Prologue
“So,” Karma said. “Why don’t we just skip all the complicated stuff and head to my place right now? Huh? HUUUUH?”
“Um…yeah, tempting offer, but I just kinda want to buy this Dragon Ball First Edition for a whole two dollars and be on my way,” said a random customer in Karma’s bookstore, Books N Karma.
“UGH”, Karma said. “First off, that’s a Viz Media reprint, which is why it’s only two dollars. If you look behind me to the left at the top of the shelf, THAT’s a first edition, original Japanese run. But it’s also 3,000 dollars.”
“Yeah, I’m good,” the man said. “I’ll take this.”
“You know, if you take this bag, AND my number, and fill the bag with the manga, and maybe possibly ME up, you can get the whole shebang for 10 dollars!” Karma said.
“Yeah, I’ll take JUST the bag,” The man said. “ONLY the bag.”
Karma’s sister Destiny was sitting on a filing cabinet behind the counter.
“WOP WOP WOP WOOOOOP!” Destiny said. “That guy is in here shopping for MANGA, Kar.”
“Exactly!” Karma said. “A DORK! That TOTALLY should have worked!”
“Wrong!” Destiny said. “It means he already has an idea of who his type is, and guess what Kar. IT ISN’T YOU.”
“SHUT UP DESTINY!” Karma said. “I’m EVERYONE’S type!”
“Riiiight,” Destiny said. “Sure you are.”
She hopped down off the filing cabinet and started straightening the comic boxes nobody had touched since open, which was Destiny’s tell — she only tidied when she was actually thinking about something instead of performing about it.
“Okay but for real, Kar,” she said, not looking up. “That’s like the fourth one this week.”
“It is NOT the fourth one this—” Karma stopped. Did the math. “…okay it might be the fourth one this week.”
“You gotta let people buy their two-dollar manga in peace,” Destiny said. “Some of these dudes just want a Goku.”
“I CAN be a Goku.”
“You cannot,” Destiny said. “You are, at BEST, a Tenshinhan. And that’s me being nice.”
“Oh, so I’m three-eyed fodder?” Karma said.
“Yep,” Destiny said.
Karma threw a bookmark at her. Destiny didn’t even flinch, just kept straightening boxes.
“I’m just saying,” Destiny said, quieter now, “you do this to, like, everybody. The mailman. That barista. Aunt Pat at Thanksgiving—”
“Aunt Pat started it—” Karma said.
“It’s not even — it doesn’t even feel like a YOU thing anymore, Kar, it feels like a reflex.” Destiny said. “Like you can’t just… talk to somebody without it being a whole bit.”
Karma didn’t say anything to that. Which, for Karma, was basically an admission.
Destiny let it sit for a second, then brightened, like she’d been waiting for the opening.
“Okay so don’t get mad,” she said, “but I might’ve mentioned you to somebody.”
“Mentioned me HOW.” Karma said.
“So you know I hang out at Thread and Theory like four doors down?” Destiny said. “Danica Betton’s consignment spot?”
“Yeah,” Karma said. “She parks her LOUD blue Lambo halfway on the sidewalk. What about it?”
“Right, so Danica was in there last week putting together an out for someone, and we got to talking,” Destiny said. “I asked her who it was for and she said it was for a guy at a place she had been working with — like a second location of this healing center, Karuna? And I don’t know, something about how you do….whatever it is you do with people made me think of you. In, like, a ‘you might actually need this’ way. Not a mean way.”
“I don’t need a healing center, Destiny, I need this man to buy the bag AND the manga AND m—”
“Kar.”
“—what.”
“You just did it again. While I was telling you I’m worried about you. You did the bit.”
Silence. Actual silence, for once, in Books N Karma.
“…Okay,” Karma said, finally. “What’s it called again?”
