It took me about thirty seconds to ditch the bridesmaid dress, stilettos, and earrings, and shimmy into my costume. The orange red spandex molded to my body like plastic wrap, familiar and comfortable as always. I shoved my feet into my chunky, steel-toed, kick-ass boots and slapped on my flame-shaped mask. Then, I stuffed my dress and heels into the pool table and twisted the knob. The hidden compartment disappeared from sight. The screams had quieted down, but cracks of thunder ripped through the air like gunfire. My hands curled into fists. Sparks flared to life in my hair. Flames licked at my fingers.

Unless I missed my guess, it was time for Fiera to go kick some ubervillain ass.

Goody.

I ran through the halls until I reached the doors that led outside, zoomed down the white carpet that had served as the aisle, and sprinted to the edge of the garden. A row of thick holly bushes separated the lush, flowering plants from the smooth lawn. I slid to a halt and peeked through one of the small gaps in the glossy greenery. Bigtime’s finest stood on the lawn, blank looks on their faces. They seemed not to notice the overturned tables, broken H o t M a m a

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dishes, spilled food, and general chaos that surrounded them. Acrid smoke snaked up from an oak tree that had been split in two. Smoldering, snapped branches and shredded leaves littered the singed grass. A woman dressed in a neon blue suit stood in the middle of the dance floor. Siren. She had a tangle of black curls and an hourglass figure that would make even a blind monk look twice at her. The silver zipper on her suit was open almost to her navel, showing off enough buoyant cleavage to raise the Titanic. A mask in the shape of a zigzagged lightning bolt covered her bright blue eyes. But she wasn’t alone. A woman in a shiny silver suit hovered next to Siren in a floating chair. Intelligal. Thick, black goggles highlighted her dark eyes, making them seem as big and round as quarters. A silver cowl clung to her eggshaped head, hiding her hair from sight, and her suit was zipped up to her neck. It was a good thing too. Intelligal didn’t have the body to pull off the evil sexpot look. She had about as many curves as a board.

So, our new neighborhood ubervillains have decided to crash the wedding. I wasn’t terribly surprised. Siren and Intelligal had come to town about six months ago, right after the members of the Terrible Triad had disappeared. The two had been raising hell ever since. Breaking into computer companies, stealing electronic and media equipment, robbing anyone and everyone they could get their hands on. But even worse than the general mayhem the pair caused were their powers. It was bad enough Siren could create powerful lightning bolts and energy balls with her bare hands. But her real weapon was her voice. One throaty whisper from Siren was all it took to turn most people into mindless, willing slaves. Her power especially seemed to work on men. Naturally. Of course, her looks didn’t hurt either when it came to turning men into helpless puppets. 30