in shape. Of course, it would be terribly embarra.s.sing for a superhero to let himself or herself go, what with all the skin-tight spandex and leather they wore. After all, there was only so much flesh you could shove into a size 0 catsuit.

KarmaGirl.

The brotherhood of superheroes and ubervillains probably frowned upon beer bellies, love handles, and stretch marks. There was probably even a superhero-ubervillain required attributes job application.

Some long-winded form you had to sign before you could officially join up with the latest and greatest superhero or ubervillain team. Only tall, svelte women with big b.r.e.a.s.t.s and small waists, and muscle-bound men with chiseled biceps and rock-hard abs need apply.

I sucked in my own squishy stomach. Good thing I wasn't a superhero. I'd definitely flunk that portion of the standard requirements. Sam wouldn't, though. I thought back to that night in my apartment and the feel of his sculpted stomach under my searching fingers. Rock-hard didn't do them justice. His abs were probably carved out of slick, sleek marble. Other things had also been rock-hard . . .

After a minute, I realized I was smiling and staring at nothing. I pushed away my l.u.s.tful memories and walked on. Farther down the hallway was an even bigger version of the game room I'd seen upstairs.

Cl.u.s.ters of chairs and couches crouched around entertainment centers filled with TV sets and stereo systems. A couple of pool b.a.l.l.s sat on a table next to some abandoned cues. Someone's game had been interrupted. A foosball table jutted out from one wall, along with a variety of pinball machines. I spotted shelves upon shelves full of CDs, DVDs, books, and even some board games. What did superheroes play to get themselves pumped up for battle? Carly Simon always worked for me. What did they listen to after they returned home? Jimmy Buffett was my choice for that.

Next, I pa.s.sed the kitchen I'd explored during my escape attempt. It, too, was even larger than the one upstairs. Two refrigerators bore the name Fiera. The fiery superhero could eat two whole refrigerators'

worth of food by herself? I wondered if that was on a daily or weekly basis. Fascinating . . . and a little disgusting. What would the fanboys say if they learned that detail? It probably wouldn't distract them from admiring Fiera's other ample a.s.sets.

I continued on, past five doors with the names Striker, Mr. Sage, Fiera, Tornado, and Hermit embossed on them.

Everyone had his or her own personal suite underground, just like Sam had said. How cozy. I paused in front of the door marked Tornado. My inner voice whispered, and I reached for the doork.n.o.b. No. I wouldn't look in there. I dropped my hand. I had no right to snoop through the things of a dead man. No right at all. Especially this dead man. One I had driven to commit suicide.

I walked on, shadowed by my guilt and sadness. Finally, I reached a set of double doors. There was no window cut into the wall, so I couldn't peek inside. Curious, I pushed one of the doors open and found myself in the biggest private library I'd ever seen. It almost rivaled the Bigtime Public Library for s.p.a.ce and grandeur. Books and magazines and encyclopedias fought for s.p.a.ce on the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

A large film screen hung halfway down one wall, while a ma.s.sive table dominated the middle of the plush room. The hardwood floor gleamed underfoot in the places where it wasn't covered by thick, colorful Persian rugs. It was the closest thing to a control room or Superhero Central that I had seen.

Surely, somebody would come in here sometime soon to check up on something. Either way, I was tired of lugging my heavy boxes down the never-ending hallways, so I sat them down on a small table in the far corner. I roamed through the room, peering into the bookshelves, pulling down maps, spinning the glossy globes round and round.

Finally, I moved over to the table, which boasted five chairs. Computers and wires and high-tech gadgets surrounded one chair. I smiled. Henry's seat. A series of burn marks and scorches marked Fiona's place. Two other chairs revealed nothing about their occupants. A layer of dust covered the fifth and final chair, as if it hadn't been used in a while. I knew whose chair that used to be. A hard lump of KarmaGirl.

guilt formed in my throat. I stared at the enormous F5 insignia carved into the heavy wood and traced my fingers over it. My vision blurred for a moment, then cleared. I s.h.i.+vered, suddenly cold.

The door banged open. I yelped and turned to face it. Fiona stood in the threshold, her mouth open in surprise. Surprise that melted into anger. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing in here?" Fiona's blond hair burst into flames.

Uh-oh.

KarmaGirl.