I followed Joanne’s directions as best I could. Down the hall might as well have been in another state, as big as the mansion was. It took me ten minutes to find the bathroom, which could have housed a whale. Everything sparkled, the surfaces so clean and white and sterile I doubted anything in the room had ever been used. I ran the tub-sized sink full of hot, soapy water, stripped off my white shirt, and scrubbed it. Despite the soaked-in globs of mayonnaise, the fabric came clean almost immediately. That was another strange thing about my luck. Sometimes, it was actually good, a blessing instead of just a jinx.
As for my hair, well, until Berkley or some other tycoon started making super—and I mean really, really super—strength conditioner, I’d just have to live with it. And so would Joanne.
I rummaged around in the tall cabinets until I found a hair dryer. I plugged it in one of the wall outlets, far, far away from the sink and bathtub so I wouldn’t almost electrocute myself. Or blow every fuse in the mansion. Using the hot, steady blast from the hair dryer, I got most of the moisture out of my shirt. Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to face the world again.
I headed back toward the library, admiring the rooms and furnishings I passed. Many of them were familiar to me. Johnny and I used to have a ball playing hide-and-seek in the mansion while Berkley entertained Bobby and James. Sometimes, it took us hours to find each other. Once, Johnny had hidden so well Berkley had to get his staff to help me look for him so we could go home. We finally found Johnny asleep in a bedroom closet—
POP!
I stopped, wondering at the strange sound. It reminded me of cereal snapping when you poured cold milk on it. For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined the noise. And why. I didn’t particularly like cereal.
POP!
POP!
POP!
The sound came again and again, louder every time, and I knew I wasn’t daydreaming. The pops! emanated from a salon a few feet ahead. I crept up to the doorway and peered inside one of Berkley’s viewing rooms, where he kept his paintings and statues and other expensive, important works of art. Cushioned chairs and low couches scattered throughout the area invited people to sit and stare at everything. Night had already fallen outside, but white footlights highlighted the art against the dark walls. I’d spent many hours in this room and others like it, trying to draw and paint and sketch as well as the masters.
POP!
A man appeared in front of a particularly abstract Picasso, where there had only been empty space a moment before. He wore a formfitting, leather suit so blue it was almost black. The insignia of a scarlet rose intertwined with a silver thorn flashed on his chest. Dark hair curled around his face and silver mask, which had jagged edges that matched the thorn insignia. Although I tried to listen to as little superhero and ubervillain gossip as possible, I still recognized him.
Debonair.
One of the most notorious rakes—superhero, ubervillain, or otherwise—in Bigtime. He seduced women of all ages like other men breathed—with supreme, unconscious ease. He had a body that even the other male superheroes envied—totally, perfectly chiseled. Michelangelo’s David come to life. He wasn’t too tall or too short and had a dazzling smile that could make a blind woman see. The gallant teleporter oozed sex appeal from head to toe and billed himself as the ultimate lover and seducer. Debonair even had his own aptly named hideaway—the Lair of Seduction. Any woman who spent any time with Debonair there couldn’t help but fall under his charming spell. At least, that’s what they said on SNN, the Superhero News Network. I’d never found blue-black leather to be any sort of turn-on, no matter how impressive the body underneath it was.
Debonair wasn’t a superhero, but he wasn’t quite an ubervillain either. He didn’t care about taking over the city or world domination. Instead, he was a master thief. Of sorts. Several priceless works of art had gone missing from various homes and galleries in Bigtime over the years after Debonair had paid them a visit. But just as many had later turned up in museums and other public places around town. Debonair had his own shady agenda no one had ever really been able to figure out. The only thing you could really count on was for him to pop! in using his teleportation superpower, make some witty, charming quip, and pop! back out. He was rather like Swifte that way.
Debonair snapped his gloved fingers. A painting depicting a field of irises left its frame and appeared in his hand a second later. Berkley had more security than Fort Knox, and I waited for an alarm to start blaring. Sirens to sound. Bars to crash down over the doors and windows.
Nothing. Not even a whisper.
Debonair snapped his fingers again. A long, hollow tube appeared in his other hand. He carefully rolled up the painting and stuffed it inside. He snapped his fingers a third time, and the tube disappeared. My eyes darted around the room, wondering where the container had gone, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Only an empty frame remained where the painting had hung on the wall.
I looked up at the ceiling. The mansion’s security cameras swiveled left and right and up and down as though everything was fine and dandy. Debonair must have done something to them, obscured them in some way. Or maybe he teleported around too fast for them to follow. Either way, it was up to me to stop him.
“Hey!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Debonair turned at the sound of my voice. He didn’t seem alarmed by the fact I’d caught him stealing the painting. Didn’t seem worried or bothered in the slightest. Instead, the thief tilted his head and gave me a thorough once-over. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look taller and scarier than I really was. Of course, that’s rather hard to do when you’re just over five feet. Still, I tried.
POP!
He appeared at my elbow, and I stifled a surprised scream. I would have stepped back, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. I put my other hand out to brace myself against his chest and immediately realized that Debonair didn’t wear a sculpted breastplate like some of the other superheroes and ubervillains did to improve their looks or hold in a less-than-flat midsection. Those tight, taut muscles under that slick leather were all him.
