"No fair! You always get to be her!"

Four small children stood in the front yard of a small brick house, bundled tightly against the cold. Their ruddy faces brightened as a minivan approached, but like the rest of the few cars that had passed, it barely slowed long enough to read the "Hot Choclat" sign hanging from a card table.

The children's sighs made tiny white puffs in the air.

One girl took a folded red tablecloth off the table and tried, despite her mittens, to tie it around her neck.

"Oh, okay," the bigger girl sighed, taking off her gloves. She made a big square knot in the tablecloth's corners, and tucked it into the smaller girl's snowsuit. "There - you're Americana."

The little girl beamed.

"I wanna be Darkripper!" a boy in a Redskins jacket pouted.

"Fine, you're Darkripper. I'm Delight. Bobby, you're the bank man."

"Nah, I'm Win'jammer!" He hopped onto a plastic sled and posed atop it for the two seconds until it slid out from under him.

"Bob-beeee. We need a bank man to rob!"

"But I wanna beat up the bad guys!"

"Yeah!" the youngest chirped.

"Oh my - I certainly hope that's not true."

The children's eyes grew wide. Standing not three feet away, in their own front yard, was a powerfully-built woman in shining red, white and blue.

"No. Wayyyy," breathed Bobby.

"You guys have any cocoa left?" she smiled.

"Uh, sure."

The bigger girl took a few steps forward, trying to act older than her eight years.

"I'm Karen - an' this is Celia, Kyle an' Bobby."

"Hi," Americana smiled. Celia ran to the table.

Celia ran to the table. "I get the marshmallows!"

"Ce-liaaaa!" Karen rolled her eyes as she ladled a cup from the family Crock Pot.

"Marshmallow's fine," Astrea smiled as she drew a dollar from her glove pocket.

"Better hang onto this - I really don't have anyplace to put change."

"What did you mean," Bobby said, screwing up his face, "about `you hope not'?"

"Well, you and Celia were talking about beating people up."

"You don't want to beat up Delight?"

"No, hon - I don't want to `beat up' anybody!"

"But - you beat up bank robbers, and bad guys like Umber and the Expa-trit?"

"Well, yes. I don't really like fighting - there are better ways to solve problems. But sometimes I have to, to stop bad guys from hurting other people. I always give them a chance to give up first, though -and I usually try not to hit people too hard, not even the bad ones.

"I'd much rather use these powers to help people."

"Like saving people from fires and caves and stuff?" Bobby asked.

"Exactly."

"Is it okay if we still play Americana?" Celia asked, the tablecloth dangling for her tiny shoulders.

"Sure, hon," Astrea crouched down. "It's okay by me. I think you make a wonderful Americana."

"Are you in love with Windjammer?" Karen asked.

"Heavens, no," she laughed. "I've only even met him twice."

"Told ya!" Kyle said triumphantly.

"So - who the heck is Darkripper?"

Kyle brightened. "He's Brawn's arch-enemy!"

"Oh," Americana said. She passed on asking just who the heck Brawn was.

Bobby handed her a large styrofoam cup, with marshmallows piled a good two inches above the rim. Karen sighed, rolled her eyes dramatically and handed the heroine a plastic fork

"Do you know if Windjammer has a girlfriend?" she asked casually, as Americana plucked off the melting marshmallows.

Americana held up a finger and took a sip of cocoa to clear her throat of the sticky sugary mess. The warmth of the liquid running down her throat reminded her of her mother's after-sledding treats, so long ago.

"Um. I really don't know, honey. Sorry."

"My friend Tommy says that Argen' Feet's faster than you," Kyle piped in, "But I told him you are!"

"Well, I appreciate the thought, hon," Astrea smiled, "But she really can run very fast, you know. I'm pretty quick, but not like that."

She took a long drink, letting the hot caloric concoction combat the cold. It was deliciously decadent, just what she needed on a biting day like this.

