Heroine Worship

by Sarah Kuhn

  “What’s all this, Bea?” Evie asked, gesturing to her sister’s laptop and stack of papers. “Are you making spreadsheets at the breakfast table again?” She threw Nate—who was known for his love of cataloging data and had been mentoring Bea in various scientific research methods—a mock-disapproving look.

  Yes, heaven forbid that anyone try to do anything resembling work during one of these leisurely breakfasts.

  “I’ve been studying all civilian-submitted reports on supernatural activity that Rose’s Demon Unit has received over the years, trying to put them in some kind of order—and digitizing the shit out of them while doing so,” Bea said, her voice taking on what she probably imagined to be a professional cadence. “They really are a mess.”

  “Mmm, data organization for fun,” Evie said, giving Nate another look. “You are a terrible influence.”

  He gave her a small smile, but with that flicker of uncertainty again. He almost looked . . . nervous. Was something going on with them? Were three months of peaceful bliss wearing on him, too? Or was their peaceful bliss not as peaceful as I imagined?

  So this was what passed for excitement now: cereal car chases and attempts to ferret out my best friend’s relationship issues.

  “It is fun, Big Sis,” Bea countered, sticking out her tongue. “And anyway, I have to find something to do around here since our current state of low demon activity doesn’t call for much of my social media manager prowess, and I’m not all superpowered like you guys.” She waved a hand at Evie and me.

  I shot Evie a meaningful look. Now. Tell her now.

  But Evie just made a face at me and went back to picking through her Lucky Charms. I squelched another wave of frustration. The amount of not doing things around here was spiraling to epic levels.

  “That is so interesting that you would say that, Bea,” I said, as casually as possible. I nudged Evie under the table with my foot. She defiantly moved her foot out of my reach. “So very, very interesting. Don’t you think, Evie?”

  Now everyone was giving me that “did you just grow another head?” look again, but I didn’t care. I was tired of sitting here, dammit, and I was going to make something happen, something that should have happened months ago anyway—

  “Annie!” Evie’s strained voice cut into my thoughts. “Can you help me with a thing in the foyer?”

  I huffed up from my seat and followed her. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others, she stopped, planted her hands on her hips, and glared at me.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Trying to get you to do what you should be doing,” I hissed back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Which is tell Bea about her superpower! She deserves to know. Hell, if we find ourselves attacked by anything even vaguely supernatural again, she needs to know.”

  “And I’ll tell her,” Evie said. “In my own timeframe.”

  “Your timeframe is taking forever—”

  I was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, three staccato raps that shut up both of us. Nobody had knocked on the door in weeks. Months. Nobody in San Francisco needed any superheroing, so who would knock?

  A wisp of feeling sparked in my chest, something bright and sure and just a little bit manic.

  Something’s happening, I thought wildly. It has to be something happening.

  “I’ll get it!” I exclaimed, my voice way too loud.

  I lunged the few steps through the foyer to the front door. Maybe someone needed help. Maybe someone needed saving. Maybe someone needed me.

  It could be something simple, like a cat stuck in a tree. I could most definitely save a cat stuck in a tree. I could make that my new specialty or something. I’d be the best cat-in-a-tree saver San Francisco had ever fucking seen.

  I flung the door open, my heart bounding through my chest, beating so loud I could feel the blood pulse in my ears. A mighty grin of anticipation stretched across my face and my thoughts pinballed through my head much too fast to make coherent sense. This is it, this is it, I don’t know what, but at least it’s something, something to do . . .

  My smile disappeared as soon as I saw who was on the other side of the door.

  “Well, hello there, Aveda Jupiter!” Maisy Kane—reformed half-demon princess, twee lingerie shop owner, annoying blogger—beamed at me.

  She was wearing one of her usual fussy outfits, a red polka dot dress with a matching hair bow and shiny black wedges. When coupled with her demon hybrid appearance—flaky gray skin, crooked mouth, ghoulish glowing eyes—this should have given her the thoroughly bizarre appearance of Minnie Mouse as played by one of the Walking Dead. Instead she somehow pulled it off.

