by Sarah Kuhn
I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw that, as I’d hoped, the cord was unraveling from Celine’s body as I dragged it along the floor. She spun in circles as it loosened, one loop at a time—a wild, involuntary dance. Rose was poised at her side, ready to catch her.
The cord kept thrashing against me, and I pressed my body down even harder as we skidded across the floor, making unholy screeching sounds against the worn linoleum.
Finally, I heard a loud thunk as the mic hit the floor and the whump of Celine landing in Rose’s arms. The cord and I skidded to a stop, me still trying to hold it in place.
“Rose!” I called over my shoulder. “That big bowl on the counter! I need it!”
I heard rustling—probably her figuring out how to set shell-shocked Celine to the side in the gentlest manner, and then the bowl was whizzing over my head and landing with a clunk next to my right hand. I slid closer to it, keeping the squirming cord underneath me. As carefully as possible, I pulled the rest of the wriggling, unraveled cord toward me, drawing the whole contraption underneath my body.
I had to accomplish my final task in one fluid move—otherwise this wasn’t going to work. I primed myself, envisioning the whole thing in my head. Then I gathered all my strength, pushed myself up from the floor, and swept the giant bowl on top of the vicious mic cord. It made a satisfying clang as I slammed it down. I sat myself down on top of the bowl with a defiant thump.
I didn’t know what the step after that was. I hadn’t thought that far.
Luckily, it was at that moment that our usually on-top-of-it superheroines, Evie Tanaka and Aveda Jupiter, burst into the kitchen.
“What is going on?” Aveda bellowed, her body snapping into a fighting stance. “We were checking the outside of the building, seeing if we could glean any new clues—”
“And when we came back in, we heard screaming,” Evie said, scanning the room.
The bowl underneath me bounced—the rogue mic cord trying to get free—and I positioned myself more firmly on top of it.
“Ah, yes, darlings, we appear to have subdued a microphone cord that somehow came to life and—”
“And tried to choke the life out of me like a freaking boa constrictor!” Celine piped up.
I glanced over at her. She appeared to be unharmed—and her voice sounded as bell-clear as ever. She was standing without Rose’s assistance, sending an aggrieved look in the bowl’s direction.
“It’s trapped under here,” I said, gesturing to the bowl. “Aveda, if we remove the bowl, perhaps you could restrain it with telekinesis? At least until we find a better cage-type solution.” I scanned the kitchen, looking for anything we could use to entrap the cord more permanently.
“On it,” Aveda said, her brow furrowing in concentration.
I stood up carefully and lifted the bowl a tiny bit—barely a millimeter. I expected the mic cord to immediately start putting up a fight, but it was suddenly very still. I lifted the bowl completely off.
“I’ve got it,” Aveda proclaimed. “It’s in my hold, but . . .” She frowned, her brow furrowing further. “It’s not resisting me. It’s not moving.” She moved closer, eyeing the cord suspiciously.
“Release the hold,” I said, getting myself into fighting position. I poked at the cord. It didn’t move. It . . . appeared to have returned to just being a mic cord.
“Huh,” I said, unable to think of something more eloquent.
“Let’s put it in a Tupperware or something,” Evie said, bustling over to one of the kitchen shelves. “We’ll take it back to HQ and put it in one of the traps. Run some tests on it. Maybe it will act up again?”
“I sincerely hope not,” I said, casting a disapproving eye at the cord. “You know, I am not anti-snake in general, but when it’s a big rubber snake that seems intent on killing me, I really must object.”
While Evie and Aveda busied themselves with finding a mic-containing apparatus and Celine excused herself to “recover the energy I need for full showmanship,” I paced the kitchen, stretching my limbs and cracking my neck. I was definitely going to have the predicted interesting bruises, but otherwise I didn’t detect any sign of injury from battle.
