“Lulu, what the hell is that?” I shouted. Lulu squawked something in my ear, but I couldn’t hear her over the rumbling. Ten seconds later, I got the answer. A sleek, silver and black motorcycle grumbled to a stop in between Siren and me. A motorcycle? In the middle of a factory?

A figure clad in black leather pants sat astride the huge vehicle. Angel wings shimmered on the back of his toughguy jacket. Johnny Angel. He was a minor player in the superhero-ubervillain scene in Bigtime, not really on one side or the other. Angel was more intent on riding his motorcycle around the city late at night and raising hell than anything else. The local motorcycle gangs loved him and often tagged along, whooping and hollering and making pests out of themselves.

But Angel wasn’t all bad. Sometimes, he helped out people who needed it. Damsels in distress mostly. Women about to be mugged. Women who were carjacked. Women fleeing abusive boyfriends. To them, he was an angel. To the Fearless Five, he was a minor blip on the radar screen.

“Well, if it isn’t Johnny Angel. Back from the dead so soon?” Siren cooed. “And here I thought Intelligal had finished you off for good with her heat-seeking missiles.”

I frowned. What the hell was Siren talking about? Johnny Angel wasn’t dead. He was sitting right there between us—

Angel swung one leg over his bike, and I caught a glimpse of his face. His smooth, unlined face. With a start, I realized that he was around my age. Usually, this wouldn’t be of any importance, as most superheroes and ubervillains fell in the twenty-to-forty age range, with a few exceptions like my father, who was creeping up on fifty-five, or the 94

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Tween Terrors, who hadn’t hit puberty yet. But the last time I’d seen Johnny Angel, he’d been limping down an alley, struggling to keep up with the thug he’d been chasing. Lines and sweat had painted his strained red face. Gray had glistened in his brownish hair. He’d moved slowly, as though every step hurt.

He’d been an older man, just like my father. Not this guy. He moved with a loose, easy confidence. Blond hair. Tan face. Light eyes. Black and silver wingshaped mask. That was all I saw before Angel tossed his jacket aside and turned to face Siren. I frowned. Johnny Angel might not be an ubervillain, but he should know better than to turn his back on me. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. I could melt his ass like a candle, if I wanted to.

“There’s a new Angel in town,” he snarled in a low throaty voice. “And you’re going to pay for what you did to my predecessor.”

Siren put her hands on her hips and laughed. The dulcet tones rang like church bells, all sweetness and light. “Now why would you want to hurt little ole me?” Siren lowered the zipper on her suit, exposing more of her buoyant chest. She focused her eyes on Angel like a snake trying to hypnotize a helpless bunny. “I’m just a simple girl who’s trying to make a name for herself in the big, bad city.”