by Sarah Kuhn
He met my eyes. The blankness was gone. In its place was . . . well, it wasn’t quite the warmth and teasing I thought of as his usual expression. It was something else, something I couldn’t quite get a read on.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “We were working on being friends. And we do need to plan an engagement party together. So let’s try to do both of those things.”
I gave him a brisk, business-like nod. “Excellent.”
He nodded back, flashed me a half-smile—there was that thing in his eyes I couldn’t quite read again—and left the room.
I leaned back against the counter and looked around. I was alone. Everyone else had cleared out. I’d been too wrapped up in my exchange with Scott to notice. I’d accomplished a lot, though.
Give best friend a much-needed pep talk—check!
Confront team member and maybe-friend who’s been treating you like a robot—check!
Keep everything running smoothly re: planning the wedding of the year while also figuring out how to track down the rogue puppy demon—check, check, check!
And once I tracked it down, I’d figure out a way to punch it.
I knew I would.
DIARY OF A REFORMED HALF-DEMON PRINCESS:
PART 37
By Maisy Kane, Half-Demon Princess Editrix
Morning, my dear flowers of ’Frisco! I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who commented and/or wrote in to compliment me on the glorious Pussy Queen proposal video that will surely be looked back on as the first chapter in our city’s greatest romance to ever unfold! Of course, the credit isn’t all mine to take. I was merely lucky enough to have my little ol’ shop chosen as the site of this historic moment and most credit should go to my dear friends Evie Tanaka and Nate Jones for deciding there was no better place! #natevie4evah!
And yes, to answer one of the biggest FAQs coming my way: of course you can count on me to provide the latest and greatest updates about what is sure to be the wedding of the century! As you all know by now, our darling bride-to-be was spotted shopping for a gown at Indie Fashion Market (which she heard about thanks to a tip from yours truly!) and the situation got a little out of control. Ladies, I know a wedding is a big deal, but it sounds like some of you in the bridal population of San Francisco are taking things to extreme levels! Let’s learn a lesson from Evie and harness that power for good! She’s always so wonderfully down to earth, with the Chucks and the messy hair and, well . . . it’s refreshing to see that in both a bride and a superheroine! Take note: you don’t have to be an over-the-top, glitter-encrusted diva to be beloved by an entire city! Better to be your most relatable, likable self!
You can catch video of the entire bridal tent incident on our Pussy Queen YouTube channel! Watch and thrill as Evie finds her dream dress, only to have it nearly ripped away from her! Aveda Jupiter, Evie’s newly minted maid of honor was also on the scene, using her trademark intimidation tactics to try to get the crowd under control. Constructive criticism, A. Jupes: you catch more flies with honey! Evie would be the first to tell you that.
COMMENTS
HaightHoney2000: I saw this on YouTube! That one bride was all up in Evie’s biz-nass over a dress and then that other lady’s amazing hair power took over?! Luckily it all seemed to be a misunderstanding and Evie is way too gracious to get in a true brawl with anyone—even if it is over a to-die-for dress!
IWantToElope: Was that a Marcus Wong our adorbs Miss Tanaka was wearing? The shape looked like one of his!
QuirkyBride: Don’t think so—I’ve practically memorized his catalog from this season in anticipation of my appt at his salon next week!!!
IWantToElope: Ooooooh, luuuuuuuuucky!
HaightHoney2000: I love that Evie seems so sweet and normal.
QuirkyBride: She needs to give her maid of honor a few tips in that area. I heard from fellow brides on the scene that Aveda totally cut the line—flounced up to the front like she owned the place and started doling out orders to everyone! Bullied a security guard, even! Poor Evie must’ve been soooo embarrassed!
IWantToElope: Maybe that’s why she got upset. Aveda put way too much pressure on her and stressed her out! Who wouldn’t have a bit of a meltdown?!
