Johnny gave Fiona another wicked smile. “But, baby, you know I think you look fine in whatever you wear—especially when it’s nothing at all.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Please. There’s nothing sexier than a well-dressed woman. Right, Bella?”
“Of course,” I murmured.
Fiona and I knew a few things about well-dressed women, since we both worked as fashion designers. Fiona fronted Fiona Fine Fashions, while I ran the design portion of Bulluci Industries. Fiona and I had completely different styles, and we’d been friendly rivals for years. She created garments that screamed Here I am! Look at me! I’m fabulous! with their bright colors, wild patterns, and mounds of sequins and feathers. I preferred simpler styles, with muted hues, clean lines, and absolutely, positively no sequins. Ever.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked Fiona just fine. Her father too. And I was glad Johnny had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
But there was nothing I hated more than superheroes and ubervillains. Dressing up in those silly costumes. Calling themselves absurd names. Plotting and scheming and planning elaborate ways to take over the city and rule the world. It was all so dramatically ridiculous.
C’mon. Who would want to rule the world, really? It’d be nothing but a giant headache, with everyone constantly whining and crying at you. Not to mention all the paperwork and demands on your free time. But the ubervillains always tried to reign supreme, and the superheroes always stopped them. The cycle was endless.
Unfortunately, I had lots of experience with superheroes. Or rather pseudo heroes. All the men in my family masqueraded as Johnny Angel in their youth, riding around Bigtime on a tricked-out motorcycle, getting into trouble, and taking on ubervillains when the mood hit them. Masquerading as Johnny Angel was how my brother had first met Fiona a few months ago.
And how my father, James, had died.
I was happy for Johnny, but I couldn’t help shuddering at the fact he’d added another superhero to the family tree. Five of them. Six, actually, if you counted Lulu Lo, the computer hacker who was engaged to Henry Harris.
Oh, I liked Fiona, Carmen, Sam, Henry, and Chief Newman just fine when they were themselves. It was their nightly habit of turning into Fiera, Karma Girl, Striker, Hermit, and Mr. Sage that had me concerned.
And knowing the Fearless Five’s secret identities was sort of like being in a mob family—once you were in, you were all the way in whether you wanted to be or not. And you couldn’t get out, no matter how hard you tried. Whenever we had any of the heroes over for dinner, all they talked about were their latest epic battles and daring escapes. Or the new equipment Henry Hermit Harris had purchased for their underground lair. Or the current ubervillains populating Bigtime. Or a dozen other superhero-related things that made me grind my teeth. Last week, Fiona had even asked me if I thought her costume needed a redesign. Sheesh.
My power flared up at my dark thoughts. I didn’t know how the other superheroes felt their power, but mine was sort of like standing in a ball of static electricity. My skin hummed. My fingertips itched. And worst of all, my caramel-colored hair frizzed out to alarming proportions. There wasn’t a conditioner on the market that could tame it. Believe me, I’d tried them all. Together. At the same time.
The overall sensation wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was aggravating. Because the static, the power, the energy, built and built until it had to be discharged. And when it did, well, watch out. More often than not, whatever was around me either exploded, shattered, fell from the sky, or spontaneously combusted. Sometimes all at once. My luck was like some sort of supercharged telekinesis I couldn’t control. Stuff just happened, whether I wanted it to or not. And here’s the really annoying thing about having luck as a superpower—it can be good or bad.
Sometimes, if I thought about something, wanted it to happen, willed it to be, I’d get my heart’s desire. I’d catch the subway a second before the doors closed. Snag the last seat in a crowded movie theater. Find the only dress in my size. I even won five hundred dollars in a sweepstakes as a kid just by staring at my entry form before I sent it in and wishing I could win.
But just as often, my luck turned on me. I’d catch the subway, but rip my jacket on the doors. Get the last seat, but sit down in a puddle of sticky soda. Find the perfect dress, but forget my credit cards. Win the lottery, but lose my ticket.
