Jinx

  “Darling Bella, I’m never, ever clumsy. No matter what I do. Or who I do it with.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Kisses. Caresses. Long, slow strokes. All sorts of sensual things flashed through my head, and I stared at the floor to keep my eyes off the suggestive paintings on the walls.

  I bit my lip to bring myself back to my senses. Debonair might dazzle the other women he brought here, but not me. I wasn’t going to succumb to his charm. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep with him—or any other superhero. There was too much heartache, too much worrying involved in superheroes. Even pseudo-superheroes like Debonair. And my father.

  All I wanted to do was go home. Back to the Bulluci mansion, back to Grandfather, and back to my safe, calm, mostly superhero-free life.

  “Can I go home now? Please?”

  Debonair shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Bella. Not until I figure out a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  Debonair gestured at the jewel on the floor. “Like what Hangman wanted with that. He seemed most anxious to get it, taking on me and the Fearless Five at the same time. Usually, he’s smarter than that, loath as I am to admit it.”

  He reached down. My power flared up, and the static arced out, not wanting the handsome thief to pick up the gem. Somehow, I managed to squash it. Debonair didn’t need to know about my power—or lack thereof. He might try to make me use it for his benefit. He wasn’t taking advantage of me any more than he already had.

  Debonair’s hand closed around the sapphire, and he straightened. “It really is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

  “You have to give it back to the museum,” I protested. “It’s not yours. Neither is that painting you stole from Berkley.”

  “Why should I give back the sapphire? Finders keepers, and all that.”

  “Because the gem belongs to Berkley, and he loaned it to the museum so everyone could have a chance to enjoy it. Not just you.”

  Debonair cocked his head to one side, staring at me as though he was seeing me for the very first time. “That’s an interesting theory, Bella.”

  “It’s not a theory. It’s the truth. By hoarding the art you steal or whatever you do with it, you’re denying others the chance to enjoy its beauty. It’s criminal. It’s worse than whatever Hangman wanted to do with the sapphire.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. Hangman is much fonder of killing people than I am.”

  I gulped. That was true too.

  Debonair tossed the sapphire in the air and caught it. Then, he turned to me. “So, what do you want, Bella?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sauntered toward me. I tried not to notice how his muscles coiled and rippled with every step.

  “Well, I like my guests, particularly my female guests, to feel at home. And you’re going to be here for a while, Bella. So, tell me, what is it you want right now?”

  I want you to kiss me again. Kiss me like I’m the only woman in the world. I must have really, really hit my head hard at the museum because, strangely enough, that was the first thing I thought of. But I pushed that silly fancy aside and moved on to more sensible matters. I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.

  “I want some food and water, of course. I’m not picky. I want my dress and purse back. And I want to call my grandfather and tell him that I’m all right.”

  “I think I can do a little better than just bread and water. But your dress was ruined beyond all repair, which is why you’re wearing that robe.”

  I stared at the scarlet fabric. “You undressed me?” I cringed, thinking of love handles and stretch marks and cellulite, all of which I had in abundance.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t look.” Debonair winked. “Too much.”

  Which meant he had seen my thunder thighs in all their huge glory. Wonderful.

  He ticked off answers to the rest of my demands. “I’ll give you back the purse, but calling your grandfather is out of the question. There aren’t any phones in this room.”

  I threw up my hands. “Well, can’t you just pop! one in like you do everything else?”

  “I’m afraid not. Besides, I don’t even think they’ll work down here.”

  Down here. That meant I was probably underground or that the walls were excessively thick. It didn’t inspire me with a lot of confidence about my chances of escaping.

  “You have to let me call him.” My panic bubbled back to the surface. “You have to.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t understand. My father was . . . he . . . he was killed earlier this year. He didn’t come home on time, but I . . . just thought he was wrapped up in a business deal or something. And then, we, um, got the news his body had been found. Or what was left of it. Ever since then, I’ve made it a point to check in with my grandfather every few hours. He’ll be worried sick, especially when he hears about what happened at the museum.”