  “Maisy!” Evie shuffled up behind me, eyeing our visitor suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Maisy threw her arms wide, her crooked grin widening. “I have a very big problem. Humongous. Gargantuan.”

  She lowered her voice theatrically, eyes darting from side to side, as if making sure no one else was around to hear whatever shocking revelation was about to come out of her mouth.

  “I need you to come down to my shop and investigate,” she said. “It’s such a big problem—and only San Francisco’s two most glamorous superheroines can fix it!”

  DIARY OF A REFORMED HALF-DEMON PRINCESS:

  PART 34

  By Maisy Kane, Half-Demon Princess Editrix

  Bonjour, my dear ’Friscans! Apologies for the lack of bloggy updates ’round these parts—your pal Maisy has a metric ton o’ stuff going on!

  First off, everyone keeps asking me about my transition to demon hybrid-dom. Dear readers, all I can say is, it’s the absolute tops! My new appearance is quite the conversation-starter and you all know I love nothing more than making friends. Plus, my skin flakes off so much, I never have to exfoliate!

  I’ve made all kinds of upgrades to your favorite quirky neighborhood lingerie emporium, Pussy Queen! Well, maybe it wasn’t your favorite before, but trust me, it will be. In addition to ordering colorful new stock (is it just me, or did Shasta have completely pedestrian taste? Especially for an aspiring demon queen! So much beige, y’all), I’ve asked one of Bay Area fashion’s leading lights, Shruti Dhaliwal, to open a wee pop-up boutique version of her fabulous vintage shop on the premises. Soon, you’ll be able to pair your La Perla with a perfectly preserved frock!

  I’ve also contracted barista Dave—of the dearly departed Sunny Side Café, RIP bestest brunch mimosas—to sling champagne and fancy coffee drinks for all our wonderful customers. There’s no reason to get dehydrated while trying on dainties—and you can quote me on that!

  And yes, the portal that opened up after the Ultimate Battle for San Francisco’s Soul is still very much a presence in the shop. Please feel free to come by and take all the photos you like, no extra charge! Just make sure to tag #pussyqueen on Twitter, Snapchat, and Insta (and maybe even your pal Maisy—@halfdemonprincess—if you’re feeling generous). I recommend keeping a safe distance, though, gentle readers. While said portal still appears to be fairly benign, it does present random bits of odd activity on occasion. And when it comes to the demon Otherworld, one just never knows, does one? Luckily, I’ve got my dear friends Aveda Jupiter and Evie Tanaka on speed dial and I’m extremely diligent about reporting every bit of activity. Girlfriends, thank you for always being there for me! #blessed

  Power Watch: Readers, I’m still getting reports from those of you who noticed power level-ups after that little ol’ earthquake during the Karaoke Battle That Will Live in Infamy! (Howzabout a rematch, Super Evie? Kidding! I could never out-Beyoncé you!) This week, Clarissa Davenport—greeting card designer extraordinaire behind Clarissa’s Creations—wrote in to tell me that her ability to detect a lemon tree anywhere within a one hundred mile radius now extends to all kinds of citrus-growing plants! Wowza! (Who knows what the demons used that powe
r for, but I’m betting it was super-evil.) Interestingly, there are those among you who are still not seeing an upgrade. Some of you report that you continue to be stuck with the same tame abilities you had before. All I can say is, have patience! When I agreed to minion for an aspiring demon queen, I never thought it would lead to being a successful businesswoman who hangs out with superheroine besties on the regular. Just goes to show that you can accomplish anything if you set your mind to it. Or even if you don’t set your mind to it!

  Superheroine Empowerment Corner: This week, A. Jupes and Evie were spotted doing a rare public demonstration for a tour group of underprivileged children. Evie graced the group with a truly jaw-dropping fire show while Aveda perfected her superheroine wave from the sidelines. Nice to see those two keeping busy in our currently evil-free city!

  CHAPTER TWO

  IN THE END, I begged Evie to go. I realize begging looks very unbecoming on a superheroine, but boredom had clearly made me desperate.