Luck, the most capricious thing in the world. That was my supposed power. My curse was more like it.
My jinx.
I always felt the static energy around me and did my best to keep it clamped down and under control. But the sudden surge told me that it was time for it to let loose—and for something to happen. I could never tell whether that something would be good or bad, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I slowly, carefully, calmly pushed my chair back from the table, making sure I was clear of the tablecloth, candles, bread basket, wine glasses, plates, silverware, and anything else I could drag down or knock off or upset in any way. Then, I stood.
With small, thoughtful steps, I backed around the chair until I stood five feet away from the table—and out of range of everyone and everything. Now, nobody else would get caught in the crossfire if something crazy happened, like the chandelier above my head plummeting from the ceiling, despite the ten or so bolts that held it in place.
“Bella? Are you all right?” Chief Newman asked, his eyes flashing a brilliant green. “Is your power bothering you again?”
Chief Newman had offered to work with me, to try to find some way to help me control my power. I’d refused. You couldn’t control luck. I’d long ago given up hope of ever taming it, along with my hair.
The doorbell rang, saving me from an explanation.
“I’ll get it,” I said. “It’s probably more trick-or-treaters.”
It was late October and still several days before Halloween, but little ghosts and ghouls and goblins had already started showing up asking for candy. Or else. Halloween was a two-week-long event in Bigtime that wouldn’t wrap up until the night of the thirty-first. The extended holiday gave everybody, kids and adults alike, a chance to go around town all dressed up, instead of just the heroes and villains.
“What are you giving them?” Fiona asked, her eyes gleaming at the thought of Halloween candy. “Snickers? M&Ms? Chocolate Twinkies?”
The only thing Fiona loved as much as Johnny was food. With her fire-based superpowers and high metabolism, Fiona could eat whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to, and never gain a pound. Besides her nighttime gig as a superhero, that was the only other thing I really hated about her. Well, that and her sky-high legs. I was just a couple inches over five feet. And her perfectly smooth blond hair and gorgeous baby blues. My tawny locks resembled a bush more often than not, while my hazel eyes just sort of faded into my bronze face. All right, so I really hated a lot of things about Fiona.
“Hardly. I’m giving them apples, fat-free trail mix, boxes of raisins, and bags of unpopped, butter-free microwave popcorn.” I pointed to the far end of the long table, where I’d put the plastic bowls of goodies.
“What’s the fun in that?” Fiona said.
“Not contributing to the American epidemic of childhood obesity, for one,” I snapped.
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Your house is so going to be covered in toilet paper in the morning.”
Bobby cleared his throat. “Actually, Bella, I took the liberty of buying some candy bars on my way home today. Just in case you ran out of apples.”
“Chocolate? Where?” Fiona demanded.
I put my hands on my hips and glared at my grandfather. There was a devilish twinkle in his green eyes I knew all too well.
“And how many did you eat before you put them away?”
His lips twitched. “Bella, you’ve told me many times I shouldn’t eat candy. I didn’t have a single one.”
Right. And I looked good in a thong.
“Grandfather,” I warned.
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Bobby’s heart, cholesterol, and blood pressure weren’t the best in the world, something I was trying to change. With little success. My grandfather still ate like he was twenty-three, instead of seventy-three, despite doctor’s orders and my constant nagging. And don’t even get me started on his other bad habit—motorcycle riding. Bobby had broken his leg two years ago gallivanting around town, and I’d moved back home to take care of and keep an eye on him.
Bobby ignored me. “They’re in the kitchen, Fiona, if you want to hand them out.”
Fiona snapped to her feet. “Count me in.”
Bobby’s eyes sparkled. “Try to leave some for the kids.”
Fiona sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder again before disappearing into the kitchen.
I grabbed the bowls of apples, raisins, and popcorn, and carried them to the front door. The static crackled around me like an invisible force field, but it seemed to be holding steady. For the moment. Fiona come out of the kitchen and fell in step beside me, candy bars in hand. She opened the door, and I smiled, ready to greet our visitors.