  Debonair studied me, his eyes tracing over my face. I didn’t want to beg, but I didn’t want Grandfather to worry. I didn’t want him to experience the same fear I’d had every night for so long.

  “Please, please let me call him. I’ll do anything you want, and I won’t say anything about where I am. I can’t anyway because I don’t even know where I am. I don’t have a clue.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Debonair said.

  I bit my lip to keep from pleading with him some more.

  “Is there anything else you need or require?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “Can you find me some other clothes?”

  “Why? Aren’t you comfortable?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I threw my arms out wide. “Look at me. I look ridiculous in this getup. Not to mention it’s rather cold in here.”

  Debonair’s eyes dropped to my nipples, which were clearly visible through the thin silk. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  Embarrassed beyond belief, I crossed my arms over my chest. Debonair walked closer to me. He stretched out a hand.

  For a moment, I thought he was going to pull me to him. My breath caught in my throat in fear and more than a little anticipation. I didn’t know what I would do if he kissed me again. Melt in his arms, most likely. What was it about him that had me so worked up?

  Instead, he fingered the sleeve of my silk robe. “I think you look quite fetching, Bella. You really should wear red more often. It suits you.” Debonair dropped his hand. “But I’ll see what I can do about getting you some other clothes.”

  All I could do was just look at him.

  Then—

  POP!

  Debonair vanished, taking the sapphire with him, and leaving me alone.

  And strangely wishing he’d come back.

  11

  I hadn’t taken half a step toward the closed door when things started popping! into the room.

  First, food appeared on the glass table in the corner. Debonair wasn’t boasting. He could do a whole lot better than just bread and water. A veritable feast poofed into being right before my eyes. Cheeses and breads and fresh fruits and chocolates galore, along with a bottle of fine champagne. The spread was even more impressive than what Quicke’s had served at the benefit. The sight made my stomach roar, and my mouth water.

  Second, my purse teleported in, along with my dress. Both landed at the foot of the enormous water bed. Debonair was right. The dress was beyond saving. Soot and ash and blood dirtied the satin fabric, along with more rips and tears than I could ever hope to sew shut again. Stains also covered the matching purse, but it, at least, was in one piece.

  Third, a set of clothes materialized. A pair of hip-hugging, tight-fitting khakis teleported into the room, along with a sleeveless paisley shirt so low cut it wasn’t much better than the teddy. A moment later, a matching green leather jacket appeared, along with a pair of low slingback heels. Everything had sequins on it, from the multicolored flowers on the pockets of the khakis to the flashing rhinestones th
at dotted the shirt to the tiny pearls stitched across the tops of the shoes. Sequins and rhinestones and pearls. The outfit looked like something Fiona would wear, only more flamboyant. Not my usual style, but I was just going to have to make do. Or keep wearing the silk teddy, which wasn’t an option.

  Fourth—

  There was no fourth.

  No phone materialized in the room as I’d requested. So, I dug through my purse until I found my own cell phone. I snapped it open, but a message on the screen told me there was no signal and to seek higher ground or my nearest cell tower.

  Disappointed, I shut the phone. Debonair hadn’t been lying when he said one wouldn’t work down here. I supposed I should be grateful to my captor for what he’d given me. I doubted Hangman would have been so generous. But I found myself listening, waiting for one more pop! that would tell me Debonair had returned.

  He didn’t appear either. I wasn’t sure why I was so disappointed.

  But I was.

  Still, I was too sensible to mope for long. Not if I had any hope of getting out of my orgy-painting-lined prison. Debonair hadn’t said anything about letting me go, and I had no reason to think he wouldn’t. But I wasn’t about to take any chances. Not with the sexy thief. I didn’t trust him. Or maybe I didn’t trust myself around him.

  Either way, I got busy.

  I pushed through the beaded curtain, went into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me. Not that a locked door would keep him out, of course. Debonair could probably teleport into any place he wanted. But it made me feel a little bit better.