Why had she ever stopped drinking the stuff?

"Would you like some more?"

"Oh, no, honey, that's quite all right," she said,patting her stomach. "Have to be careful what I eat, to wear this outfit!"

Oh, yeah -that'swhy.

"I have to get going - thanks for the cocoa."

The stars on her costume seemed to glow in the long afternoon shadows as she rose into the air to a chorus of good-byes, and floated off over the rooftops.

Luckily the capital's no-fly zone didn't extend to Maryland; after missing the last bus back from Baltimore, about the only option she had left was the Americana Express.

Aside from the below-freezing temperatures, it was actually a nice day for a flight.

March had definitely come in like a lion this year, with two successive afternoons of driving sleet making disasters of the evening commute, but the skies had cleared and the days were gradually growing longer with the promise of Spring.

From up here, the lights of houses and stores below glowed warmly in the twilight, beckoning people home at the end of the day. Astrea knew that long shadows were fading into night, but to her sight everything was as bright and clear as at midday.

Not only was light reflecting off the thin coating of snow, but sounds of all description bounced skyward, carried ever farther by the cold, dense air. Snippets of conversation, bars of music, the blare of a car horn, the crying of a child.

The crunch of metal and breaking of glass.

Not another traffic accident, Astrea sighed. You would think people in this part of the country would be used to driving in snow.

She looked about, absently noting that the usual screaming and cursing were missing this time around. But even with Americana's ability to see by starlight, she didn't see any obvious accidents.

Oh well. She turned toward home...

And hesitated.

That sound had been pretty loud... it could have something as innocuous as workmen dropping a window, she supposed; the cold air would carry the sound farther.

But what if someone really was hurt? Maybe that was why she didn't hear the usual post-accident arguments.

Maybe she would take a quick swing around the town, just to make sure. So long as she remained above the lights it was unlikely she'd make a spectacle of herself.

There didn't seem to be any traffic backing up, or sirens wailing or buildings burning or anything...

Astrea had just made the decision to go home when she realized that a neon sign was reflecting not in a patch of ice but in a glass door that lay in its own frame, half in and half outside the building.

She sighed. Why did it not surprise her that the building was a bank?

Once she had descended a bit, Americana had no trouble discerning the cause.

Three huge men, bodybuilder types, were at the teller windows, evidently clad in nothing but posing briefs and stone-white body paint.

Well, that was something you didn't see every day, she thought.

But she had seen this "living statue" effect before... somewhere...

Ringling Brothers, that was it - back when she went with Onalee and her nieces.

There was a woman, too, an older woman of about forty. She was dressed a bit more conservatively, in a one-shouldered, knee-length toga - but she, too, was covered in marble-colored body paint.

"Come on, come on," one of the marbled men growled as he stuffed a canvas bag with bounds stacks of bills. He paused, glaring at the teller. "What are you starin' at?"

"He's probably wondering what happened to people just putting a stocking over their head."

The painted people whirled. Standing in the center of the lobby was a tall, well-muscled black woman in a star-spangled leotard.

"Americana?!" one man spat.

"What is it with you guys and banks? What's the matter, can't afford to buy clothes?"

A shadow fell across Americana as one of the men ran up to her.

"Smart mouth witch! I'm gonna rock your world, honey!"

He swung his huge fist at her head. She blocked it easily.

"I don'tthinkso," the heroine said pleasantly.

Pow! Her free arm shot up and her fist crashed across his jaw. She was careful to use only a fraction of her strength; nevertheless, the big man was knocked thirty feet across the lobby and into a desk.

"Holy crap!" one of the remaining strongmen exclaimed.

"All right, baby," the third grabbed one of the metal poles between which velvet ropes were strung to form the line for the tellers. "I'm gonna lay you out stone cold!"

"Ohh, brother," Americana sighed as the man charged, brandishing the pole like a club. What, did these guys memorize these lines beforehand?