“Lucy,” Rose said, striding to my side. “Are you . . . I mean, you seem fine, but do you need to go to the hospital or—”
“Of course not, what nonsense,” I said, stopping my pacing and giving her a bright smile. “Battling an overexcited mic cord is a mere blip on the radar as far as these situations go, don’t you think? Just like the whole chandelier business yesterday.”
“I suppose,” Rose said slowly, cocking her head at me. “But usually our superpowered friends are here to ease the battle burden.” She nodded toward Evie and Aveda, who were gingerly transporting the mic cord into a plastic storage bin of some kind. “You took on that cord pretty much solo.”
“Not solo,” I said. “You and I worked in tandem—it was quite impressive, was it not?”
“It was,” Rose agreed. “We were really in sync. Almost like we could read each other’s minds. But that’s not a superpower either of us has, is it?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, giving her a wry half-smile. “The copious amounts of texting we do on a daily basis must have gifted us with this utterly impressive ability.”
“Hmm, yes. All the texting.” She studied my face, a bit of that super seriousness from the back room filtering into her expression. “And . . . look. Even though I told you to leave, I appreciate that you didn’t. That you wouldn’t let me attempt to handle it on my own.”
“Same,” I murmured.
I realized that we were somehow standing very close to each other again—nearly as close as we’d been in the back room. And even though the industrial fluorescent lighting of the kitchen was about the last thing you could refer to as romantic, I felt my cheeks warm, remembering her mouth on mine. Her tongue teasing my lips open. Her breathing out those three simple words.
I’ve got you.
“Um.” I took a small step away from her, my face on fire. “Now that we’ve handled all the excitement, I better get back out there and see if Shruti’s arrived yet—costuming is a very important part of this competition.”
Rose frowned. “I think we really need to talk—”
“Ta!” I called out, giving her a little finger wave over my shoulder. Then I was gone, sashaying back into the bar area, and praying to whatever deity might be listening that my face would return to a non-blushing state someday.
Text Messages Between Lucy Valdez and Rose Rorick, Seven Months Before The Epic Mic Cord Battle
RR: Didn’t see you at The Gutter tonight. Shannon was asking about you. Are you ghosting her?
LV: If “ghosting” means “limiting contact after giving her the best orgasms of her life,” then I suppose so.
RR: That is at least a partial definition of ghosting.
LV: Shannon is looking for an all-caps GIRLFRIEND. I cannot be that. Better to leave her with some lovely memories, don’t you think?
RR: I guess?
LV: Was that a typo or an indication of skeptical tone?
RR: The second one.
LV: Darling, you know I’m not girlfriend material.
RR: I’m not sure I know what that means.
LV: I like the fun bits. Having a bit of a lark. And I do my best to make sure my dates enjoy those fun bits, too. I’m not cut out for much else.
RR: So as soon as you’re out of the fun zone, you run?
LV: Not run. I mean, I suppose “ghosting” is technically correct. I just . . . know myself.
RR: . . . okay, but you should still talk to Shannon. She looked . . . sad.
LV: Impossible! I always make with the ghosting before anyone gets attached enough to be sad.
RR: I . . . don’t think that’s true.
&n
bsp; LV: Trust me, love: Shannon will find someone brilliantly girlfriend-worthy soon enough.
RR: Lucy . . .
LV: Let’s talk about something else. Please? I still haven’t found your fanfic.
LV: Rose? Are you still there?
RR: You’ll never find it. But speaking of fandoms, I listened to that singer you’re always talking about—Ana Gabriel? She’s brilliant.
LV: Isn’t she???
RR: I’m loving it all, but “Quién Como Tú” is everything. Do you sing that one with your mom?
LV: Every other one, love! But not that one.
RR: Oh, why not? I was actually imagining how amazing it would sound with your voice.
LV: I just don’t. It’s a little quirk of mine.
RR: Why do I feel like there’s more to it than that?
LV: Your investigatory senses have been honed to be suspicious of everything.
RR: Would you like to change the subject again?
LV: Yes.
LV: Rose?
RR: Hmm?
LV: Thank you for being such a good friend.