  The first thing I did was examine my various wounds. There were lots of them, especially on my arms and hands and knees. But none was so deep it’d need stitches. In fact, most weren’t much more than paper cuts. Any other person would have probably been sliced to ribbons by the shattered glass from the museum roof. I knew it was because of my luck. For every bad thing that happened, something good did too. So, while I’d been in the middle of a superhero-ubervillain battle, I’d escaped it with just a few minor injuries. Not a bad trade-off.

  So, I moved on. I had lots of bruises and would be extremely sore in a few hours, but nothing seemed to be sprained or twisted or broken. I also didn’t feel any telltale lumps or bumps on my head, and my vision was fine. Which meant I probably didn’t have a concussion. I wasn’t so sure I was happy about that. Otherwise, how could I explain this intense attraction I felt for someone as inappropriate as Debonair?

  I took a quick dip in the oversized bathtub, scrubbing everything several times, including my thick hair. Then, I stuffed myself into the clothes, albeit sans underwear. The bra and panties I’d been wearing under my dress were as ruined as it was, and I just couldn’t bear to put the bloodstained fabric back against my clean skin. So I went without, even though I didn’t particularly like going commando.

  The clothes fit, but just barely. And the shirt was practically indecent without the jacket to cover it. Debonair had quite the eye when it came to guessing a woman’s size.

  I wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink in the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Tawny, curly hair. Hazel eyes. And an outfit so garish it was almost pretty. I looked like me, but different. It wasn’t the clothes so much as it was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. There was a flush in my cheeks and a glint in my eyes that hadn’t been there before. Who knew? Maybe being in mortal danger and kidnapped by a handsome uberthief agreed with me. Or was at least good for my skin. Or maybe I really was concussed and just didn’t know it.

  Once I was more or less properly clothed, I sat down at the table and devoured the food, not even caring about calories and carbs. Fiona would have been proud of me. I ate all the cheese. All the chocolates. All the fruit. And all the bread, except for the crusts. I’d never liked crusts.

  I didn’t drink the champagne, though, instead getting some water from the bathroom. I wanted a clear head. I would need one, if I had any chance of escaping.

  Once I was through with my meal, I tried the door. Locked. So, I ransacked the room, opening the drawers and cabinets, peering under the furniture, checking around the edges of the massive water bed.

  Nothing. There was nothing that would help me escape. Not even so much as a rusty nail I could pry out of the wall and stab Debonair with. If I could muster up the courage to do that and not just stare dreamily into his eyes. The man was gorgeous, but why was I acting this way? You’d think I’d never seen a hot superhero or ubervillain before. That I’d never even had sex before. Of course, it had been a while, but that was no excuse. Debonair had kidnapped me and told me in no uncertain terms I was his prisoner. I should hate him.

  But for some reason, I didn’t.

  And he wasn’t all bad. He’d saved me from Hangman. He’d given me everything I’d asked for, except a phone. Still, thinking about him didn’t help me out of my present situation.

  So I got up off the bed and went through the room again, slower and more carefully. Opened all the drawers. Peered under the furniture. Checked around the edges of the water bed.

  And I realized that things seemed a little . . . off.

  Oh, lots of sexy, slightly pornographic DVDs lay next to the TV inside the entertainment center. But the covers were all slick and shiny, as though they’d never even been opened.

  Oh, lots of exotic bath oils and warming lotions and soothing creams lined a shelf in the bathroom. But the lids were screwed on, and the bottles were all full, as though they’d never been used.

  Oh, lots of faux sex toys, like fake, fur-lined handcuffs and edible underwear populated the dresser next to the bed. But they looked brand-new, and none of the underwear seemed to be missing from its foil package.

  And I didn’t find any condoms.

  Not a single one.

  You’d think a Romeo like Debonair would have had an industrial pack stashed away somewhere in his Lair of Seduction. Maybe even two or three, if he was really the stud he was rumored to be. But I didn’t find any.

