Heroine Complex (Book 4): Haunted Heroine

by Kuhn, Sarah

  I slumped back against the headboard. “Right,” I said, unable to keep the deflated tone out of my voice.

  He didn’t appear to notice. He gave me a slight smile and patted my hand. “I’ll check on you later.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I murmured, as he stood and left, not bothering to look back at me.

  I slumped down further and sighed, pulling my vibrator out from the tangle of blankets.

  “Just you and me now, friend,” I said to the vibrator. I waggled my eyebrows suggestively. “Whaddya say we elevate my blood pressure?”

  * * *

  Much later, Aveda came stomping in (luckily, I had finished my strenuous physical activity by then), waving her phone around.

  “Emails!” she sang out. “We need to clean out our Tanaka/Jupiter business mailbox. There are already several hundred requests for interviews about—”

  “I’m not talking to anyone about being pregnant,” I said flatly. “Maisy can post all the garbage she wants—no press about this until I’m ready.”

  “Of course,” Aveda said, plunking herself down next to me. “I’ll put those emails in a special folder for later. We also have a ton of requests for baby product endorsements and special appearances and—”

  I gave her a look.

  “Let’s just put those in the ‘for later’ folder too,” she said hastily. “We have plenty of other important correspondence to deal with.”

  “If you’re trying to distract me from feeling off-and-on gross, busy work is one way to go,” I groaned.

  “All part of my job as your best friend!” she sang out, tapping on the screen with vigor.

  “Did you happen to see Nate downstairs?” I said. “He said he had a bunch of analyses he was working on, but I was trying to figure out what those were in relation to—we don’t have any active or unresolved supernatural incidents, do we?”

  “At the moment, no,” Aveda said, gnawing on her lower lip as she moved another hefty list of messages into the folder. I tried to resist scrutinizing the screen too hard. I didn’t want to know how many there were. “Although it could have something to do with whatever Bea’s working on in Maui. She regularly sends him her reports to get his take on everything. Or perhaps he’s taken some new samples from the Pussy Queen portal.”

  The Pussy Queen portal was a big, black pit on the floor of the local lingerie boutique owned and operated by Maisy. It was the very portal I’d pushed my future mother-in-law Shasta into during our fight. Though it was closed and mostly dormant, it was the source of the supernatural energy that kept leaking into our world, causing various demonic disturbances.

  Bea’s recent adventures had led her to come up with a new theory about all that energy. She’d encountered a demon posing as our dead mother who had been trying to trap a certain number of human souls in the Otherworld in order to gain control of the Bay Area. My sister had nearly driven me to an early grave while she tried to puzzle out what was happening, jumping into the Otherworld several times—leaping without looking.

  Luckily, Bea had stopped the Mom-Demon—and developed a theory that all that supernatural energy leakage had rubbed the walls between our world and the Otherworld perilously thin in certain places. That meant there were possibly other ways demons could get through. And in locations that weren’t San Francisco. Maui had recently played host to a string of bizarre events, which was why a Demon Unit had been set up there.

  But so far, we hadn’t encountered much out of the ordinary—well, our version of ordinary.

  Usually, I was grateful for a little downtime, but at the moment, I kind of wanted something to do. Something to take my mind off the trepidation—and okay, sheer panic—I felt whenever I thought about the baby. And whenever I pasted on my big, fake smile to cover it up.

  “I’m sure it’s something like that,” I said, pasting on that very smile. “He’ll always find an analysis of something to do.”

  Although right now, I wish he was doing me instead.

  Jesus Christ, Preggo Hormones Evie—get it together.

  “Maybe we should actually hire someone to do this,” Aveda said, gesturing to the email screen.

  “Now that Bea’s gone?” I said, trying to shoo away my lingering horny thoughts. “I mean. Not gone. But not really . . .”

  “Doing this anymore, being our assistant-type person?” Aveda supplied. “But she hasn’t done it for a while, has she? And before her . . .”

  “It was me,” I said, smiling faintly and resting my head on Aveda’s shoulder. “Checking the email, cleaning up all the messes, dealing with you.” I elbowed her in the ribs. “How far we’ve come.”

  She smiled back at me. “Indeed.”

  We sat in silence for a moment while Aveda scrolled through emails, deleting some and flagging others to get to later. A pleasant, companionable silence—a silence that truly did represent how far we’d come. It was nice to feel bonded to her like this, to feel like we could simply exist in our friendship rather than needing to discuss it to death or renegotiate its boundaries or . . .

  And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about that niggle of doubt that kept making itself known at the most inopportune moments. I couldn’t show her how I really felt about Nate being worried and the baby and what was going to happen after the baby—

  “Hey, what’s this—a grad school reunion?” Aveda’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. One of her perfectly manicured nails—done up in a badass matte black—hovered over the email invitation. “Wow, look at that, Evelyn—you’re an esteemed alum!”

  “I’m not an alum, I didn’t even graduate,” I groaned. “I dropped the hell out. I don’t know why Morgan invited me, I’m not exactly the kind of model student example they need to sell their program. And they sent this to my personal inbox, too, why are they so thirsty?”

