Heroine Complex (27 page)

“Annie.” I covered my hand with hers. “First of all, he never looked at me that way. The prom sex was bad. Really, really bad.” I remembered then that I'd tried to tell her just how bad the sex had been the day after prom, but she'd been dismissive, saying things like “well, the first time is supposed to be less than perfect” and “I
do hope you and Scott won't let this distraction interfere with our plans for my junior class president campaign” and that had been that. At the time I'd thought she was just being her usual competitive self. After all, I'd managed to lose my virginity before she had and she prided herself on doing everything first. Now I realized she'd been covering. She'd been
hurt
.

I thought back to Scott's reactions to Aveda, the way she seemed to get under his skin like no one else. The way he'd teased her mercilessly in junior high, always trying to get her attention. If I had learned anything these past two weeks, it was that sometimes the person who drove you the most crazy was also the person you secretly, desperately wanted to bone. “I think he still has feelings for you,” I said. “Maybe if you guys talked—”

“It's too late. We missed our moment. Or rather, I fucked that moment up.”

I squeezed her hand, not sure what to say.

“Well, then,” I said. “Let's see if we can get some french fries up in this joint. And spam musubi. And definitely more drinks.” I hopped down from my stool and set off to find Kevin.

“Lots more,” she agreed. “That will also help distract you from your freaked-out feelings about the karaoke battle.” She hesitated. “So the prom sex was really that bad, then? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Oh my God,” I said. “The badness was epic.”

AVEDA AND I
stumbled home when the marine layer moved in, casting a sheen of gray sludge over everything. It looked like it was going to rain. The chill didn't invade our bones as it usually would, however, thanks to the warming glow of the alcohol we'd both consumed. Aveda was wobbly on her crutches, but I managed to sling her arm around my shoulder and drag her back to her room.

“That was fun,” she murmured, as I flopped her into bed and tucked her under the covers. I smiled and made sure to prop her crutches where she could reach them.

I stumbled upstairs and teetered down the hall, swaying back and forth, my hand jutting out to steady myself against the wall. I stared at my hand, watching it blur in and out of focus.

Okay. So maybe I was a
leetle
bit drunk.

Go back to your room,
I told myself sternly, using my best inner schoolmarm voice. I sounded like I was scolding Bea.
Go back to your room and pass out and . . . and . . .

No.
I shook my head, as if the stern, schoolmarmish Evie was standing in front of me, glaring through fussy librarian glasses.
No. Nonono.
I shook a defiant finger at Invisible Schoolmarm Evie. I had much betterer . . .
better
ideas. Better, funner,
sex
ideas that involved showing
Nate he didn't need to be going after any demon princess tail. No matter how cute and blond that tail might be. I pushed off from the wall and staggered down the hall to rap on his bedroom door.

Was this, like, a booty call? I hadn't made an actual call or anything. My call was right down the hall.

Ha!
I thought.
Rhyming!

I giggled out loud and clapped a hand over my mouth. Didn't want to be getting in trouble with Schoolmarm Evie.

Nate answered the door, confusion passing over his face as he scanned my swaying form. He was adorably disheveled: hair all messed up, glasses sliding down his nose. And wearing nothing but pristine black pajama pants.

I hazily realized I'd never encountered his pajamas. Our recreational time together was usually unencumbered by clothing. But
of course
his pajamas were black. I giggled again. Then clapped a hand over my mouth. Again.

“Oh!” I said, way too loudly. “Were you sleeping?”

“No.” He opened the door wider so I could come in. “Are you drunk?”

Instead of stepping inside, I pitched forward, landing with both hands on his chest. Which was totally beautiful and totally naked. Totally ready for my better, funner SEX PLANS.

“I'm just a little tipsy.” I held my thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart, indicating my level of tipsiness. “How was your meeting?”

“Awful.” His mouth tipped up into an amused grin. He took me by the shoulders and guided me over to the bed. “Sit. I'll be right back.”

What? Where was he going?! We hadn't done my SEX PLANS yet.

I sat on his bed. I'd never been in here. His room was spartan, bare. Not much in the way of decoration, unless you counted the clothes-drying rack in the corner, which contained a few carefully hung black T-shirts.

Ha!
I thought.
Of course he line dries.