  And I started to wonder—was the whole Lair of Seduction thing even real?

  Or was it all for show?

  And if so, why?

  I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know. The whole place gave me a weird vibe. So, I grabbed a pad and pencil I’d found stuffed in one of the drawers in the entertainment center and plopped down on the water bed.

  It didn’t matter what Debonair did in here or with whom. There was one thing that was real—I wasn’t getting out of here by myself. I’d just have to wait for the Fearless Five to come rescue me. Surely, they were on their way by now. Sam and Carmen probably had Henry Harris and Lulu Lo working overtime on their computers trying to find me. If anyone could, it would be the two computer gurus. After all, Lulu had managed to find Johnny earlier this year, when he’d been hypnotized and kidnapped by Siren and Intelligal.

  My eyes scanned the room for about the tenth time, and an idea hit me. I started sketching the layout of the Lair of Seduction and made note of all the items inside. Doing this same thing had helped Carmen Cole uncover the real identities of the Terrible Triad last year. Instead of being a superhero, the newspaper reporter had once exposed heroes’ and villains’ secret identities. Maybe my list would help her puzzle out Debonair’s alter ego when they rescued me.

  I did a couple of quick drawings of the room and bathroom. Then, I moved on to Debonair. To my surprise, he was easy to draw. Or maybe I was just obsessed. I filled page after page with images of the handsome thief. Him standing in the museum. Him holding the sapphire in his hand. Him staring at me.

  But the sketch I was proudest of was a close-up portrait I did of Debonair’s face. I drew him in profile, half turned toward me, half hidden by shadows that spilled over the page. A half smile pulled his lips upward, hinting at his roguish, rakish nature, and he peeked at you out of the corner of his eye.

  I added a bit more shading to his hair and looked at my drawing, pleased by my effort. I’d majored in art in
college and had taken a few classes on my own since then, so I knew good work when I saw it—even if it was my own. I doubted Arthur Anders would have been able to find fault with my sketch. Not that he was ever going to see it.

  My art was my private, personal escape—one I didn’t share with anyone else, except Johnny and Grandfather. They encouraged me, but I don’t think they knew how important my art was to me—and how passionate I was about it. No one had really known, except for my father, and he was gone now.

  Tired and spent, I yawned. The fight at the museum had taken a lot out of me, as had the wild teleportation around the city, and waking up to find myself wearing nothing but a silk teddy. But my ordeal was almost over. The Fearless Five would find me soon, and I could go home, where I belonged.

  Since there was nothing I could do to escape, I curled up on the water bed, pad beside me, and went to sleep.

  12

  I knew he was in the room the second I woke up. The smell of roses permeated the air, and there was a stillness I was coming to recognize as the calm after the storm. Or more like the quiet after the pop!

  I sat up to find him lounging on the sofa, staring at me. His eyes were dark and thoughtful. I wondered how long he’d been sitting there. Watching me. And what he’d thought about while he did it.

  “What time is it?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep.

  “A little before midnight. You’ve been asleep all afternoon.” I rubbed my eyes and cleared the rest of the cobwebs from my mind. I’d been gone almost a whole day. Grandfather would be frantic by now. I would have been, in his shoes. I hoped the stress wouldn’t be too much for him. And that he wasn’t using this as an excuse to eat and smoke and drink whatever he wanted. Just because I’d been in mortal danger was no reason for him to turn to chocolate cannolis for comfort.

  A faint rustle broke through my worry. I looked up. Debonair held the pad filled with my drawings in his gloved hands. Horror, pure horror, filled me. I never, ever showed my work to anyone but Grandfather and Johnny. I was too afraid of what they’d say. That they’d laugh or scoff or make fun of it like Terence had. That they’d confirm my suspicion I was just wasting my time on a dream that would never come true. It was one thing to think that myself. It was a bit more soul-crushing to have it confirmed by a third party.