  “Of course they invited you,” Aveda said, rolling her eyes. “You’re a badass superheroine who saves San Francisco from demons on the regular—they want the shine of that local-girl-makes-good fame. And isn’t Morgan an all-women’s college? So it’s also, like, empowering.”

  “Undergrad is women and non-binary students, grad is all genders,” I clarified.

  “Well, anyway, what are your classmates doing now, being boring old professors?” Aveda said.

  “Yes, shaping and educating the fine young minds of our next generation,” I said, throwing her an amused look. “Not important at all. At least, I assume that’s what they’re doing, I haven’t kept in touch with anyone.”

  “I’m sure they’d love to see you again,” Aveda said.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “It’s not like I made any lifelong friendships while I was there—I was always way too busy, with classes and work and trying to keep both myself and Bea alive.”

  “Anywaaaay,” Aveda trilled, giving me a look that meant I was most definitely being a spoilsport.

  “Fine, let me see that.” I took the phone from her and scrutinized the invite, which promised a big party and lots of interacting with old classmates and professors—all things I wasn’t particularly excited about. “Eh. I kind of left in disgrace, remember?”

  “They don’t know you’re the one who burned down the library,” Aveda countered. “And anyway, it was an accident. No one knows you left in disgrace, they just know you left.”

  “I’m surprised they even know that,” I snorted.

  The path that led me away from grad school was actually one of the more dramatic chapters in my personal history. It had involved the end of my relationship with Richard, when it had all come crashing down—literally.

  Because I’d entered the Morgan College library—another old, beautiful campus building—and spied Richard totally doing it amidst the stacks with Ms. Clarion, the effortlessly cool professor of Human Sexuality.

  I’d been so angry—and for once, my anger
wasn’t something I could shove down or repress or talk myself out of. Pure mad consumed my entire body and fire was shooting out of my hands before I even knew what was happening. No one had died, but people had gotten hurt. The library had crumbled to the ground and I’d fled grad school, terrified that my power would do something even worse the next time I couldn’t control it. I showed up sobbing on Aveda’s doorstep—she’d hired me as her personal assistant and that was that.

  Once we’d started making a good living off of our combined sponsorships and such, I’d sent the school a very generous, anonymous donation to rebuild the library.

  “I’m saying, it’s not really disgrace if they don’t know you were responsible,” Aveda said. “You never told anyone that was you, correct? Didn’t they end up blaming it on faulty wiring and the building being really freaking old?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Most people outside of Team Tanaka/Jupiter don’t know my true origin story.”

  “And have you been back to campus—you know, since the whole . . . incident?”

  “No,” I said, still staring at the email. “There was never any need.”

  “Well, then! I’d say there’s definitely a need now,” Aveda said.

  I turned to look at her—and was dismayed to see she had her Idea Face on. Usually Aveda’s Idea Face meant she was about to suggest something I most definitely wasn’t going to like.

  “You’re about to embark on a new chapter of your life,” she said, taking the phone back from me. “You need closure from this one. I’ve noticed you looking rather introspective recently, Evie, and you know I can read you like a book. I think you’re suffering from . . .” She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “A loss of superheroine mojo.”

  “Um, what?” I said. “What is that?”

  “Every accomplished superheroine goes through it.” Aveda patted my hand and gave me a sage look. “We haven’t had much to battle since Bea defeated her Mom-Demon and that means you’re starting to doubt your ability to do this thing you were meant to do.” She set the phone down and laid a hand on my arm, her eyes widening earnestly. “Believe me, I completely understand. I went through the very same thing right before your wedding. And that means I know exactly how to help you through it.”

  I studied her, trying not to shake my head in disbelief. That wasn’t what I was feeling at all.

  “This reunion will help you get your confidence back—showing off to your former classmates, letting them fawn all over you.” She grinned and picked up the phone again. “Plus . . .” She cocked an eyebrow as she scanned through the email. “It’s all the way over in the East Bay and it takes place over a long weekend—this coming weekend, in fact!”

  “Why are they sending me an invite now for an event that’s in a week?” I said, shaking my head. “Are dropouts on the C List?”

  “It can be like a fun little vacation,” Aveda persisted. She nodded approvingly to herself, her Idea Face getting more intense.

  I’d been gearing myself up to protest, but her last few words lodged themselves in my brain, stopping me.

  A vacation.

  Hmm.

  I had to admit—the idea of being by myself, away from HQ and the smothering attention of the rest of the team and the paparazzi that were probably about to camp out on our doorstep was . . . appealing. I wouldn’t have to pretend like I was simply overjoyed about the baby. I wouldn’t have to reassure everyone nine million times that I was fine. I wouldn’t have to dodge press.

  And most importantly, I wouldn’t have to act like I was glowing.

  I would not be visiting the library. Aveda was wrong, I didn’t need any more closure there. But maybe a few days in a totally different environment would give me the chance to collect myself, focus my thoughts, get my head in the right place so I could finally be genuinely happy about this next chapter of my supposedly perfect life.