HaightHoney2000: Ugh, that’s the last thing anyone needs, a pushy maid of honor who wants to steal your glory! Aveda needs to learn that there’s only room for one diva per wedding and that diva is THE BRIDE.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I MAY HAVE checked off a bunch of important tasks on my mental list, but there were certain things a list just couldn’t account for. Like my mother, who decided to show up on our doorstep the next day.
“Oh . . . uh . . . Mom,” I said. It wasn’t much of a greeting, but she’d taken me by surprise. She stared back at me, unblinking and still. Even her tight formation of black curls, the success perm so many Asian moms adopt in later middle age (Evie and I referred to it as Asian Old Lady Helmet Hair and had made a pact that we would never let each other succumb to it) remained unmoved by the San Francisco breeze. For a moment, I had the wild thought that she was a statue rather than my actual mother. But then she looked me up and down, and I came to my senses. No statue could possibly summon a look that disapproving.
“Anne,” she said, brandishing a small, carefully wrapped package, “I have brought Evie an engagement present.”
“Another one?” I stepped to the side so she could bustle her way into the Victorian. “She got the oranges you sent over yesterday. We’ve barely made a dent in them.”
I was already scanning my brain, trying to think of how I could get her in and out in the most efficient manner. I had about a million maid-of-honor tasks to get through, including figuring out catering for the engagement party, and Rose was supposed to come by at some point to discuss further steps in incorporeal puppy demon hunting, and then there was my mid-afternoon workout, which I had envisioned being half an hour longer than usual to account for—
“Anne,” my mother said, cutting into my runaway train of thought. “What happened yesterday? At the bridal tent?”
“What?” I said, wondering if I’d heard right. “How do you know about that?”
“I read about it on the internet,” she sniffed, frowning at me. “And watched the video. I really don’t understand why you always feel the need to be so aggressive.”
“E-excuse me?” I sputtered, trying to calm the sea of frustration rising in my gut. Of course her interpretation of what happened in the bridal tent was going to cast me in the most unfavorable light possible. Even though, it could be argued, I’d saved the day.
“Being a good maid of honor means everything is in service of the bride,” my mother continued. “Why didn’t you ask Evie how she felt rather than giving in to your temper and moving people out of the way?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, as frustration continued to surge through me like a particularly insidious poison, “but I was kind of busy trying to save my best friend from setting everything on fire—no time to stop and have an in-depth conversation about feelings.”
“Always so dramatic,” my mother tsk-ed, shaking her head. “That temper of yours has never done you any favors. And it especially won’t do you any favors when you’re in a dangerous situation—”
“I’m in dangerous situations every day of my life,” I blurted out, finally letting my frustration boil over. Despite my parents’ best efforts, I’d never quite mastered the stereotypical Asian repression of feelings. My stew of emotions was like . . . well, a hurricane. I could never seem to tame it, shove it down, or keep it from completely destroying the emotional landscape around me. “And I was taking Evie’s feelings into consideration because I’m pretty sure she was having the feeling of wanting to not be assaulted by an out-of-control Bridezilla!”
My mother pressed her lips into a thin line. “This is a very important position Evie has entru
sted you with. You would do well to—”
“To control myself and not go all hurricane on her, I know,” I said, trying to keep the growl out of my voice. I started stomping toward the kitchen, motioning for my mother to follow. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go give Evie your present so you can be on your way. I’m sure you have lots of other important things to do today.”
I burst into the kitchen to find Evie and Bea facing off against each other, bodies rigid with tension.
Apparently it was Bring Your Family Issues to Work Day at HQ.
“But why can’t I perform my karaoke medley of riot grrrl classics at your wedding?” Bea said, her voice twisting into a whine. “I’ve been preparing for weeks—”
“You can’t have been preparing for weeks,” Evie said through gritted teeth. I could tell she was trying desperately to keep her cool. I guess that was better than her being all freaked-out about the bridal tent and her fire power. Sort of. “I only got engaged a couple days ago.”