I glanced down at the bed I was sitting on. Well, sort of . . . swaying on. It was a narrow twin with a plain gray cover and it was perfectly made. I poked a wobbly finger at one of the hospital corners.

The creak of the door announced Nate's return and I jumped, as if I'd been caught doing something illicit. He padded over to the bed and handed me a bowl of something. I squinted at it.

Oh! Lucky Charms. My favorite. And good, fortifying pre-SEX food.

“Eat this.” He indicated the bowl. “Drink this.” He set a glass of water on a rickety chair sitting next to his bed, which seemed to be serving as a makeshift nightstand. “And take this.” He put a couple of Advils next to the glass.

I picked through the bowl, ferreting out the purple horseshoes and tossing them to the side. “Did you know these are called ‘marbits'? Like, marshmallow bits. Lucky Charms has a patent on that.”

Nate's eyes followed my horseshoe excavation. “Let me guess: you wrote a paper in grad school about it.”

“Did not!” I jabbed him in the arm with my marbit-sticky finger. “Some things, I just know.” I giggled at my obvious mental superiority and dug into the bowl.

Nate swept the purple bits into a wastebasket next to the bed and sat down beside me.

“And are the purple marbits dangerous in some fashion?” he asked.

“What? No. I just don't like them.”

He grinned at me, now fully amused, and a tiny flutter bloomed in my chest. Maybe I could make him laugh. I
loooooved
making him laugh. It wasn't a gimme like it was with, say, Lucy. You had to work for that shit.

All lingering thoughts of the pictures of him and Maisy and my nerves about the Big Maisy Takedown Plan dropped out of my head. She didn't matter. All that
mattered was this neat-as-a-pin room containing me and him and my attempts to make him laugh.

“They're all the same, though.” He nodded at the marbits. “All equally terrible for you. Just with different food coloring.”

I made the “wrong” buzzer sound through my mouthful of magical deliciousness and then he did laugh and it was the best thing ever. I drank in that deep, rumbly sound, giddy pride washing over me.

Then suddenly my head was too heavy and my eyes seemed like they were being dragged closed by invisible weights.

“Guuuuhhh.” I set my empty bowl on the chair-nightstand and popped the Advil in my mouth. I listed to the side and managed to flop onto my back in the middle of the bed. My limbs felt like they were filled with warm sand.

“Mmm,” I sighed, my eyes fluttering closed.
“Sex.”

He laughed again, and I felt the bedspread being maneuvered from its tucked-in position so he could pull it over me.

“Go to sleep,” he said, brushing his lips against my cheek.

“Wait.” I grabbed his arm. “Stay with me.”

“You're right in the middle of the mattress. And taking up every available inch of space.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I scooted over, tugging at his arm. He allowed himself to be pulled into bed. I ran my fingertips over his gorgeous shoulders, tracing those mysterious threads of scar tissue. “When are you going to tell me about this?” I slurred. “Like, were you an international superspy with a penchant for bar brawls or did you just fall off your bike or something? 'Cause if someone hurt you, I will totally kick . . . their . . . ass . . .”

“Go to sleep,” he repeated, mock sternly. He pulled me close, fitting my body against his. My head drooped
onto his shoulder. As my breathing started to deepen, his clean, soapy scent settled around me like a blanket.

I drifted off, cradled in the warmth of him, my sugary breakfast treat soaking up the alcohol in my stomach.

And I thought,
Right now is perfect
.

I woke up with a headache. But thanks to Nate's Advil and cereal cocktail, it was a mild one.

“How do you feel?” Nate murmured. We were entwined on his narrow bed, both of us still half-asleep. The room was very warm and I could hear the pitter-pat of rain against the window. I sat up slowly, my sluggish brain kicking into gear.

“Not bad,” I said. I suddenly felt self-conscious. “Um. Sorry for barging in on you last night.”

“I don't mind.” He gave me a half-smile. “Barge in any time.” He surveyed our cramped formation. “I should probably get a bigger bed.”

I smiled back, but my self-consciousness flared. I was still clad in yesterday's rumpled drinking ensemble. My skin felt sticky and I instinctively knew my hair was a mess.

