I pointed a smoking finger at his chest. His skin felt like solid steel through the thin fabric of his ripped blackened T-shirt. “When you waltz in when I’m trying to apprehend two ubervillains and almost get my friends and me blown to smithereens, then you make it my business. What the hell did you think you were doing in there?”

His face hardened. Angry gold flecks sparked in the depths of his eyes, which glowed a rich green. “None of your damn business.”

“We’re not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mr. Sage said in a calm, soothing voice. “We only want to talk.”

Hermit nodded. Smoke smudged his thick goggles. Johnny Angel stared at the three of us. Outnumbered. He nodded. “All right. We’ll talk.”

He stared down at my hand on his arm. I dropped it, even though I didn’t want to let go.

Angel leaned back against the side of the pockmarked building. From his pants pocket, he fished out a pack of cigarettes and a black lighter that had somehow survived Intelligal’s missile. Silver angel wings gleamed on the dark surface. He lit his cigarette, drew in a long drag, and blew smoke out his nostrils, showing us what a badass he was. Please. One snap of my fingers, and that cancer stick would blow up in his face like a grenade. I should light up the cigarette anyway. H o t M a m a

101

Didn’t he know those things would kill you? Or perhaps his lungs were as hard as his chest. And his head. After another couple of puffs of his cigarette, Johnny spoke. “I’m the new Angel. I have been for a few months now, ever since Siren and Intelligal killed my predecessor.”

“We hadn’t heard. How did it happen?” Mr. Sage asked, his voice soft and kind. My father. Always the diplomat. Angel stared at the ruined factory, which smoldered behind us. “The two muscled in on some of the High Riders’

territory. The motorcycle gang asked the old Angel to get rid of them. He owed the gang a favor, so he took the job. It was going to be his last gig, since he’d been training me to take over as Angel. One night, he tracked down the ubervillains and confronted them. He told them to get out of town or else. They just laughed at him, and Intelligal fired off some of her heat-seeking explodium missiles. He tried to outrun the missiles on his motorcycle, but he never had a chance.” Sad, bitter anger colored his low throaty voice.

“Because he didn’t have superpowers,” Hermit said. Angel nodded. “All he had was his bike. It wasn’t fast enough.”