“And I’ve been preparing for that moment for weeks,” Bea countered. “Because I knew Nate was going to propose. I knew I had to be ready.”
“So perform it for me in private,” Evie said. “If it’s really just for me—”
“It’s meant to be sung to a crowd,” Bea said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. I felt a sudden wave of irritation coursing through me—Bea’s power at work again—and noticed Evie go a little pale. “And I don’t understand why you’re being so weird about it.”
“I’m not being weird. I just—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I blurted out. “You so are.”
Both sisters swiveled to look at me. I realized they’d been so locked in their argument, they hadn’t heard us come in. Behind me, my mother cleared her throat, and I could practically hear what was going through her mind.
Always so dramatic.
Don’t be aggressive.
I felt the frustration and emotional stew surging through me again, and I couldn’t stop myself from striding over and planting myself between Evie and Bea. I couldn’t seem to figure out how to communicate effectively with my mother, but I could so clearly see what was going wrong between them, and dammit, I wouldn’t be doing my good maid-of-honor duty if I stood by and watched it happen. And anyway, Evie’s outright avoidance of this particular issue really, really needed to be dealt with before the wedding.
I turned to Evie, giving her my best imperious look. “Tell her.”
She paled further. “Wh-what?”
“Yeah, what?” Bea chimed in. “Tell me what?”
“Anne,” my mother admonished, stepping into the kitchen. “Really. Must you cause drama—”
“I’m not causing anything,” I exclaimed, my frustration bubbling over yet again. “Evie. You’ve avoided this for long enough. And it’s going to get worse the longer you avoid it and you know that. So. Tell. Her.”
Evie gnawed furiously at her lower lip, her expression slowly slackening. “Okay, okay. Bea. You . . . kind of have a superpower.”
Bea’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. “I have what?”
“There’s no ‘kind of’ about it,” I said, impatience getting the better of me. “You have an actual superpower. We’ve been calling it reverse empathy. Basically, you can project your emotional state onto other people. And you apparently got a level-up when that last portal opened, because you’re the one who shattered Shasta’s force field when you screamed during the Pussy Queen battle, leading us to believe that if you vocalize your emotional state in a certain way . . . well, you can do even bigger things. Which is why Evie doesn’t want you to karaoke a fifteen-minute set of pure rage at all her closest friends and family. Which makes sense.”
I stopped to take a breath, nearly slumping over from the verbal vomit I’d let loose with. I could practically feel my mother’s disapproving gaze boring into the back of my head. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong this time, but I was pretty sure she’d find something.
Bea was speechless, looking from me to Evie and back again. “Is that . . . is that true?” She squeaked. Her voice was tremulous and her bottom lip quivered, like she couldn’t figure out if she was supposed to cry or laugh or both.
“It is true,” Evie said, low and measured. She glanced at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “I didn’t figure it out until the final battle with Shasta. And then I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.” She twisted her hands together, nervousness surfacing in her eyes. “I know that with my power, it was such a burden for so long, and I didn’t want to put all of that on you. You’ve been through so much—”
“And that means . . .” Bea interrupted, cocking her head to the side in wonder, “that means I saved the day? With Shasta? I mean, kind of. Or I at least helped?”
A surprised smile overtook Evie’s face. “Well, yeah. You totally helped save the day.”
“Holy shit.” Bea grinned. “Holy. Shit. I’m gonna be a totes amazeballs superhero. Just like my sister!”
She lunged forward, all gangly teenage limbs, and I hastily ducked out of the way to allow her a clear path to Evie.
“Come on, Mom,” I said, inching out of the room as Bea engulfed Evie in a hug. “Let’s give them a moment to be all sisterly.”
“But my gift,” my mother said, waving her package insistently.
“I’ll be sure to pass it on to her,” I said, taking the package from her.
“Oh, wait, Aveda!” Bea exclaimed, wriggling free from Evie’s embrace. “I meant to tell you, someone sent in an appearance inquiry!”