"Okay, I can play along," she said, catching the pole as he swung toward her head. "Let's see..."

Astrea scrunched up her face. Nuts - she couldn't think of any good responses. Rocks? Marble? Shale - was that a stone?

"Oh, heck with it." Her fist slammed into the huge felon's chest, sending him crashing through a couple of cubicles.

Uh oh. She hadn't meant to hit him quite that hard.

And she was causing more damage to the bank than these clowns had -

Wham! The remaining thug brought his fists down hard right between her shoulder blades.

"Annh!" Americana cried out more from surprise than pain; he hadn't really hurt her.

Not that she was about to let him hit her again.

The heroine fell forward, catching herself on her palms and springing up into the air.

She flipped over in midair and landed lightly on her toes before the startled statue-man.

Pebbles? No-o-o. Rocks in the head?

Darn.

She flicked her forefinger under his chin, eliciting a grunt and sending him tumbling to the floor.

That was all of them - save, of course, for the woman making her way toward the door.

Probably the brains of this outfit, Astrea decided; at least the woman had the smarts not to attack her.

Americana leapt in a high, graceful arc, soaring over the toga-clad criminal.

Ohh, if only her high school gymnastics teammates could see her now!

The heroine dropped down just a few feet in front of the fleeing felon.

"I don't think you're going anywhere, lady," Americana said with a smile. "I always get my quarry."

Hey, she finally thought of -

"No! I can't let you stop me!"

Kawhamm! A punch from the costumed woman sent Astrea stumbling backwards.

Unf, Americana thought as she steadied herself - I felt that. Almost like -

Her eyes slowly widened.

"Heavens, that - that isn't make-up!" she gasped. "You're - actually made of stone!?"

"Yes," the woman said bitterly. "Yes, I am.

"You can call me... Medusa."

Astrea hesitated a moment, then dived to her right. She rolled on her shoulder and up to her feet, while grabbing one of the mirrored tiles that had fallen to the floor in the fight. "Medusa, huh? Well, I remember how Perseus beat you!"

The woman cocked her head... then chuckled softly. "Oh. You've got me there. Seeing my own reflection won't do anything, dear - unlike the mythic Medusa, my gaze doesn't turn men to stone.

"Jelly, maybe, when I was your age," the stone woman mused as the heroine cautiously lowered the mirror.

"O-okayyy," Americana said slowly. She squinted as she walked slowly toward what appeared to be a living statue. "Your muscle boys are down for the count. Why don't you give up now and..."

A loud cracking sound halted her in her tracks; Americana immediately snapped into a defensive stance as Medusa made a fist.

As the marble woman squeezed her fist it made a strange grinding sound. But instead of attacking, Medusa slowly lifted her fist to her mouth, and gently unfurled it.

Americana raised an eyebrow. What kind of -

Poufffffff. The statue-woman blew a fine, white powder from her palm - so fine as to almost be a mist.

Astrea wheezed as she reflexively inhaled the powder, coughing as the dry dust settled in her throat. It fell like a gentle spray across her face; she wiped at her eyes as she staggered a few steps backward. Then floor began to move. The walls started to sway.

"Whuhs... going on?... H-how -?"

"My dream dust is akin to halothane - a very potent anesthetic, dear," Medusa politely explained. "It's pumice - so very fine that it bypasses even nose filters, if you're wearing them."

Americana took a few hesitant steps toward the sound of the villain's voice.

"And since you're notdroppinglike agoodlittle heroine..." The criminal said as she drew back her fist. "Let's see what happens when I dothis!"

Thokkk! Medusa's fist slammed into Astrea's jaw, sending her flying across the bank lobby and crashing through the teller cages! Americana fell in a cloud of dust and debris.

Medusa stood with her eyes and mouth wide open. "Oh. My. God. Did I just - ?" She looked at her fist, and a wide grin began to spread across her face...

