Read Online Heroine Complex by Sarah Kuhn - Free Book Online Page B

Wilcox turned to me, auburn topknot shifting mournfully back and forth as she shook her head. The combination of her sylph-like limbs, porcelain skin, and sad demeanor always reminded me of Galadriel posing as a goth kid. Mopey Elf.
    â€œBoth Mr. Sparky and Mr. Sparkly lost their lives in today’s battle.” Letta heaved a sigh. “They were brothers. I picked up all the pieces, but gluing them back together is gonna be impossible.”
    Lucy scooted closer to Letta. “Such a shame,” she said. “I want to let you know, that I—er,
we
are here for you.”
    Lucy, Letta, and I were in the roped-off celebrity VIP section of Whistles, Union Square’s latest terrible tourist trap of a restaurant, waiting for the fan meet-and-greet to start. The big key to the city ceremony would take place after I’d successfully interacted with each and every fan.
    I was hoping for something resembling “successfully,” anyway.
    The fans themselves had already formed a meandering line in the non-VIP section, a seething mass ofhumanity that threatened to overwhelm the not terribly spacious space. And I’d been wrong about the well-ventilated part. The thick scent of fried mozzarella sticks and sweat hung in the air like a greasy cloud. I’d seen Maisy flitting around earlier and vowed to avoid her at all costs. The last thing I needed was a bungled “exclusive Aveda Jupiter quote” showing up on her blog.
    Letta was there to deliver desserts, but as soon as she tried to leave, Lucy attached herself like a piece of double-stick tape. “I didn’t find one of those stones for you guys,” Letta said. “I thought the demon cupcakes might’ve left it in my best vat of chocolate, but there was just . . . nothing.” She heaved another sigh.
    â€œLook at you, being so helpful during your time of crisis,” Lucy purred.
    I suppressed a very un-Aveda-like eye-roll and allowed myself to zone out from their conversation so I could focus on the matter at hand.
    Which was breathing.
    Aveda had a specific ensemble in mind for her big night. And said ensemble involved a corset that could charitably be described as “ribcage-pulverizing.”
    I’d argued against the corset’s necessity. Predictably, I’d lost.
    â€œIt’s steampunk,” Aveda trilled as I was being prepped, pinched, and squeezed into my party outfit. Shoehorning Aveda into her ensembles was usually a task that fell to me. But since I was the one being shoehorned, Lucy did the honors, lacing me into the blue satin corset. This outfit centerpiece was offset by a white blouse, knee-high boots with whimsical buttons shaped like clockwork, and a pair of very tight leather pants. Aveda wanted me to strap goggles on top of my head to enhance the overall steampunkiness, but even I had my limits.
    â€œI let the fans vote on my new costume and Sexy Steampunk trounced Goth Lolita two to one,” Aveda continued. “They will be expecting it.”
    Her gaze swept over me and I could practically see the gears whirring in her brain, cataloging every bit of my body that was rejecting the corset. We could usually wear the same size clothes, but they hung a little differently on me. And the corset didn’t so much hang as crush.
    â€œSo suck it in,” she ordered.
    â€œI am,” I gasped. “But, you know, the me version of you likes to eat the occasional carb. And the glamour will smooth out any wrinkles.”
    Though Scott’s glamour token couldn’t conjure, say, an entire outfit, it would make the corset ensemble appear to fit me the way it fit Aveda. But it didn’t change the way the clothes
felt
against my struggling-for-breath body.
    Aveda’s gaze cut through me in a way that made me feel even more out of breath. Despite her opposition to being an invalid, she took to the role reasonably well once she was set up in the downstairs bedroom. She was