“Really?” I said, surprised. All of the business with the wedding and the puppy demon had distracted me from my burgeoning personal appearance empire. Not that it was much of an empire yet.
“Yeah,” Bea said, her eyes rolling skyward as she tried to recall the details. “Um. You know what, I think it was Cake My Day. Can’t remember the exact occasion, but I’m sure it’s something fabulous. I’ll forward you the specifics.”
“Excellent,” I said briskly. “Evie, perhaps we can discuss our strategy for the appearance later this afternoon.”
“I do remember the email suggested that maybe Evie could use her fire power for a live flambé demonstration,” Bea said.
“Oooh, I love that,” I said. “Did they have any suggestions for me?”
“Um . . .” Bea’s eyes darted back and forth. “I don’t remember the whole request, so. I’ll have to check?”
That told me everything I needed to know. I tried not to visibly deflate, even as I felt my mother’s eyes boring into my back.
“You know what, guys, I’m really not up to doing the whole personal appearance thing right now,” Evie piped up. And I noticed she’d gone a little pale again. “After the bridal tent, I’m not sure . . .” She trailed off and I realized she was worried, once again, about an unseen force taking hold and making her lose control of the fire power. Which, come to think of it, maybe wasn’t the worst thing to be worried about, considering there was a rogue puppy demon on the loose.
But how could I restore her confidence? How could I get her to let go of the fear and claim her rightful place as both an awesome superheroine and a badass bride?
My eyes flicked from her to Bea and back again and then suddenly, I had it. An idea.
When she was my personal assistant, Evie had hated my Idea Face. My Idea Face, she claimed, never led anywhere good. In fact, it usually led to her being covered in demon slime or me throwing a fit about something or both of us in ridiculous outfits. But this time would be different. This time, my Idea Face was absolutely going to make her life better.
“Of course,” I said to her. “I can handle this one on my own. But we should still get together later to discuss the engagement party. There are so many details to go over.”
“Sure, Annie, sounds go
od,” she said, giving me a half-smile. But her eyes were hooded and I couldn’t quite get a read on what she was really thinking. Maybe she was still dwelling on the bridal tent incident. Or maybe she was irritated I’d just accelerated the “timeline” she kept referring to when it came to talking to Bea. It was for the best, though. She’d see that once she had time to process everything.
“I really want to keep it simple, though,” she said. “Just like the wedding. Nothing too complicated. Nothing too fancy.”
“Of course,” I responded. But I was already thinking of flower arrangements and catering and decorations and . . . okay, so my vision might not exactly be “simple,” but I was pretty sure this would be like Evie’s gorgeous wedding gown. She hadn’t known she’d wanted it until she’d witnessed the full glory of how it looked on her body. She couldn’t buy into the fabulousness until she actually saw it. And I’d make sure she saw it.
My mother, apparently bored with our talk of personal appearances, engagement parties, and superpowers, cleared her throat.
“Sorry, Mrs. Chang, didn’t mean to ignore you,” Evie said, smiling at her. “Bea and I had some things to work out. Did I hear you say you brought a gift?”
“Yes,” my mother said eagerly, snatching the gift out of my hands. “Getting engaged is such a big milestone in a young woman’s life, I thought you deserved an extra present.”
“How nice,” Evie said, taking the package from her. “Why don’t I open it while I walk you to the door? I know you must have a busy day ahead and we’ve already kept you here long enough.”
She winked at me as she took my mother’s arm and steered her toward the door. I felt a momentary rush of warmth as our near-telepathy snapped into place, that bond that always seemed to make itself known when one of us needed it most. That feeling was swiftly replaced by annoyance as my mother murmured “so thoughtful” under her breath and cast a disdainful gaze my way. The message was clear: Unlike you, Anne.
If there was one person who consistently brought Annie Chang to the surface, it was my mother. It was like every bit of training, every safeguard I’d put in place, every painstaking second I’d spent making myself into an awesome superheroine evaporated on the spot.