“Trick or treat!” the kids shouted, holding out plastic orange pumpkins.
There were five of them, of course. Each one dressed like a member of the Fearless Five. A girl clad in reddish-orange spandex was supposed to be Fiera, and one in silver represented Karma Girl. One of the little boys sported an Irish green cape as Mr. Sage, while the other had on black leather and two long swords made out of aluminum foil for Striker. The man with them wore black-and-white goggles, representing Hermit.
Superheroes. More stupid superheroes. What happened to the good old days when kids dressed up as princesses and cowboys and monsters?
My smile faltered, but I held out the bowls. “Who wants some apples?”
Silence. Dead silence. I didn’t even hear crickets chirping in the front yard.
The kids looked at me, then each other, then at the man. No one said anything.
My power surged again. The static discharged.
And the plastic bowls in my hands shattered.
You would have thought I had some explodium in the containers instead of healthy snacks. Raisins and popcorn showered us all, while bits of pulverized apple pelted my thick, curly hair and face. The few apples that survived the explosion intact bounced down the long driveway and out of sight. The pieces of the splintered bowls zipped through the air, embedding themselves in the stone steps like daggers around my feet. In a perfect circle, no less.
I sighed and wiped a bit of apple juice off my nose. I’d long ago grown used to my power—and the embarrassment that went along with it.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, scooping raisins and popcorn into my hands. “I have more inside. Let me get that.”
I’d been prepared for such a disaster. In fact, I always bought five of everything, whether it was candy or jewelry or clothes. Years of bad luck had taught me that my jinxed power would find a way to trash even the safest, sturdiest object. In the last six months, I’d gone through seven purses, dozens of shirts, and more shoes than I cared to admit. And two cars.
“Um, I think we’ll just try the next house,” the man replied, drawing the kids close to him.
Fiona not-so-gently shouldered past me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some Hershey bars right here. They’re a little melted, but they’re still good.”
“Yeah!”
The kids stepped forward, and Fiona gave them each a chocolate bar. The girl in the Fiera costume got two. Naturally.
Satisfied, the kids headed back down the driveway in search of more Halloween goodies to rot their teeth and drive their sugar levels through the roof.
Fiona smirked. “See? I told you the kids would want candy.”
I sighed again. I should have known better. After all, it was almost Halloween.
And the perfect time of year for my power to play tricks on me.
Chapter Two—Jinx
After cleaning up my unwanted goodies and picking most of the apples out of my hair, I went back to the dining room, where I said my goodnights to everyone and wished Johnny and Fiona a safe trip.
“Call me when you land, and remember to check in every other day,” I said. “I want to know how you’re doing and what you’ve seen.”
Johnny gave me a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Bella. Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll be fine.”
“Of course, we will,” Fiona added, unwrapping her third candy bar in as many minutes. “No work, no ubervillains, no city to save. Just fun, sun, and food. Lots of food. We’re going to have a fabulous time, and that’s all there is to it. Relax, Bella. I’ll bring Johnny home in one piece. Don’t I always?”
I started to remind her about the incident two weeks ago, when the two of them had run into Yeti Girl, who’d almost removed Johnny’s head from his body. But Grandfather cut me off.
“Of course, you will,” Bobby said, winking at her.
I bit my lip. Everyone thought I was a silly worrywart who saw danger lurking around every corner. Well, it did. You could never be too vigilant or too careful. Not only did you have to worry about superheroes and ubervillains in this city, but there were ordinary things to be cautious of too—muggers, car accidents, paper cuts, carbs. Add all that to my capricious luck, and you had a recipe for disaster.
Chief Newman’s eyes flashed. “Yes, I think you’ll have a wonderful time. And I think I’ll have some more of that delicious sangria.”
The older superhero waved his hand, and his wine glass floated back across the table towards me.
I headed upstairs and went to bed. I’d had enough superheroes—pint-sized and otherwise—for one evening.
