Karma Girl Part 27

Held me when I cried. Taken me in when I had no place else to go. Those were just a few of the reasons I'd come to care for Sam. Just a few of the reasons I'd come to love him.

Oh, how I loved him.

"Carmen, can you hear me?" Mr. Sage's voice cracked and echoed through the library.

I leaned forward and spoke into the microphone Hermit had rigged up next to one of his computers for me. "Loud and clear."

"We're here," Mr. Sage said. "We've hidden the van in the woods outside the ice cream factory. We're going in now."

"Be careful. There's no telling what Malefica might have in store for you." I swallowed. "Or what she's done to Striker." With the superhero's ability to regenerate, Malefica could torture him for hours on end.

"We will, don't worry. I'm turning on the camera in my suit. Over and out."

A moment later, a large bush came into view on the screen. A green, gloved hand pushed the thick limbs aside. A tall building lay about three hundred yards ahead. I perched on the edge of my seat. I was seeing exactly what Mr. Sage and the others were.

The superheroes crept toward the building. Nothing stirred. As they drew closer to the factory, I could tell that it had seen better days. Debris, mostly rocks and broken bits of rubble, littered the cracked, KarmaGirl.

uneven parking lot. Graffiti and gang signs crawled over the walls, and all the windows on the bottom floors had been busted out. The setting sun caught on the delicate spider webs that spanned the empty windows and made them glisten like silver. The superheroes reached a metal door tucked away in one corner of the building. An exit sign swung in the breeze, creaking over their heads.

Through the microphone, I heard Hermit tap a few b.u.t.tons on his handheld supercomputer.

"I'm not detecting any outer alarms or electrical devices," he whispered. "I've got no thermal images.

Nothing within two hundred feet. The walls are too thick for my sensors to penetrate any deeper."

"Then, let's go in. But keep your eyes open," Mr. Sage replied.

"Always," Fiera chimed in. "Always."

Mr. Sage opened the door. Nothing but darkness lay inside.

"Here we go," Mr. Sage whispered.

"Good luck," I whispered back.

The superheroes stepped inside, and the door snickered shut. The camera on Mr. Sage's suit automatically adjusted to the faint light, allowing me to see just as clearly as if I had Striker's supersenses. Hermit took point, and the three superheroes eased into the factory.

They worked their way through a series of long hallways that turned and twisted back on each other.

Finally, the superheroes reached a large open s.p.a.ce. On the far side of the room, a few thousand feet away, an a.s.sembly line led deeper into the factory. A metal catwalk ringed the entire area.

"This is it," I said into the microphone. "This is definitely the place Malefica took me the night her goons kidnapped me. Everything looks just the way I remember it."

"Good," Mr. Sage whispered. "Let's find Striker and get out of here."

The three superheroes moved deeper into the abandoned factory.

My inner voice muttered. It all seemed too easy. If I were an ubervillain who had just kidnapped one of the world's greatest superheroes, I'd know his friends would come after him. I would have more security and guards around my supersecret lair than Fort Knox. At the very least, I would have set up alarms on all the outer doors to let me know if somebody was trying to break in. But there were no alarms; no loud, squealing sirens; no red, flas.h.i.+ng danger signs. Nothing but eerie silence and the labored breathing of Fiera, Hermit, and Mr. Sage.

"That's funny," Hermit said. "There's a wall in front of us. That wasn't on the blueprints I found online."

"The Triad's probably done some remodeling," Fiera said. "You know how Scorpion likes to exercise- by smas.h.i.+ng through walls."

They continued on. My uneasy feeling ballooned with every step the group took. They met no resistance, not even a couple of token, throwaway goons like the two who'd kidnapped me. The factory seemed to be deserted. There weren't even any rats or bugs crawling around in the rubble and broken pipes. Of course, Frost had probably used them all in his experiments. Still, something wasn't right.

I could feel it.

The group kept going. They reached the a.s.sembly line and crouched under it. I turned my attention to another computer, the one with all of the information on Malefica. I pulled up files and photos of the ubervillain. Doc.u.ment after doc.u.ment, photo after photo, zipped by.

I stopped when I came to an article that a.n.a.lyzed Malefica's fas.h.i.+on sense. It was the same story I'd read so many weeks ago in the comfort of my apartment. My eyes traced over the pictures that chronicled the changing looks of Malefica. There was something odd about the pictures, something I was missing. What was it?

KarmaGirl.

I got closer to the screen, so close my nose almost touched the monitor, and looked at the sequence of photos. Over the years, Malefica had changed the color of her suit from bright crimson to a darker bloodred. She'd ditched the glittering rhinestones and sparkling rubies on her cat suit for a simpler, cla.s.sier design. On the flip side, there was one constant. Her shoes were exactly the same in every picture . . .

