Yeah right. And I was the freaking Tooth Fairy. Angel stilled, struggling against the pull of Siren’s voice. Since the ubervillain’s attention was focused on Angel, her tone didn’t bother me as much as usual. I circled to one side, easing to the left of them.

“Are you guys hearing this?” I muttered.

“Every word,” Mr. Sage whispered in my ear. “We’re almost there to back you up. Let them keep talking.”

Siren and Angel stared at each other, ignoring me. I took the chance to study the man. He was taller than his prede-H o t M a m a 95

cessor, his skin darker, his hair longer. My gaze swept lower, tracing over his leather jacket and the pants he’d poured himself into. And he was definitely in much better shape than the previous Angel. The old guy had a bit of a potbelly. Now, I’d run into my fair share of superheroes and ubervillains over the years. I’d seen more buff bodies, rippling abs, and bulging biceps in skintight spandex than I could remember. But Angel gave buns of steel a whole new meaning. I frowned. But there was something strange about his skin. It almost looked hard—

“Am I interrupting something?” a tight, cold voice cut in. My head snapped up. Intelligal hovered over us in her chair. Damn. I’d forgotten about her during my perusal of Johnny Angel’s new, improved body.

“It’s about time you got here,” Siren snapped. “Take care of them. Now.”

Intelligal hit a button, and two missiles spewed out of the depths of her chair.

Right at Angel and me.

´ 8 Í immediately hurled a fireball at my incoming missile. The two met in midair and exploded. Smoke, ash, and sharp bits of flying silver metal filled the factory. I ignored the smoldering debris and turned to help Angel. But it was too late. The missile was bearing down on him. Angel was going to get blown to hell and back in two seconds. But he didn’t run or duck or even try to leap out of the way. Instead, Angel curled his hands into fists, held them down by his legs, and flexed. Please. All the chiseled muscles in the world weren’t going to save him from a rocket. The missile hit him in the chest and exploded. I threw up my hands to ward off the bloody man chunks and brain matter that were coming my way. To my surprise, nothing hit me, except a few bits of metal shrapnel that stung my hands and arms. Dust and soot hung like thick clouds in the air. I waved the smoke away from my face and squinted through the soupy fog.

My mouth gaped open. Johnny Angel stood in the exact H o t M a m a

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spot where the missile had hit. He was still alive, although his bike was a smoldering piece of melted junk now. Incredible.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Angel mocked. The explosion had ripped into his white T-shirt, black leather pants, and boots, but the man himself didn’t seem to have a scratch on him. His hair wasn’t even mussed. Now that was a neat trick.