...which vanished at the sound of shifting debris and Americana's coughs. Afterthat- she was gettingup?

The marble maiden hesitated, then whirled and dashed out the door.

"Oooh, boy," Astrea muttered as she shook the cobwebs from her head. That stone fist had hurt some, sure, but it was that stone dust that really packed a punch! Like some kind of... knockout gas or something.

Astrea pulled herself unsteadily to her feet as bits of plaster and wood tumbled off of her. Oh, what a mess!

"Is anyone hurt?" she called out.

A chorus of negatives arose in reply. "We're fine lady - go get her!"

Americana felt... odd... as the customers and tellers cheered as she ran out the door. "Yaaay! Whoo! Yah!" They were treating this like some kind of sporting event - didn't they realize she could have hurt them had she crashed into them?

Astrea halted on the sidewalk, glancing left and right. Now where could a walking statue have -?

"'Mericana!" a bushy-bearded bicyclist yelled. "Up dere!"

The heroine followed his gaze. The roof? All right, lady, she thought as she leapt upwards, you aren't getting away from me that easil-oops!

Astrea frantically grabbed onto the edge of the roof! Hanging from one arm four stories above the street, she took a deep breath. She hadn't missed a leap like that in, what, months?

Whoo. She must still be a little dizzy from that gunk Medusa blew at her.

Americana reached up with her other arm and grasped the edge firmly; she then swung her legs out and flipped herself up onto the roof.

And there, toward the north end of the block, ran Medusa.

What was she, anyway, Americana wondered - a woman turned to stone, a statue come to life?

Time for that later, she scolded herself as she bolted after her strange foe. To her surprise, she rapidly gained ground on the fleeing felon.

Astrea often forgot about her own considerable speed; granted, she was no Argent Vite, but she didn't have to be. Medusa, Astrea noted, wasn't running appreciably faster than a normal woman.

Americana vaulted over an air conditioning unit, performing a nice Tsukahara and landing directly in the path of the marble maiden.

"Ah ah. That's as far as you go, Venus de Milo."

"Eep!"

Medusa clumsily brought up her fists and began backing away. "Let me go, I - I'm warning you. I can hit you harder than that."

"Girl, you don't know what `hitting harder' means," Americana said calmly as she raised her own fists. "Come on, if I were going to just let you go I could have just taken my time getting out of that rubble; I certainly wouldn't have come up here after you."

Medusa took another step back. "Look, you don't understand..."

The heroine stepped forward just enough to maintain the distance between them. "What's to understand? You were robbing a bank."

"I was taking what belongs to me." Medusa turned and ran -

For all of three yards before Americana was once again in front of her.

The statue-woman's eyes widened.

"Ohh. I noticed you were over near the safety deposit boxes while I was waltzing with your muscle boys. What's up with that? You seem strong enough."

Medusa licked her lips.

Eww, Americana thought - even her tongue is stone!

"Yes, well, I don't appear all that... threatening, I suppose. I offered them a deal - if they helped me, they could keep any money we stole."

"And you gotout of this -?"

"Well," Medusa smiled, "I guess they weren't that hard to look at."

Americana took another step forward. "Look. For the last time, give it up."

Medusa brandished her fists, awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I can't."

For a moment, neither woman moved.

Each stood, fists clenched, eyeing the other warily.

Then, a slow smile spread over the stone woman's face.

"Heh."

Americana raised an eyebrow.

"You," Medusa declared with some bemusement, "don't want to throw the first punch."

The heroine sighed with annoyance.

"No. No, that's... admirable," the marble woman said quickly. "Really."

Oddly enough, Astrea thought, she looked like she actuallymeantthat.

"Well." Medusa stepped forward. "Let's get this over with."

She brought back her fist, twisting her body almost halfway around, then grunted as she put all her weight into a devastating blow!

Americana blocked it with her forearm.

The marble maiden tried to punch the heroine with her other hand - and it too was swatted aside.

