Karma Girl

  Dedication

  To my mother and grandmother,

  for always taking care of me.

  PART ONE

  I HATE SUPERHEROES

  Chapter One

  Dinner with superheroes.

  It’s an interesting experience—and one that I rather hate.

  The empty wineglass floated past me, sailing along as though carried by a steady, invisible hand. I tried to pretend it wasn’t there. That I didn’t see it. That the glass was as invisible as the force propelling it forward. But that was hard to do since it landed on the table next to me.

  I further tried to pretend I didn’t see the crystal carafe beside my elbow rise up, tip itself over, and pour ruby-red sangria into the waiting glass. I even tried to convince myself I didn’t really see the glass float back across the table.

  I failed miserably at all three.

  The other people gathered round didn’t pay any attention to the floating glass. Didn’t slow their conversation or ignore their food for an instant.

  Unfortunately, floating glasses had become a normal sight around the Bulluci household these days—no matter how I wished otherwise.

  “Is that really necessary?” I asked, my voice a little snappish. “I would have been happy to pour you some more wine.”

  Chief Sean Newman held out his hand, and the glass drifted over to him. “There was no need to bother you, Bella, when I could do it for myself.”

  “But you could have just asked,” I persisted. “You didn’t have to use your powers like that.”

  “Please,” Fiona Fine cut in, turning her blue eyes to me. “What’s the point of having superpowers if you don’t use them?”

  Fiona grabbed the bread basket and waved her hand over the top. A few red-hot sparks shot off the ends of her fingertips, and the delicious smell of warm cheese bread filled the air.

  “Lighten up, Bella,” Fiona continued, putting the entire loaf on one of the dozen plates in front of her. “We all know each other here—alter egos and otherwise. It’s not like there are other people around to catch us in the act.”

  No, there weren’t any other people around. No normal people anyway. Just me, Fiona, Chief Newman, my brother, Johnny, and my grandfather, Bobby.

  I’d barely touched my whole wheat ravioli, but I put my fork down. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I never was when there were superheroes around.

  But Fiona and Chief Newman weren’t just any superheroes. There were plenty of those in Bigtime, New York. No, they were Fiera and Mr. Sage, members of the Fearless Five—the most powerful, elite team of heroes in the city. In addition to being stronger than five people put together, Fiera could also form fireballs with her bare hands, while Mr. Sage had all sorts of psychic powers, including telekinesis, or the ability to move objects with his mind.

  And now, they were part of my family.

  Fiona had gotten engaged to my brother, Johnny, a couple of months ago after she’d saved him from two ubervillains who were trying to enslave the city. During all the commotion, Fiona had revealed her secret identity as Fiera to my grandfather and me and gotten us to help her rescue Johnny. And Chief Newman was Fiona’s father, as well as her teammate.

  But they weren’t the only superheroes in the family these days.

  The Fearless Five were a package deal. In addition to Fiera and Mr. Sage, we also got Karma Girl, Striker, and Hermit. Or Carmen Cole, Sam Sloane, and Henry Harris. That’s how I thought of them. As nice, regular people who were mostly normal. Never as their alter egos. I tried to pretend those other people didn’t exist.

  I tried to pretend a lot of things didn’t exist.

  Especially my own supposed superpower.

  My grandfather, Bobby Bulluci, clapped his hands together. “Come! Let’s talk of other things.” He turned to Fiona and Johnny. “Are the two of you packed for your trip?”

  Johnny had some business to take care of in the overseas divisions of Bulluci Industries, so he and Fiona had decided to make a working vacation out of it. The two were leaving tomorrow on a month-long trip to explore the Mediterranean.

  “Of course,” Johnny answered, flashing Fiona a grin. “Although I don’t know how we’re going to get all of Fiona’s clothes onto the plane.”

  Fiona reached over and punched my brother. Johnny flexed his bicep, which took on a hard look—like his skin had suddenly morphed into metal. Fiona’s fist smacked into his arm, and she frowned and shook her hand. Even with her great strength, it hurt to punch my brother when he formed his superhard, supertough exoskeleton. It made Johnny immune to just about everything. Kicks, punches, explosions, Fiona’s flare-ups. That was good, since my brother had an annoying tendency to dress up in tacky, formfitting, black leather, zoom around town on his motorcycle, and fight ubervillains.

  Instead of an exoskeleton, I’d gotten something far less useful from the mutated family gene pool—luck. As if that was any kind of superpower. Superannoying was more like it.

  Fiona sniffed and tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. “I’ve told you a million times you can never have too many clothes, especially when you’re going on vacation. Besides, we’re taking Sam’s private jet. There’ll be more than enough room for my things.”

  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 sup
erhero-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, wineglasses, 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.

  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 came 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 orange-red 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 p
repared 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 chocolate 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

  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 good-nights 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?”