Karma Girl Part 20

Fiona's hair hissed and sizzled. I scooted away from the sudden flare-up. Maybe I should cut down on the b.i.t.c.hy remarks. Making Fiona, er, Fiera mad could be hazardous to my health.

Fiona raged on for another ten minutes about Joanne James and her cheapskate tendencies. I made mental notes. The hot-tempered fas.h.i.+on designer had quite a way with words. She spat out several four-letters ones I'd never heard before.

While Sam tried to calm Fiona down, I gathered up the rest of the dirty dishes, dumped them in one of the stainless steel sinks, and rinsed them off. A chill swept over me, and my vision blurred. The room spun around, and I put my hands on the countertop to keep myself from falling.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, putting a hand on my back. The warmth drove away the cold and ignited a fire of a different sort deep inside me. What was it about him that affected me so?

I shook my head. The world returned to normal, but I felt tired. My head throbbed. "I'm fine. It's just been a long day. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. Good night."

I left the kitchen, trying hard not to collapse. I didn't want to get dragged back down to the sick bay.

Sam started to follow me, but Fiona called out to him. Sam hesitated.

"I'll be fine." I waved him away. I needed some time to myself right now. Time to think.

"Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

Our eyes locked. I s.h.i.+vered at the heat in his gaze. I needed something, all right. Him. That was the problem.

Sam headed back into the kitchen. I crept through the manor with one hand on the wall. After about five agonizing minutes, I reached my room, shut the door, and collapsed on the bed.

I stared up at the ceiling, and my thoughts turned to Sam. I closed my eyes, remembering every detail of the evening. His quick wit, his smile, his laugh, his voice. The way he kissed me. The way he touched me. The way he melted my defenses. If Fiona hadn't walked in, we would have made love in the kitchen.

d.a.m.n.

I sighed. It was for the best, though. I didn't need to get any more involved with Sam Sloane. We could never have a future together. There was too much bad karma between us.

My inner voice chided me. I was already in too deep. I'd learned so much about the billionaire-turned-superhero tonight, and I wanted to know even more. What his hopes and dreams were, how and why he'd become a superhero, whether he thought about me as much as I did about him.

KarmaGirl.

Sam.

His brilliant silver eyes were the last thing I thought of before my strange symptoms overcame me.

KarmaGirl.

18.

For the next two days, I worked feverishly on Malefica's ident.i.ty, stopping only to eat and collapse into bed at night. There were no more intimate moments with Sam. No more long talks. No more make-out sessions in the kitchen. I kept my distance from him, and he did the same. I didn't know whether to be hurt or relieved the superhero didn't press the issue. It was for the best, but I still wanted him desperately. Dreamed about him even.

After dinner, the others put on their superhero suits and went out to apprehend the criminals that prowled the streets of Bigtime. There were no run-ins with the Triad, but it was only a matter of time.

Malefica, Frost, and Scorpion were out there somewhere, plotting their next move. They were up to something. My inner voice constantly grumbled about it. I just didn't know what it could possibly be.

While the Fearless Five made the streets safe, I was left alone to pace through the halls of Sublime. I never went with the Fearless Five on any of their forays into the real world. They kept that part of themselves separate from me, and I respected their privacy.

But that didn't keep me from watching them on TV. Every night I went down to the underground library and tuned the monitors to SNN, the Superhero News Network. The round-the-clock TV station was dedicated to, you guessed it, all things superhero. From in-depth profiles to the latest action-figure and video-game releases, the station covered everything that had anything to do with superheroes. But the station got its biggest ratings from its live coverage. At least once a day, the anchor went out to some reporter on the scene of an ongoing superhero-ubervillain battle. Or one of the reporters interviewed Swifte or some other hero about his latest, greatest rescue of a grandma wandering out into traffic or a kitten from a towering tree. Sometimes, they even read the latest diatribes and demands from ubervillains like Mad Maria or Noxious or Captain Sus.h.i.+.

I sat down, put my feet up on my table, and flipped on SNN. When I'd first come to Bigtime, I hadn't watched SNN. I hadn't wanted the station's stories to influence my own reporting or color my investigations into the Fearless Five. I hadn't wanted to hear something on SNN and spend weeks investigating it only to discover that some newbie had gotten her facts wrong.