Medusa blinked.

Americana smiled.

The villainess quickly turned and swung for the heroine's stomach... but Astrea hopped aside and crashed her own fist into the off-balanced woman's cheek. She was careful to pull her punch; she didn't know what Medusa could take, or even if her stone could crack or break.

The blow sent the statue-woman spinning to the rooftop.

Medusa rose, hesitantly, then struck a glancing blow off Astrea's chest.

It dawned on the heroine that, though she herself knew only a few rudimentary boxing skills, this woman hadnofighting skills atall.

As the statue woman swung again, Americana somersaulted over her head and, landing behind her, grabbed her by the wrist. Medusa yelped and turned to hit her, but the heroine smacked her arm across the stone woman's forearm, and snatched her other hand.

The marble maiden struggled in futility as Americana held her wrists up above her shoulders.

"All right, now, let's just calm down and - owwww!"

Medusa kicked her hard in the shin!

Astrea reflexively let go and grabbed for her leg - just as Medusa's knee slammed up into her kidney. Medusa shoved her, and the heroine stumbled backwards and fell on her rear.

The marble maiden turned to flee.

"That. Is. Enough!" Americana growled.

Almost instantly the heroine was on her feet and in front of the fleeing felon. She almost casually backhanded Medusa across the jaw.

"Woongh!" the villainess staggered backward, and Astrea followed, sending a left crashing into her opponent's chin.

Medusa dropped to one knee, then shakily tried to rise.

Americana closed and was already bringing her fist back before she realized that, in the midst of her hitting Medusa, she had heard that gravelly, crunchy sound...

Too late! Medusa threw twin handfuls of the fine white powder, right in the heroine's face!

Astrea gasped and staggered back, but she had already gotten a lung-full of the strange substance. The rooftop started to spin...

She reached for Medusa, or where she thought Medusa to be, only to have the maiden of marble turn another handful into a cloud around her head.

Americana gasped as her surroundings suddenly lost all color, and she fought to keep her eyelids from snapping shut. Her knees nearly buckled as everything started swaying to and fro.

"I'm impressed," she dimly heard Medusa say. "That dose would lay out an elephant. Um, no offense, hon."

Astrea staggered a few steps toward the marble maiden, drawing back her fist.

"Sorry about this, but I simply cannot allow myself to be arrested," Medusa said as she cracked her fist across Americana's jaw.

The young heroine grunted as her upper body turned with the blow, twisting like a stick of licorice.

Then, as her body bobbed back, Americana took another punch to her chin. Then another!

Astrea stumbled backwards, struggling to stay conscious. The punches weren't much, individually, but on top of that debilitating dust -

"Believe me, it's nothing personal."

Medusa's voice seemed garbled and slow - but then, so did everything.

Americana could see the statue-woman's fist coming, but could do nothing to avoid it. It seemed to take forever as it grew larger and larger until -

Crackk!

The heroine pirouetted and collapsed soundlessly to the roof.

Astrea lay staring up at the stars as her vision swam in a haze of ever-varying shades of gray. Her limbs felt like sacks of damp sand, and her eyelids seemed to weigh hundreds of pounds.

Then the stars were blotted out as Medusa loomed over her.

Americana desperately tried to focus enough to respond as the statue-woman knelt down next to her and drew back her fist.

The heroine winced.

With her free hand, Medusa reached for her neck!

...and gingerly placed two fingers under the helpless heroine's jaw.

"Alive," Americana heard the woman's voice float through her delirium. "Good.

"You'll have to excuse me now."

Medusa stood as Astrea's consciousness faded.

"There's something I have to do."

"Don't do this!"

The ruggedly-handsome young man swallowed hard. It was just about the only movement he could still make.

"Please!"

He dearly hoped he sounded sincere; his terror was genuine, but Julian Glass was not a man accustomed to pleading.