  Bonus: I wouldn’t have to try to not look hurt when my husband rebuffed my latest advances and looked at me like I was some kind of fragile-ass lab rat.

  “I think you’re right,” I said, nodding at the phone.

  She blinked at me. “What? Are you seriously . . . agreeing with me?”

  “You expected me to disagree with you? Just like that?”

  “I have my Idea Face on.” Aveda shrugged. “I was prepared for a fight to the death.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pass me the phone, I’ll respond in the affirmative. A vacation sounds nice.”

  “Already done—look, now I’m your personal assistant!” Aveda said, tapping away on the phone. “And don’t worry, I included all the info about your plus-one.”

  I stopped laughing, the frozen smile I was more accustomed to these days overtaking my face. “Plus . . . what, now?”

  “Plus! One!” Aveda said, gesturing grandly to herself. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

  My frozen smile disappeared entirely. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  AVEDA JUPITER NEVER does anything halfway. You’d think I would have learned this by now.

  Alas, I was still somehow surprised that Aveda’s vision of going to the reunion was much, much different than mine. My vision had mostly involved lots of peace and quiet and finally getting to relax my face from the frozen smile that seemed to be its default expression these days.

  Aveda’s, meanwhile, involved—

  “Snacks!” she crowed, twirling a tote bag stuffed to the gills around her head as she skipped over to Lucy’s car. It was a week later, and we were about to go on our college reunion adventure. Lucy, who was off on her Maui honeymoon, had graciously offered to let us borrow her car for the weekend. “Because this is a road trip, isn’t it? I have Spam musubi, shrimp chips, Pocky—”

  “Annie.” I shook my head at her. “We’re just going across the bridge. It will take less than an hour. It’s an extremely short road trip.”

  “But I’ve never been on a road trip before!” she exclaimed, waving the tote bag more vigorously. “I want us to have the full experience. I made us some mixes, too—imagine us driving over the bridge, wind in our hair, singing at the top of our lungs! Wait.” She stopped in her tracks, her face turning deathly serious. “Evie. Is this our babymoon?!”

  “A babymoon is usually for the people who made the baby,” I said. “So, no.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me. “Spoilsport. Invite your husband along, then!”

  “My husband definitely does not want to come along,” I said, already wondering if there was a way I could reverse my RSVP and stay home.

  “Interesting, because I don’t think you actually asked him,” a deep voice rumbled behind me.

  I turned around to find Nate, looking . . . well, I wasn’t sure how he was looking. I couldn’t tell these days. Maybe moderately put out?

  “Oops!” Aveda said, her eyebrows quirking upward. “I’ll be in the car!”

  And with that, she disappeared.

  “I love how she’s my ‘personal assistant’ until I actually need her for something,” I murmured.

  Nate gave me a slight smile, his harsh features softening as some of his put out look melted away. “Was she supposed to issue my official invitation? You told me you were going, but I didn’t realize it was a . . .” His gaze flicked over to Aveda, making herself comfortable in the car. It looked like she was already halfway through a bag of shrimp chips. “. . . a team activity,” he finished.

  “It’s not, exactly.” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t think this was the kind of thing you were into. You know: Parties. Forced small talk. Bad food.”

  “Are these the kinds of things anyone’s into?” he said, a touch of amusement lighting his eyes. “But I would go to be with you. Always.”

  “I know,” I said softly, fiddling with the hem of my t-shirt. “I
just . . .”

  I can’t take you hovering over me, looking at me like I’m going to shatter if I make one wrong move. But not touching me—not the way I need you to.

  “Evie.” He reached over and cupped my face in his hands, his gaze turning tender in that way that poked at the softest parts of my heart. It was a gaze I hadn’t seen much of lately, and it made me lose my breath for a moment. “It’s all right. I know things have been in a state of change, with Bea leaving and this pregnancy and . . . well, everything. Perhaps a weekend away with your best friend will do you good. We can go on a—what did Aveda call it?”

  “Babymoon,” I said, laughing a little.

  “Babymoon,” he said, smiling more fully. “When it’s closer to the due date.”

  “Deal,” I said, standing on my tiptoes so I could kiss him goodbye.

  I still loved kissing him more than maybe anything in the entire world. I leaned into it, running my hands over the hard muscles of his chest, nibbling at his bottom lip in that way that I knew turned him on. His hands went to my waist, pulling my body against his, and I slid my fingertips under his shirt, loving the way his skin heated against my palms. I was just starting to wonder again if I could cancel my RSVP and drag my husband back inside, when he abruptly broke the kiss.

  “Buh?” I whimpered before I could stop myself.

  “Sorry,” he said, his breathing heavy. “I . . .” He shook his head, and reached over to fix my mussed hair. “We still need to be careful about your heart rate.”

  All that tenderness disappeared. His gaze went clinical. Distant.

  “Have a good time—I love you,” he said, giving me the slight smile you might give a business acquaintance you were particularly fond of.

  “Love you, too,” I said, my heart sinking as I turned to go.