It hit me. I knew what was wrong. In every single one of the pictures, Malefica was wearing boots. Red, thigh-high boots.

Boots-not sandals.

I chewed my lip and picked up one of my Rubik's Cubes. I turned the puzzle round and round in my hands. It was probably nothing. Perhaps the ubervillain had grown tired of her boots, as women were so wont to do with their footwear and other accessories. Perhaps she was now into sandals. Perhaps she had just wanted to show off her pedicure.

Still . . .

But maybe . . .

What if . . .

My inner voice nagged me. I thought back to the night in the park when I'd gone to meet the Terrible Triad. Malefica had been wearing boots then, because I remembered the way the enormous soles had flattened the gra.s.s. My frown deepened. But Malefica had sported sandals when she'd kidnapped Striker earlier in the day. Why would she switch from sandals to boots and then back to sandals? Superheroes and ubervillains rarely changed anything about their costumes once they got used to them. They might tweak them a little bit, as Malefica had done by removing the gaudy rhinestones from her cat suit, but they wouldn't change anything major. It made it too hard for the public to recognize and identify them, not to mention all the subsequent marketing headaches it created. So why would Malefica change her look now? Why now when she was hot on the trail of the Fearless Five?

I slid a row of colors into place on the Rubik's Cube. The answer was that Malefica wouldn't. Not unless she had specifically wanted me to notice her sandals. But why? Why would Malefica want that?

What would that get her? What could she possibly gain from that?

I paced around the room and clutched the Rubik's Cube in my icy hands. The only reason I'd even recognized Malefica's shoes was because of my time on the society beat. A month before Malefica had kidnapped me, I had done a lengthy feature story on Bella Bulluci and her fall shoe collection. Bella had shown me a pair of sandals exactly like the ones Malefica had been wearing. The photo had run a good four columns wide across the top of one of the society pages.

I put the cube down, sat in front of Henry's computer, and went to The Expose's Web site. I entered my pa.s.sword and searched through the archives until I found the story on the Bulluci sandals. It was your usual fluffy, society piece, but my eyes snagged on a sentence near the bottom. The sandals are only available in sizes 6 through 9 . . . I riffled through the papers until I found the order form Malefica, er, Morgana had used to purchase the sandals. Her shoe size was 10. Bigfoot, indeed. She'd had to pay another five thousand dollars to special-order them, and she'd added another three grand to the total to have them delivered by September 1-two weeks before the Triad had kidnapped me.

I grabbed my cube and started pacing again. Other pieces of the puzzle snapped into place inside my head. The week before the Bulluci cover, I'd done a piece on fine liquor, including Brighton's Best whiskey. I remembered whistling when the salesman had told me how expensive it was. A week earlier, I'd written a glowing story about crystal, specifically Hil.u.s.tar tumblers.

What if . . .

KarmaGirl.

Could it be . . .

Was it possible . . .

The society page editor had a.s.signed me all of those stories. The society editor, like all the others, had to get her story ideas approved through the managing editor, who reported to Morgana Madison, aka Malefica. It would have been easy for Morgana to whisper into the managing editor's ear and get me a.s.signed to certain stories. Everyone in the newsroom knew what a good memory I had. I could still recall names, dates, and places from stories I'd written in college. Like all journalists, I was a compendium of useless facts I'd picked up during my years on the job. A cold, iron fist wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed tight.

What if Malefica had been planning something far more sinister than kidnapping Striker all along? What if she wasn't through with her plan yet? What if this was just the beginning?

I stalked around the room, twisting and turning the cubed puzzle in my hands. I flashed back to the night in the factory and the tour that Malefica had taken me on. I hadn't thought too much of the ubervillain's secret lair. It was a run-down factory. The only thing that had looked remotely sinister besides the vats of goo and mutated animals had been the bank of computers plugged into those four gla.s.s tubes. But what could Malefica do with those?

I clicked the last row of colors into place on the Rubik's Cube. There had been four gla.s.s tubes next to the computers. Not one, not two, not three, but four. Four, man-sized, gla.s.s tubes. Suddenly, I knew.

I just knew.

The Fearless Five were walking straight into a trap.

And it was all my fault.

KarmaGirl.

24.

I dropped the Rubik's Cube, lunged forward, and grabbed the microphone on the table. "Hermit! Mr.

Sage! Fiera! Can you hear me? Come in! Come in now!"

"Ouch!" Hermit's tinny voice echoed back to me. "There's no need to shout, Carmen. I can hear you just fine. What's the matter?"

"It's a trap. Malefica set up this whole thing. She wants to capture all of you, not just Striker. Get out!

Get out now!"

"What? What is she babbling about this time?" Fiera said.