Nor, certainly, to his predicament. He stood on a pedestal, amidst the statuary in his own great hall. His entire body, up to his shoulders, was encased in a thin layer of cold white stone.

And smoothing a damp ivory cement across his naked shoulders, was a woman of stone.

"Those are, I believe, the very words I uttered to you," she said simply.

Her fingers pressed harder as she moved up toward his neck.

"Before you turned me intothis!"

Medusa stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "What's the matter, Julian? I thought you always rather enjoyed my putting you on a pedestal."

Her voice darkened. "So you could look down on the world."

Julian squeezed his dark eyes shut and inhaled as deeply as the hardening stone would allow. He hadn't become one of the five hundred wealthiest men in America by folding at the first sign of trouble.

"I realize you're upset..."

"Upset. `Upset' is for when you break a favorite lamp," she hissed. "Not for when you destroy mylife!"

"Yes, well, that was an accident!" he said testily. "I swear on my mother's grave I never intended..."

"Oh! An accident," she said sarcastically as she smoothed the cold stone up around his face. "Like the `accidents' that befell, oh, wives one through three? Theyalldisappeared?"

She stopped and put her face close to his.

"I notice," she nodded to her left, "That statue of Diana has quite a resemblance to wife number two, humm?"

"I told you, I had it made in memory of -"

She placed a stone finger on his mouth. "In memory? Like you made of me? Please, Julian. Don't lie to me.

"You never could, you know."

Medusa smoothed more of the white stone under Glass' eyes, as he fought the urge to whimper with every iota of his being.

"Well, something went wrong. I don't know what you did, exactly, to this stuff when you had it on me," she said as she worked. "Bu-u-u-t I'm betting that once I cover your face, once you can't breathe, well! It'll work just as well for me."

The maid of marble stepped back, glaring at him.

"Except," Julian said. "Except for one thing."

As much as he was able, he stared her in the eye.

"You haven't thegutsto kill me."

"Oh, no!?"

"To commitmurder? Even if I deserve it. Cold blooded murder, that's what you'd be doing."

He smiled smugly as he saw her hesitate. He had made a living out of winning the unwinnable argument.

"When you come right down to it, you're not a killer, babe. You couldn't live with that hanging over you. Could you?"

"You call... this... living?"

Medusa reached for his face...

"Murderer?"

The statue-woman's hand dropped.

"N-no," she sobbed, trembling as she turned from him. "I can't. Damn you."

"Damn you!" Her fist lashed out, smashing a statue of Robert E. Lee.

Medusa sank to her knees. "I... can't..."

"Glad to hear it."

Medusa whirled and Glass' eyes flashed as far right as they could go, as Americana stepped out from the shadows of a marble pieta.

"You almost had me believing you were going to go through with it."

"Americana! Thank God!" Julian exclaimed. "This... madwoman was about to kill me."

"Save your breath, Glass," the heroine said as she strode forward.

"How... long have youbeenthere?" Medusa asked.

"Long enough," Americana said simply. "I wasn't about to let you kill him - but I'm glad you made the right decision yourself."

The maiden of marble hung her head. "How - did you find me?"

"When I came to, I remembered you had been interested in the safe deposit boxes. I discovered which particular box by finding little traces of white dust in a certain area. Then it was a matter of seeing which lock had similar traces around the keyhole.

"Let me guess... forced stone into the lock to make a key?"

Medusa nodded numbly.

"I didn't see you carrying anything on the rooftop," Americana said, "So I figure whatever you took was small enough to tuck away in your toga. Computer disk, maybe? In any case you left behind some papers, and photos... from happier times."

Astrea nodded toward Glass. "From there it wasn't difficult to find the man in the photos - and you. It's over... Penelope."

The woman of stone shook.

"I... had to get those disks. I left everything else because I wanted him to think that that was all that was in the box. Julian had insisted I name him the beneficiary should I... pass away."

Medusa stared angrily at the stone-encased man. "I should have wondered what a man that rich would want with the money of an artist!"