#
Early the next morning, I plodded down to the gym in the basement of the Bulluci mansion. I started every day by huffing and puffing on the elliptical trainer for at least thirty minutes. Unlike Fiona, I had to work out like a fiend to stay in reasonably good shape.
In addition to my sun-kissed skin, my mother, Lucia, had also passed down her curvy form to me. While it had looked good on her, I was all hips and thighs. Just staring at food was enough to make me gain three pounds. It didn’t help that I had an unhealthy weakness for carbs—namely mounds of pasta and piles of French fries.
I let myself daydream about a plate of cheese fries from Quicke’s for two whole minutes. Then, I flipped on my favorite James Taylor CD, climbed onto the machine, and went to work. I pushed myself hard, staying on the elliptical trainer for the better part of an hour, until my legs burned and screamed for mercy.
Grandfather and Johnny didn’t understand my need to live healthy. They didn’t know why I worked out so much or tried to get them to eat things that weren’t drenched in oil and butter and salt. I couldn’t control my supposed superpower, but I could control the rest of my body and what I put into it. I had enough things to worry about. My health wasn’t going to be one of them.
I finished my workout with a little yoga and some slow stretches. The static gathered round my body, ready to lash out. My skin hummed with energy, but I ignored the sensation. Sometimes, if I pretended I couldn’t feel the static, I could delay the chaos. For a few minutes.
I headed to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. My grandfather had built our villa-style house when he came to the States some fifty years ago, and the kitchen was one of my favorite rooms. White cabinets with angel outlines carved into the wood hovered above a tile counter that ran along one wall. A round, maple-colored table sat in the middle of the open area, underneath a crystal, wing-shaped light fixture. A sliding glass door led out to a stone patio, where you could view the orange, fig, olive, and other trees in the orchard in the backyard. More angels decorated the refrigerator magnets, the fresco on one wall, and even the folded dish towels beside the stainless steel sink.
Grandfather lounged at the table reading the morning editions of The Chronicle and The Exposé, the city’s two major newspapers. The remains of a bagel and some fresh fruit littered a plate in front
of him. I looked around, but I didn’t see or smell any telltale signs of steak, bacon, eggs, and hash browns—Bobby’s preferred breakfast of choice.
“Anything exciting going on?” I moved over to one of the refrigerators and poured myself some calcium-fortified, low-calorie, low-sugar orange juice.
The kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the mansion. It needed to be to house all our appliances. Two of everything crowded in here—stoves, refrigerators, microwaves, coffee pots, juicers, blenders, food processors. Not to mention the drawers full of silverware, plates, and glasses. We needed all the backups, since I had a nasty habit of destroying them. You’d be surprised how easy it is to blow up a microwave or snap the handle off a stainless steel pot.
Plus, the extra refrigerator helped feed Fiona and her enormous appetite. Although, when I zapped one of them, she was more than happy to eat everything inside before it spoiled, including some of the condiments. Fiona had a particular fondness for chocolate-flavored whipped cream, a craving I didn’t really understand. She was always grabbing a can of it and rushing off to find Johnny.
“Not much,” Bobby said, rustling the tall pages. “A pileup on the interstate, a purse snatching downtown, a home invasion. Some guy got beat up pretty badly in that one, but Swifte came along and broke it up. He rushed the guy to the hospital.”
Swifte was another one of Bigtime’s superheroes, famous for his speed, public-relations skills, and shimmering white costume. He zoomed around town fighting evil and getting every bit of press coverage he could. Unlike the Fearless Five, who tried to keep a low profile, Swifte loved the spotlight.
I helped myself to some more orange juice, along with a bowl of apple-cinnamon-flavored oatmeal and a banana.
“I’m going to see Joanne James and the rest of the committee about the museum benefit,” I said between sweet, steaming bites. “It’s our last major planning session, so I probably won’t be home until late. What do you have planned for today? Going to have lunch with your lady friend again?”