Blood City III: The Massacre. I'd read the summary of it online, and frankly, it sounded like the directors had just decided to film my life.

Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound.

I hate you!” I screamed at Fang. Tucking my wings in, I aimed downward, diving toward the ground at more than two hundred miles an hour. “No you dooonnn’t!” Fang’s voice spiraled away into nothingness, far above me. Inside my head, almost drowned out by the roar of wind rushing by my ears, I heard the Voice make a tsking sound. You guys are crazy about each other, it said.

Basically, I have two speeds.... Hostile or smart-aleck. Your choice.

Max, if you survive your final test, can you steal me one of those magic outfits for me?" I'll try to get one for each of us. Hey! 'If'?

I led the way toward the crowd, trying to look casual, like, Fly? Me? Nah.

Steve turned to us again, looking so dang enthusastic that I wondered how much coffee he'd had this morning. "So, you kids want to be big stars, eh?" God, no!" I said spewing crumbs. "No way!" Oddly, this seemed to throw a petite wrench into the convo.