My fingers spread out. Oh my. I couldn’t help but be impressed, despite my hatred of all things superhero.
“Bella Bulluci. What a delightful surprise.” His voice was low and throaty.
“You know my name?”
I stared at his broad chest, the rose insignia just even with my eyes. He smelled of some sweet smoke, like smoldering rose petals. The heady scent made my head fuzzy.
Debonair put a finger under my chin and tipped it up. His eyes slammed into my hazel ones. They were blue—as blue as blue could possibly be and then some. A ring of silver and black shimmered around the edge of his bright irises, adding to the intensity of his gaze.
“Of course, I know your name. You make some of the finest clothes in all of Bigtime. And, as you may know, I’m a purveyor of fine things.” His gaze raked over me in a slow, sensual way that made my breath catch in my throat. “All sorts of fine things. In fact, I think it’s time for me to sample one right now.”
Debonair leaned in and lowered his lips to mine.
And I got angry. Really, really angry. Yeti Girl angry. Debonair might be attractive—okay, sexy with a capital S—but that didn’t give him the right to just pop! over here and manhandle me. Lots of sexy heroes and villains called Bigtime home.
But Debonair thought he was going to kiss me just because he could? Without any encouragement whatsoever from me? After he’d stolen from my friends? I didn’t think so.
I might be short, but I can take care of myself. Johnny’s supertough exoskeleton had given him an unfair advantage when we were kids. As a result, I’d learned lots of dirty tricks to ward off unwanted noogie and tickle attacks. Like the one I was about to use right now.
I ducked Debonair’s looming lips, turned my body into his broad chest, grabbed his left arm, and flipped him over my shoulder.
POP!
He te
leported away a second before he slammed into the floor. My eyes flicked around, wondering where he’d poof to next.
POP!
He appeared in the hallway in front of me. “That wasn’t very nice, Bella. All I wanted to do was kiss you.”
“Well, I didn’t want you to kiss me.”
“But I’m Debonair,” he said.
His tone was smug and self-assured, like the very mention of his name should be enough to make any woman his willing slave. And get her to take off her panties. Sexy and arrogant. A dangerous combination. One I had to work very hard not to find attractive. Maybe the Casanova routine worked on other women, but it wasn’t going to on me.
“Oh, get over yourself,” I snapped. “You’re not all that.”
He smiled. That, too, was perfect, just like the rest of him. White teeth. Nice lips. A tiny dimple in his chin.
“I think the folks in SSS would disagree with you. I’ve been their Man of the Year three times in a row now.”
“Slaves for Superhero Sex? The cult group full of crazies who worship heroes?” I snorted. “They’re hardly an appropriate judge of character. They’ll do anything in spandex.”
That was an understatement. Slaves for Superhero Sex was a group of men and women whose sole purpose in life was to get up close and personal with superheroes. SSS members deliberately did stupid, life-endangering things—like handcuff themselves to railroad tracks and swallow the key or climb to the top of the Skyline Bridge—in hopes that some superhero would come along and rescue them. Not only that, they usually tried to make time with their superhero savior after they were out of danger. In recent months, some of the more enthusiastic, morally challenged members had gone over to the dark side and started volunteering to be flunkies for various villains. At least, that’s what had been reported on SNN.
“And what about you, Bella? Do you like spandex? Or are you more of a whips-and-chains kind of girl?” Debonair asked.
“That’s none of your business!”
I couldn’t stop myself from blushing. Whips and chains? I’d never dream of doing such a thing. Why, I hadn’t even been much of a regular-sex girl lately. Not since before my father died, really.
Debonair gave me another sexy, knowing smirk, but I’d had enough of the witty banter. I was damp and tired and smelled like moldy bread. So, I skirted around him, careful to stay at least six feet away at all times, and headed down the hall.
“Where are you going?” he called out. “We were just starting to warm up to each other.”
“You want warm?” I asked, stopping in front of a small, red knob. “Think how warm you’ll be when the police show up and toss you in the slammer. Stealing from Berkley Brighton? Now, that was dumb. But pissing me off? That’s what’s really going to get you into trouble.”
I yanked down the fire alarm. Loud bells and sirens blared to life throughout the massive house. Please exit the building, a man’s voice intoned over the commotion. Please exit the building.
Debonair smiled and bowed his head to me. “Well, it seems you’ve bested me. I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave of you now. Until we meet again, Bella Bulluci.”
“Which will hopefully be never.”
Debonair gave me another long look. “We’ll see.”
POP!
He appeared in front of me again. Before I could stop him, the thief grabbed my hand and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of my wrist. Then, he gave me a sly wink and teleported away.
I leaned against the wall and let out a long breath. I suddenly felt weak and shaky. And for some strange reason, my pulse pounded in time to the fire alarm.
*
“I’m sorry he got away, Berkley,” I said. “Maybe if I’d pulled the alarm sooner, the police would have been able to catch him.”
An hour had passed since I’d set off the fire alarm. Now, Berkley, Joanne, and I stood in the salon, along with a couple of Bigtime Police detectives, Chief Sean Newman, and Berkley’s personal insurance adjuster. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the damage. There really wasn’t any. Unless you considered the loss of a priceless painting to be a catastrophe. I did.