  “You know it’s going to be nothing,” she muttered as we dutifully followed Maisy up the long blocks that led to Pussy Queen. “Just like all the other times.”

  “But isn’t that part of our job?” I countered. “To investigate every cry of distress, no matter how small?”

  “Not when they’re all coming from the same person,” Evie said, sending a pointed look toward Maisy’s back. Nate had decided to join our little expedition, and Maisy, who had always nursed a bit of a crush, was dragging him along in front of us, trying to talk about their “shared experiences as fellow half-demons”—though their origin stories were different enough that she had that ghoulish gray-skinned appearance while he looked like “your basic human mad-scientist broody thug hottie,” as Lucy was so fond of putting it.

  Evie’s eyes narrowed further as Maisy inclined her head toward Nate in a way that might be interpreted as flirty. “And not when that portal has done nothing but sit there for the last three months.”

  “Maisy usually calls or texts, though,” I persisted, a thread of whine creeping into my voice. I was becoming less heroic-sounding by the second. “She showed up in person this time, so maybe she really is worried?”

  “The only thing Maisy’s worried about is keeping her blog traffic up,” Evie retorted. “And what better way to do that than a totally contrived in-store appearance by San Francisco’s favorite heroines?” She sighed, softening her words with a smile. “But if you want to check it out, I’m game.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “And about the stuff with Bea earlier: you’re right. I should tell her, I just . . .” She trailed off, gnawing at her lower lip.

  “We’ll figure it out together.” I tried to make my voice reassuring. Emotional support wasn’t usually my forte. “Just like always.”

  Her mouth quirked into a half-smile, and she winked at me. “Like the Heroic Trio: except there’s only two of us.”

  Warmth surged in my chest. The Heroic Trio was an old Hong Kong action movie about a kickass triumvirate of Asian superheroines. Watching it together as kids and seeing superheroines who looked like us had inspired me and Evie in different ways, and the movie remained an essential touchstone of our friendship. That one little phrase reminded me that we were still us, the best version of us—that our recent defeat of an evil demon princess had coincided with Evie and me finally working through some very important friendship issues. Really, that climactic battle had been the culmination of several weeks of drama, which had kicked off when I’d sprained my ankle during a particularly strenuous workout and persuaded Evie to pose as me. Of course her long suppressed fire power decided to make itself known at an extremely inopportune moment and everyone believed Aveda Jupiter was the one with fire all up inside her.

  The weeks I’d been laid up with that sprained ankle had driven me crazy. As I’d watched Evie successfully take on the Aveda Jupiter mantle, as I’d watched the entire city fall in love with her, I’d felt the role I’d painstakingly constructed for myself slipping away—and with it, any sense of identity I’d ever had. I’d felt what it was to not be needed. And I hadn’t liked it one bit.

  It had caused me to act like . . . well, “total raging bitch” was being generous. But it had also forced me to realize I’d been a bad friend to Evie for a good long while, so wrapped up in my quest for perfection and general superheroine badassery that I couldn’t see our bond had become co-dependent and fractured and that I had a tendency to lay all my diva baggage directly at her feet. Or maybe “dump it on her head” was more fitting.

  I wasn’t exactly known for being subtle.

  In the end, we’d finally repaired things. Evie had grown a backbone and become the superheroine she was meant to be, and I’d realized how badly I’d taken her for granted and made a vow to work on my friend skills. I was determined to be Aveda Jupiter 2.0: Awesome Superheroine Who Is Also the Most Awesome Friend. Evie—who’d been there for me through thick and thin, who was the closest thing I had to a sister—deserved nothing less. And when Aveda Jupiter sets her mind to something, that something is as good as done.

  But in addition to not giving me the opportunity to be a superheroine, our current state of not doing things wasn’t giving me much of a chance to prove my friend skills, either. I’d tried to make small gestures, like going along with her whole breakfast course order thing even though I secretly couldn’t stand it, but I wanted something bigger. Grander. Something more Aveda Jupiter.

  At least Evie had moved beyond being a personal assistant and come into her own as a superheroine. Now we were true partners, ready to fight evil and confide in each other and watch old Hong Kong action movies on an endless loop. The very thought made me smile, and I felt myself standing up a little straighter as we made our way to Pussy Queen.