But now, I watched the channel every night. It was the only way I could keep track of the Fearless Five on their missions. The only way I had of knowing whether or not Sam was coming back safe and sound.

That had suddenly become very important to me.

I sat through a program about how the Invisible Ingenues were, well, invisible to men and had a hard time finding dates. Suddenly, the anchor touched his earpiece. His words grew sharp and clipped.

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to take you out live to the streets of Bigtime." The anchor turned to two chairs that looked empty. "Sorry, girls."

"Don't worry. We're used to it." A soft, feminine voice floated through the monitor.

"We now take you to our woman on the street, Kelly Caleb. Kelly, what's the situation?"

The camera cut to a young, thin, pretty blond woman with a wide smile and unnaturally white teeth.

"Well, James, it seems that Bigtime's favorite superheroes, the Fearless Five, have cornered a gang of armed robbers in an alley across the street. The superheroes picked up the robbers' trail after they tripped the silent alarm at Jewel's Jewel Emporium in downtown Bigtime. Let's see how the Five are faring."

The camera zoomed over to the alley, and I perched on the edge of my seat. I had an urge for popcorn.

A body flew out of the dark hole and landed with an audible crack on the sidewalk. The robber, who was KarmaGirl.

wearing black clothes and a tattered ski mask, let out a low groan. Five more bodies followed in quick succession.

Striker strode out of the shadows, followed by Fiera and Mr. Sage. My mouth went dry. Good grief, the man knew how to wear leather well. Especially on TV. I wasn't the only one who thought so. The camera panned across the street, where a large group of twenty- and thirty-something women stood behind a police barricade.

"Striker! Striker! He's our man! If he can't spank us, no one can!" the women cheered in unison.

They shook their booties and waved and clapped. A couple of them even sported cheerleader uniforms and sparkling silver pom-poms. Tramps.

Kelly Caleb trotted over to the superheroes as fast as her stilettos would let her. She ignored Fiera and Mr. Sage and stuck her microphone in Striker's face.

"Striker, Kelly Caleb with SNN. What's the situation?"

Striker seemed baffled by her obvious question. He gestured at the moaning, groaning robbers. A couple of cops came over and started slapping handcuffs on them. "The robbers have been apprehended, as you can see. The police are taking them into custody."

Kelly opened her mouth to ask him something else, when a woman shoved past her.

"Striker! I love you! Be mine!"

The woman, one of the pom-pom carriers, wrapped something that looked like a bra around Striker's neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him on the mouth.

I gasped. The brazen hussy!

The kiss went on . . . and on . . . and on . . . I threw my Rubik's Cube at one of the monitors. It bounced off and dropped to the floor.

"Get your hands off him, you s.l.u.t!" I shouted.

Fiera came to Striker's rescue and yanked the woman back. "That's enough of that," she snapped. "Have a little respect for yourself, lady."

For once, I was grateful to the hotheaded superhero. Any other time, I would have thought Striker looked like a clown with a white bra draped over his black suit. But I wasn't in a humorous mood now.

"Time to go," Mr. Sage said. "Kelly, thank you for your interest and stellar reporting, as usual. Until next time."

Mr. Sage kissed her hand. Kelly blushed and stuttered something incoherent. Smooth. Very smooth. Mr.

Sage was another hero who knew how to work the media.

The Fearless Five jogged away. The women screamed for Striker to stop. Bras, panties, and other articles of clothing sailed after the s.e.xy superhero. My hands curled into fists. A large black van skidded to a halt at the end of the street. The door slid back, and the superheroes dived inside. The van sped away, trailed by s.e.x-starved women shouting phone numbers and lewd suggestions.

I snapped off the monitor and glared into s.p.a.ce. Striker wasn't their man. He was mine. I sighed. No, he wasn't mine either. No matter how much I wanted him to be.

Another day pa.s.sed, and I was still no closer to uncovering Malefica's ident.i.ty. I threw down my pen in disgust. I'd been over and over all the information that I had. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Malefica might as well have not even existed as far as I was getting.

I picked up a Rubik's Cube from my makes.h.i.+ft desk in the library, slid the rows of colors round and round, and muttered obscenities about Malefica's parentage.

"Carmen, that's not very nice," Henry chided, staring at me over the top of his computer monitor.

KarmaGirl.

"Well, Malefica's not a very nice person," I snapped.