Chapter Five
Here’s the very important thing I realized, sometime between kicking a mic cord’s ass and escaping from the kitchen as fast as my tiny legs could carry me: that kiss between me and Rose had been mind-blowing, but it absolutely could not happen again.
So many feelings were crashing through me, I had to stop and lean against the business card-plastered wall as I ordered my blush to recede and my heart to stop beating so fast.
So, point the first: Despite knowing me well enough to receive my decidedly unsexy late night texts, Rose thought I was sexy enough to kiss. She did see me that way. Perhaps she had even fantasized about one of my body parts in the same way that I obsessed over her neck.
Point the second: That should have made me absolutely elated.
Point the third: Instead, it completely freaked me out.
Because look what had just happened: we hadn’t even slept together yet, and I’d run. When I’d first made my proclamation at Evie’s bachelorette party that I was going to try to “next level” things with Rose . . . what was I thinking? Perhaps that with her, it would be different. That I’d be able to go deeper with her, that I wouldn’t leave her behind when everything stopped being simple fun. Because she was just that wonderful.
But my actions just now had dredged up a terrible truth: I was destined to ghost Rose just as I’d ghosted every other hook-up. I was simply not capable of giving her more—and she would want more, she was Rose. If she tried to get any closer to me, she would inevitably end up hurt. I cared way too much about protecting her beautiful, precious, marshmallow feelings to do that to her. Perhaps we were destined to stay in Friendlandia. That way, I could help her attain what she deserved. And she deserved the world.
I needed to recommit myself to Operation Rose + Celine = Heart Eyes with gusto.
“Hey, Valdez.” I turned to see Kevin bustling up to me. “Is the ruckus in there over?” He gestured toward the kitchen door. “’Cause Shruti’s here and I want to make sure we’re moving along. We’ve got a schedule.”
“Yes, it’s taken care of, I suppose.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “For now.”
But he was already moving, heading to the other side of the room, where Shruti was wheeling in her rack of costumes. It was all sequins, as far as the eye could see. Shruti was both the top purveyor of the city’s finest vintage goods and a superheroine in her own right—she had the ability to grow her hair at will, which had come in handy during many a battle.
Shruti caught my eye, grinned, and gestured to a floor-length concoction of lace and chiffon with a dramatic high neck that looked like it would fit me perfectly. I gave her a thumbs-up. Her expertise in fashion meant she shared my appreciation for a well-fitting frock. And she understood my issues with length—even though many of the vintage offerings on the market suited my minuscule frame, skirts were often too long and/or cumbersome. But Shruti always managed to help me find the perfect thing. And wearing the perfect thing enhanced my karaoke performances, making me feel strong and confident. Shruti winked at me and turned to Celine, who appeared to be inquiring about a particularly sparkly jumpsuit.
Before I could ruminate further on the fine art of bedazzling, Rose emerged from the kitchen with Evie and Aveda trailing behind her. Aveda toted the giant Tupperware containing our rogue mic cord.
“I’m going to take this back to HQ,” Aveda said, brandishing the Tupperware. “Nate can run all those boring tests he loves so much—”
“All those very helpful tests,” Evie corrected, nudging her in the ribs.
“—and we’ll see if it tries anything,” Aveda continued, her eyes narrowing at the Tupperware. “I’m ready for you,” she hissed at it.
“I did a quick scan in there,” Rose said, waving the scanner tool at the kitchen. She seemed to be back to her usual all-business self. That should have made me feel relieved, but I was hit with a slight twinge of disappointment. “Supernatural energy is present—same source, the Pussy Queen Portal,” Rose continued. “But it’s a little stronger now, not really fading like it was before. Kind of like someone turned the volume up just a bit.”
“So we should shut this place down for the time being, no?” Aveda said, frowning. “Kevin will have to cancel—er, postpone—his precious competition until we figure this thing out.”