“It’s not your fault, Bella. I knew this would happen, sooner or later.” Berkley stared at the empty frame.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone’s been trying to get into the mansion,” he replied, running a hand through his wavy hair. “The alarms have been going off all week. It must have been Debonair. I guess tonight he found a way to succeed.”
“Well, he’s certainly bold, I’ll give him that,” Joanne said.
“And effective,” Berkley added. “According to my security chief, he managed to bypass all the alarms. The heat sensors, the motion detectors, the tripwires, the lasers, everything.”
“Well, most alarms aren’t designed to deal with someone with teleporting superpowers,” I said. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all? I feel like this is all my fault.”
It was, given how terrible my luck was. Even now, I felt the static building up around me, waiting to lash out yet again. And I should have pulled the alarm right away, instead of confronting the thief. I knew better than that.
Berkley shook his head. “Thank you, Bella. But no.”
After giving my statement to the detectives and Chief Newman, I drove back home. It was almost midnight now, and the street was dark and empty. My thoughts turned to Debonair.
And I wondered why—why had he wanted to kiss me?
Had he just wanted to distract me? Or was there some other reason?
I shook my head. Debonair was just another guy who dressed up in leather and went around Bigtime doing whatever and whomever he pleased. I wasn’t going to give him another thought. Not a second more of my time or attention.
Easier said than done.
Ten minutes later, I parked the car in the driveway. My stomach rumbled, letting out a sound that would have made Fiona proud. So, I headed for the kitchen, determined to get something, anything to eat before going to bed, even if I had to scoop it up off the floor.
Bobby sat at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of red wine. “Ah, Bella. There you are.”
“Waiting up for me?” I asked. “That’s not like you. I said I was fine.”
I’d called Grandfather and told him what happened at Berkley’s. The robbery would be big news, and I didn’t want him to worry.
Bobby shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought a nice glass of wine might help me relax. Do you want some?”
“Please.” I wanted the whole bottle, maybe two, but unlike Fiona, I had some restraint when it came to food. I had to, given my thunder thighs.
Bobby poured me a glass, which I carefully picked up. I swirled the wine around and took a deep drink. The fruity liquid coated my tongue with its sweet-and-sour taste. I swallowed, and a pleasant warmth spread through me, melting my tension.
“Do you want some food?” Bobby said. “Let me make you a sandwich, and you can tell me about the robbery. I want all the details. What he took. What he said. What his costume looked like.”
Like many older folks, Grandfather was a news junkie. He read several papers every day to learn about the latest goings-on in Bigtime and around the world. Given his time as Johnny Angel, Grandfather was also obsessed with heroes and villains, which is why SNN was his favorite TV channel.
“Not a sandwich,” I said, remembering what had happened to Joanne’s rug. “How about a salad?”
“Done.”
Grandfather pulled lettuce, cheese, carrots, tomatoes, oil, vinegar, and more out of one of the refrigerators. I told him about finding Debonair and how I’d pulled the fire alarm to summon help. The only part I omitted was when the thief tried to kiss me—and the whole whips-and-chains comment. I just couldn’t talk to my grandfather about some things. Sex was definitely one of them.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re all right.” Bobby slid a bowl full of salad across the counter to me. “From what I’ve read,
Debonair isn’t too terrible a fellow, but you never know what someone will do when he’s cornered.”
I made a noncommittal sound. After tonight, I thought Debonair was the worst of the worst. With other heroes and villains, all you had to contend with was them trying to save or kill you with their superpowers. But kissing people’s wrists? Seducing unsuspecting women? That was just weird. In a sexy kind of way.
I reached for the bowl, and my power flared. The round container scooted off the island. It was plastic, like all the other dishes I used, so it didn’t break. At least, not this time. Instead, it zoomed along the floor like a bowling ball. Rolling, rolling, rolling. I stared at the container, wishing it would somehow stop without spewing my salad everywhere. I really wanted to eat something tonight.
I felt the energy gather round me again, but I kept looking at the bowl. The container slowed and tipped itself upright, contents intact. I relaxed my concentration, smiled, and looked at Bobby.
And that’s when the bowl began to spin.
Round and round it turned, like a washing machine out of control. Pieces of cheese and lettuce and tomato whirled out of the spinning container one after the other, splattering onto the floor and ceiling and cabinets. A particularly buoyant carrot bounced up onto the sliding glass door on the opposite side of the room, a good thirty feet away. Oil and vinegar also arced out of the bowl, splashing around and creating even more of a mess. By the time the container stopped spinning, the kitchen looked like a vegetable cart had exploded inside.
I surveyed the damage for a moment, then opened a drawer and plucked out a fork. Utensil in hand, I sat down cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen floor and stabbed the first cherry tomato within easy reach. I bit down and sighed with pleasure as the tart juices filled my mouth. I was so hungry I didn’t even care if it had a little dirt on it.
“What are you doing?” Bobby asked.
“Eating dinner,” I replied, spearing a carrot. “While I still can.”
Karma Girl Page 64