I finished the Rubik's Cube, put it down, and scooted over to the far side of my desk, where I had started a jigsaw puzzle. I'd completed the border yesterday. Now, I was trying to fill in the center of the puzzle, a picture of purple pansies. However, the cheery colors did little to ease my frustrations.

After a few minutes, the puzzle pieces blurred. My head started to throb. I groaned and closed my eyes.

"Another headache?"

"Unfortunately." I rubbed my aching temples.

According to Chief Newman, I was still feeling the after-effects from the dart Frost had shot me with.

The chief hadn't been able to identify the exact drug the ubervillain used. I reached for the giant bottle of aspirin perched on my desk, poured out two pills, and swallowed them.

"Maybe you need a break," Henry suggested. "We're going to do some training this afternoon. Would you like to watch?"

"Training?"

"It's something we do once a month. We go through battle simulations, plot strategies, test our powers, things like that. War games. It's Sam's way of making sure we stay fresh and sharp."

I eyed the piles of papers on my desk. Anything sounded better than sorting through more boring articles detailing Malefica's impeccable sense of style and expensive tastes. Plus, I was more than a little curious to see the Fearless Five in action again.

"Let the games begin," I said.

Henry led me down a hallway I hadn't explored. This one twisted and turned like a snake writhing along the floor. It went deeper and deeper underground until it seemed as though we were in the middle of the earth itself.

We reached a thick metal door, and Henry punched in the 555 code. The door slid open, revealing a long hallway with various rooms branching off it. Sam, Fiona, and Chief Newman stood in the center of the hallway, already in costume.

"There you are, Henry. We've been waiting for you," Mr. Sage said.

I drank in the sight of Striker. His black leather suit hugged every part of his firm body. Our eyes met.

The superhero shot me a quick smile, which I shyly returned.

"What's she doing here?" Fiera hissed. Her hair sparked and cracked with fire. "Don't we have any secrets left?"

"She wanted to watch," Henry said.

The tall black man went to a door marked EQUIPMENT and punched in the code. He gestured at me, and I walked inside. The others followed.

My mouth dropped open. Rows and rows of superhero suits hung behind gla.s.s doors along one side of the room. The colorful costumes provided a bright, almost gaudy, contrast to the gray, metal walls.

Another gla.s.s case contained boots and gloves and masks galore, all lined up from largest to smallest and sorted by color. Stacks of swords identical to the two Striker carried glistened from their place on steel racks anch.o.r.ed to another wall. Whips, utility belts, and various other odds and ends sat on stands in the middle of the room just waiting to be grabbed and used. The area contained enough suits and gizmos to equip an entire army of superheroes. I truly was in Superhero Central.

"This is incredible. How much money do you spend on all this stuff?" I whispered.

"Too much. Why do you think I'm such a ruthless businessman? Somebody's got to pay for all of this,"

Striker quipped. "Being a superhero isn't cheap."

KarmaGirl.

Fiera put her hands on her hips. "My fas.h.i.+on designs accounted for a good portion of our budget last year. Certainly more than Henry and my father's meager contributions."

"Yes, well, some of us aren't independently wealthy," Henry replied. "Ask Carmen. She knows how badly journalists are paid, especially those at The Expose. Morgana Madison has Striker beat in the ruthless category."

"She's something, all right," Striker said in a wry tone.

A vague thought swirled around in my mind. Something connected to karma- "Can we get started already?" Fiera asked. "I have clients I need to see later."

The thought went down the drain of my brain.

Henry walked to a door marked TRAINING. He entered the code, and it slid open. We trooped inside.

The room reminded me of a recording studio. A control panel with thousands of b.u.t.tons and switches and lights lined one wall. A window situated over the panel overlooked a sunken, metal room the size of a football field. I eyed the scorch marks on the walls and floor below. Interesting.

Striker, Fiera, and Mr. Sage cl.u.s.tered around a locker. Each one grabbed a silver helmet and put it on.

The helmets had black visors that covered the superheroes' eyes, along with microphones attached to one side. Henry punched b.u.t.tons and threw switches on the control panel.

"Everybody turn his or her helmet on," he said.

The visors darkened, and flickering lights reflected down onto the superheroes' faces. The visor seemed to be some sort of interactive screen. Curiouser and curiouser.