The stone woman reached into her bodice and produced two diskettes.

"Here," she said, handing them to Americana. "These contain everything I know about Julian's former wives."

"Which isnothing!" Julian spat. "The police cleared me of any involvement in their disappearances!"

"Speaking of police," Americana said to the stone woman, "I think they are going to want to talk to you."

Medusa began to back away. "Forget it, girl - unless you want to end up like him!"

Her fist made a crumbling, cracking sound as her arm shot upward -

But before she could so much as throw a cloud of dust Americana's fist smashed into her jaw!

"Aaahgggh!" Medusa cried as she flew in a high arc down the hall.

She crashed to the floor and lay still, groaning.

Medusa struggled to sit up as Americana walked purposefully toward her.

"Don'ttry that again," the heroine said warningly. "I know your tricks now and I know what you can take - I won't hold back like before."

"That... may be," Medusa said shakily. "But you have other problems."

She motioned with her head. "I rigged one of these statues to explode and take Julian's precious mansion off the market.

"You can knock me around, or save Julian's worthless hide."

"She's lying!" Julian screamed.

"Are youabsolutely certain?" Medusa barked.

Americana looked from one to the other.

Glass bit his lip.

The heroine took a step toward the statue-woman.

"If I'm lying you can catch up to me later," Medusa said hurriedly. "Do you really want to take that chance?"

Americana's expression darkened. Medusa was playing her like a fiddle - and she didn't like it one bit.

"Good choice," the statue woman said as she backed away down the hall. "Don't be upset, dear - that's why you're the hero."

Medusa turned and ran, and Americana swallowed the desire to sock her one and turned to the matter at hand.

She glanced up and down the hall there were over a dozen statues, some with fountains, as well as several wall sculptures and paintings.

"Glass! Do any of these not belong here?"

"Heu - How should I know?" he shouted as he struggled. "I can't turn my head!"

Astrea looked back and forth. She certainly couldn't tell the difference - she was an historian, not an art critic. Maybe she should look for one that's still wet or something -

No. Get Glass out, then find the bomb.

Americana whirled and grabbed Glass' stone-encased body, ripping it off the pedestal.

"What are you doing?" Glass cried as she hoisted him up.

"Getting you out of here," Americana said, her boots echoing off the black marble floor as she dashed for the end of the hall.

"Wait! Stop!" he screamed.

The heroine didn't stop until she reached the end of the drive.

Americana propped him up next to the gate and turned back expectantly.

Nothing.

"You colossalidiot!" Glass bellowed. "You let her escape!"

"You're welcome," she said testily.

"She lied - and you believed her! 'Superheroine', my ass!"

"She made some pretty strong allegations back there," the heroine said, nodding toward the sound of approaching sirens.

"Oh, really?" Glass, smirked. "And what are you going to tell them? Some preposterous tale about me turning my wife into a walking statue?"

Americana paused.

"Overheard, I might add, from the rantings of a known bank robber? Oh, I do hope you have some kind of proof before making such wild accusations."

Part of Astrea wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face. She noticed he hadn't exactly denied any of Medusa's accusations.

"These disks, remember?"

"Stolen from a safe deposit box I own. Whatever crazed ramblings are on them, my lawyers will make certain they never reach court."

A smile of superiority lit Julian Glass' face as a police car pulled up in front of the massive gate, lights aglow.

"Well," he said impatiently. "Aren't you going to break me out of this?"

Americana paused.

"Sorry," she said, turning. "I believe I'm need elsewhere."

"You haven't heard the last of this," he breathed menacingly. "You will rue the day you crossed Julian Glass."

The heroine halted, then slowly turned to face him.

"Don'teverthreaten me," she said quietly. "Remember - I'm still out there."

Glass shifted uncomfortably; there was a disconcerting edge to her voice.

"And," she added with a tight smile, "So is she."