"Are you sure, Carmen?" Mr. Sage asked. "Everything seems to be quiet. Hermit's just gotten a possible location for Striker."

"Yes, I'm sure. Leave! Right now! Before it's too late!"

"Okay. You heard her. Let's go."

"But what about Striker?" Fiera asked.

"We'll have to come back later. We can't risk it if Malefica's expecting us."

Mr. Sage turned. Suddenly, a brilliant blue light flashed in front of the camera. Mr. Sage stumbled back.

"Run," he said in a weak voice. "While you still can-"

The superhero went down on his knees and flopped over on his back. The camera on his suit pointed straight up. I had a lovely view of the iced-over, thick, metal pipes that hung down from the ceiling, but nothing else. Scuffles, loud crashes, and bangs cracked and shrieked through the microphone. Fiera let out a string of curses. Hermit shouted something unintelligible. The blue light flashed over Mr. Sage two more times. And then . . .

Silence.

Complete, utter, chilling silence.

"Mr. Sage? Mr. Sage?! Fiera?! Hermit?!" I shouted into the microphone. "Answer me!"

No one responded. I opened my mouth to yell at the superheroes again when I heard something. I listened.

Click-click-clack.

The sound grew louder and louder and louder. My heart sank. That sound had echoed through my nightmares many times.

A long, dark shadow fell over Mr. Sage. A flash of red blocked my view for a moment. The figure pulled back, and Malefica stared into the camera. Her green eyes bored into the lens.

"I can't see you, Miss Cole, but I know you're watching. Pity you couldn't be here in person to witness the end of the Fearless Five. It's going to make for a h.e.l.l of a good story." Malefica laughed in triumph.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. A tight, hard knot formed in my stomach. My inner voice wailed.

"Then again, I have you to thank for my victory, don't I? Have you figured it out yet? Probably not. Few people can rarely see the big picture. Let me fill you in. I owe you that much." Malefica leaned closer to the camera, like she was sharing an important secret with her best friend. Me. "I've been after the Fearless Five for years. But all my plans to eliminate them always backfired. Until now. I knew your reputation for unmasking superheroes. It's the reason I hired you to work at The Expose. You did your job beautifully, until Tornado's oh-so-tragic suicide. I, of course, wanted you to unmask the rest of the Fearless Five, but you had a change of heart. Pity what guilt does to a person. Of course, I've never had a problem with it.

KarmaGirl.

"I had to find some way to get you back on track, some way to motivate you. That's why I kidnapped you and let Frost threaten to turn you into his latest science project. It worked like the proverbial charm, and you went back to your old Nancy Drew ways. I knew your snooping around would attract the attention of the Fearless Five and that they'd take you in to protect you from me. With Frost's tracking drug, you led me right to Striker. Then, came the tricky part of my plan. How to get you to lead the rest of the Fearless Five into my trap?"

I closed my eyes. I felt physically ill.

"The answer was obvious. I had to let you unmask me. I couldn't make it too easy, of course, or you might suspect something. So how to do it? Again, the answer was obvious. Any beat reporter worth her salt comes to know a great deal about the people she covers. How they think, what's important to them.

What do rich people care about? What would a society beat reporter write stories about? Money, expensive baubles, pricey trinkets. I tossed a few breadcrumbs your way, namely the Bulluci sandals, and left a paper trail you could easily follow. I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later. You didn't disappoint me, which is why I'm going to spare your pathetic life."

Malefica smiled. "Aren't you going to say something? Tell me how I'm going to pay for this? Threaten me with bodily harm? Vow to get your revenge come h.e.l.l or high water?"

Tears trickled down my cheeks. I'd thought I was so clever, figuring out Malefica's real ident.i.ty. I was nothing but a colossal fool.

"Guess not. Pity. One more thing, Miss Cole. Don't bother trying to expose my real ident.i.ty to the world now. No one will believe you."

"Why not?" I whispered.

"Because as of this morning, you were officially fired from The Expose. Something to do with your mentally fragile state-and the fact that you'd broken into my office, threatened me, and stole some petty cash. Lies, of course, but very believable ones, with police reports and other doc.u.mentation to back them up. Well, I guess this concludes our business. Enjoy the rest of your evening. I know I will."

Malefica blew me a kiss and reached toward the camera. Her hand covered the lens. Something ripped and snapped.

Then, the screen went black.

I sat there, stunned. Malefica had been using me the entire time. All this time, I'd thought I was the one in control, but Malefica had been pulling my strings like I was a child's puppet. Now, the Fearless Five were going to pay the ultimate price for my stupidity and arrogance. If they hadn't already. Sam and the others were going to die.

I buried my head in my hands and sobbed.

Hot tears dripped down my face into my hands and then slid down my arms. A few of the salty drops splattered onto the computer keyboard.