  “You know,” I said to her, “I was thinking a screening of The Heroic Trio would actually be perfect fodder for a personal appearance. We could do a Q&A afterward, talk about how our first time seeing Asian women be superheroes onscreen inspired us to be superheroes in real life—”

  “Or,” Evie interrupted, giving me an amused look. “We could watch it together at home on the iPad. Which doesn’t require getting out of our pajamas.” She gave my arm a playful nudge. “Clearly the superior option.”

  Sigh. Clearly.

  I kept trying to build our personal appearance empire—in addition to giving us something useful to do, it seemed like a good way of keeping ourselves relevant in a city that didn’t currently need saving from demons. We were like Olympic athletes, I reasoned, and this is what we did between Olympics. But Evie almost never wanted to do the appearances. And no one ever requested me by myself, even though my telekinesis had gotten so much cooler after my earthquake-induced power level-up. I knew it wasn’t as showy as actual fire, but it was still pretty freakin’ cool.

  I would just have to work harder to convince her that these appearances were necessary to our continued existence as superheroines. Especially if the Olympics never came around again.

  The door chimes meowed as we entered the store. Ever since Maisy had taken over for Shasta, the place had quadrupled its quirk level. Shasta was the demon princess and aspiring queen responsible for the almost-apocalypse that had nearly destroyed San Francisco three months ago. She was also Nate’s mom, which should have caused some post-battle awkwardness, but didn’t seem to be a problem thus far. Everyone at HQ understood complicated parental issues.

  I know I certainly did.

  Shasta had set up a cover as a very human lingerie shop owner and sidekick to high-profile blogger Maisy. She’d actually been trying to take over the city for years, having staked out Earth as a truly fabulous realm, ripe for invasion. She’d tried a number of plans, including opening the very first Otherworld portal in San Francisco eight years ago. Her raiding party of humanoid demons had come through that one, set on invasion. But things didn’t work out that way. Shasta’s portal was so shitty and u
nstable it snapped shut immediately, killing her invasion team and sending their special demon superpowers into various San Franciscan bodies—like mine and Evie’s.

  After that, she’d been trapped here with no meaningful way of communicating with the Otherworld. She’d figured out how to open smaller, less powerful portals all over the city, but none of her grand plans had really worked until earlier this year, when she’d learned that turning a certain number of humans into human-demon hybrids would allow her to open a permanent conduit to the Otherworld. Maisy and a few other San Franciscans had fallen victim to this plan.

  Maisy seemed to be taking her new hybrid status in stride, though, and I couldn’t help but admire her business sense. Shasta had basically no imagination, so she’d kept everything pretty basic and boring, just a few sad racks of muted pastels, all cotton. Maisy had added a cavalcade of colors, prints, and textures, and organized them in a manner that was inventive and inviting. A table at the entrance featured a display of colorful panties, fanned out to look like a rainbow. A headless mannequin sported a peek-a-boo lace bra, matching thigh-high stockings, and a silky robe falling off its shoulders. Yet another display spotlighted underwear with animal prints, scattered artfully on top of a bearskin rug. And in opposite back corners were Maisy’s latest additions: the small coffee and champagne bar manned by Dave, and Shruti’s pop-up shop featuring vintage clothing and accessories. A light jasmine scent wafted through the air, bringing the whole room together.

  The only off-note—and okay, it was kind of a big one—was the dormant portal smack-dab in the center of the room. It was an angry black slash on the floor, a stark reminder that Pussy Queen had played host to one of the most vicious demon battles in recent history. This black slash was all that remained of Shasta’s attempt to open a permanent portal to the Otherworld. Most of the portals we’d encountered previously had been cute, glittery, golden things on the ceilings of various San Francisco establishments. This portal, however, was different—a pit of darkness on the floor. Evie had shoved Shasta’s ass into the portal and almost been killed in the process. I was nearly passed out for most of the battle but had managed to use my telekinesis to get her out of the way of the scary-looking bolt of energy that shot out of the portal and smacked her in the chest.