I shifted and allowed my gaze to drift over to his chair-nightstand. My empty cereal bowl was still there, but now I noticed something sitting next to it. Something small and gray and familiar. “Is that one of the stones?” I asked.

“Yes.” He plucked it from its spot and handed it to me. It was the You Need stone. Those two words stared back at me ominously. I wondered if Maisy had ever received this mysterious directive. “I wanted to show you this yesterday when Lucy and I returned to HQ, but you were otherwise occupied with Aveda. And then last night you were . . .” He smiled. “ . . . not exactly coherent.” He nodded at the stone. “Turn it over.”

I did. And despite the uncomfortable warmth of the
room, my blood ran cold. The number, that creepy 3, was no longer there. It had been replaced by a 1. Somehow, this tiny shard from the Otherworld had changed. Possibly overnight.

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“I'm not sure. I only noticed it yesterday.”

I ran my thumb over the stone's smooth surface. “You should show Scott. He can figure out if there's a magical explanation. Like if it's enchanted or something. And Lucy—she might be able to connect it to something we've seen in the field. And obviously Bea since she's been cataloging the stones.”

“I plan to,” he said. “But I wanted to see if you had any theories first. You always see things differently than I do; it makes for a balanced perspective.”

“It does?” My voice somehow sounded both squeaky and raspy and my throat was dry. I needed water.

“Yes. I tend to see hard facts with no shading. You see nuance, how those facts might be affected by real life experiences, by people's impressions—in other words, a more human side. These two elements work very well together.
We
work well together.” He smiled and I felt self-conscious again. What was wrong with me? I'd been gleefully naked with him countless times at this point. Yet now, fully clothed and discussing actual meaningful topics, I couldn't seem to get even a little bit comfortable. Maybe I was more hungover than I'd initially thought.

I forced myself to concentrate on the stone.

“One from three,” I said. “We've speculated that this is a directive. And Bea theorized that Maisy had already created the three she needed to take over: herself, Stu, and Tommy. But say Maisy doesn't count herself in that number. She's the princess, the leader. And we still don't know her exact origin: maybe she's always been a demon. So maybe she's only created two hybrids. Which means . . .”

“She still needs one more,” Nate said.

“And if the stone is counting down like this, which we've never seen a stone do before?” I looked at him for confirmation. He nodded. “Then that last one is probably important. When she gets that last one . . . that's when something really horrible happens.” My headache pounded against my temples, no longer mild. “Maybe she's planning on getting this final person at the karaoke thing, turning them into a hybrid on the spot. That seems like a place where she could do it in as show-offy a manner as possible.”

I curled my fingers around the stone. The tension I'd managed to brush to the side the day before returned with a vengeance, causing my chest to seize. I forced a breath out. Maisy was, in theory, more dangerous than anything I'd taken on yet. Whatever powers she possessed were likely to be way more impressive than the grabby claws of the Tommy demon or the cold fingers of Stu's disembodied hand. I could get seriously hurt. I could die, probably. Or if I fucked up, other people could die. I—

No. Stop. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood and thought back to Aveda's words at the bar.
I get my strength from thinking about what I'm protecting. All the things I'd miss if the world suddenly weren't there.

“Hey.” Nate took the stone from me and set it back on the chair-nightstand. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” I smiled weakly, but nausea spiraled through my stomach. “Wow, look at the time.” I wasn't wearing a watch. “I should go. Bea wants to discuss the song list for my big karaoke debut. And you probably want to talk to everyone else about that, huh?” I gestured to the stone.

His hand slid under the covers to take mine. The room seemed to be growing warmer, and not in a sexy “it's gettin' hot in here” kind of way. More like an oppressive, walls closing in kind of way. And his bed was so narrow,
so small. It was impossible to get comfortable. The nausea settled in, taking up permanent residence in the pit of my gut. I tried to follow Aveda's advice, to build strength by thinking of things I'd miss.

Lucky Charms. Spam musubi. Lucy's high-pitched giggle. Orgasms. Neon underwear. Bea's purple boots. Nate . . . Nate's . . .

“It's six in the morning. No one else is awake yet,” Nate said. He released my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist. “And you look like you could use some distraction.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against my collarbone. “Stay here. We'll have . . .” He lifted a suggestive eyebrow. “ . . . breakfast. And you can help me shop for a new bed online.”