“Or . . .” My gaze went back to Celine, who was examining Shruti’s jumpsuit with great interest. A wisp of an idea took root in the back of my mind. “There might be another option. Let’s go over what we know.” I straightened my spine, my brain snapping into investigation mode. Both Evie and Aveda tended to find investigation mode incredibly tedious, but I loved it. It made me feel like one of my British murder detectives—like DC Janet Scott and DC Rachel Bailey, who headlined one of my favorite shows, Scott & Bailey. They were best friends, complete messes, and clearly meant to be together even though they kept getting matched up with painfully inferior men.
“Two attacks so far—” I began.
“That we know of,” Evie chimed in.
“That we know of,” I confirmed. “Both involving a previously inanimate object that seemed to suddenly have a mind of its own—the chandelier and the mic cord.”
“And in both cases, the object reverted back to normal right after,” Evie said. “Or at least, we’re presuming that’s the case.” She gave the Tupperware Aveda was holding a light tap.
“Traces of supernatural energy picked up at the site,” Rose said, nodding around the karaoke bar. “Said energy fades, but is not totally neutralized post-attack.”
“And the energy—or whatever it is—has viciously targeted the same person both times,” I concluded.
“Is there a reason it’s going after Celine?” Rose said. “We scanned her and she appears to be a perfectly normal human.”
“Who’s capable of an inhumanly incredible performance,” I murmured. I was chagrined to hear that strand of jealousy working its way into my voice again.
“Maybe we should re-interview her,” Aveda said, eyes narrowing. “Humans have collaborated with demon forces to do a shitload of evil in the not-so-distant past, after all. Perhaps someone with a grudge has figured out how to channel that energy Celine’s way and is trying to get some revenge going.”
“And that brings me to my alternative plan,” I said, the idea finally taking a fuller and more recognizable shape in my head. “Let’s not cancel the competition. Let’s draw this force out and see if we can beat it.”
“You mean use Celine as bait?” Evie said, cocking an incredulous eyebrow.
“It’s not unlike plans we’ve tried before,” Aveda admitted.
“Right, but when we’ve used, say, me as bait . . . I mean, I can shoot fire out of my hands,” Evie sputter
ed. “Kind of an important difference.”
“You forget that Celine will have the very best bodyguard possible,” I said, drawing myself up tall. “Her fellow competitor, who will be by her side every step of the way.”
“I agree,” Rose said, just as Evie opened her mouth to protest. “Lucy is the best.”
I squashed the momentary pulse of warmth around my heart.
“Let her do her thing,” Rose continued.
“And in the meantime,” Aveda said, “we can try to figure out what might be causing this and if there’s some kind of malicious intent behind it. That will make us better prepared to take it on.”
“What else do we know about Celine?” Evie said. She still looked reluctant, but like she was willing to go along with the plan for the time being.
“She mentioned coming to The Gutter with her mom when she was younger,” I said, replaying our conversation in my head. “Maybe we should also dig into the past of this place, see if there are any records or photos from that time that might help us come up with a lead? Perhaps her mother had a rival.”
“I can do that,” Evie said. “That will be a big freakin’ bear, I’m sure—I doubt Kevin has anything arranged in a recognizable system of organization.”
“I’ll shuttle this home,” Aveda said, lifting the Tupperware. “Lucy, Rose: since you talked to Celine before, why don’t you take on the follow-up convo?”
“That was mostly Lucy,” Rose said. “She was amazing, established a real rapport with Celine.”
“Ah, which is why you should talk to her by yourself this time, darling,” I said, waving a hand at Rose. “A fresh perspective would likely do us good on that front. I can help Evie sift through the endless paperwork.”
“I can totally handle that myself,” Evie said hastily. I noticed her and Aveda exchanging the most imperceptible of glances. Evie and Aveda were so bonded together, they could often communicate via some sort of BFF mind-meld telepathy. This was extremely useful in battle and completely annoying any other time—especially when it was obvious they were mind-melding about Rose and me, and that Evie had clearly joined Aveda’s plot to get us together.
