Chapter 1

It was early in the afternoon, and the streets of Boston were full of people heading back to their various workplaces after lunch. Needless to say, it was NOT an opportune time for a superhero chase, or a battle.

Alas, the Red Owl and her new sidekick - who currently called herself Gold Owl for lack of a better moniker - had no choice in the matter. A local supervillain calling himself Donkey Punch, had chosen this moment to attempt to boost a Humvee belonging to his former employer, and duty demanded that they stop him.

The Owl had faced this idiot before. His real name was Jimmy McGarrie, and his entire shtick up to that point was that he wore a donkey mask and happened to have been the star of his high-school boxing team. Of course, after high school, he'd dropped out of community college and resorted to robbing convenience stores before Red Owl finally kicked his ass. His stint in prison had apparently convinced him to go straight, and he'd managed to land a job at a used-car dealership. But it seemed he'd managed to screw that up, too.

"Make a hole, ya morons!" Donkey Punch screamed.

It was times like this that the Red Owl was thankful for her ability to fly. As bad as the traffic was at this hour, a maniac driving in a stolen Humvee could still make his own way. Cars were swerving onto the sidewalks, and people were running in a dozen different directions. If she and her sidekick had to try and apprehend Donkey Punch on foot, they would have been battling a human tidal wave.

Gold Owl, who was still mastering her abilities, and thus was not yet confident of her own flight capabilities, clung desperately to her red counterpart. "How are we going to stop him?" she asked.

"Well, he had to smash the driver's-side window when he stole that monster. He obviously hasn't had the opportunity to fix it, so if you're feeling particularly agile..."

"Oh, no."

"Don't worry, babe. I won't let anything happen to you..."

Red Owl flew in low, just slightly to the left of the Humvee, and Gold Owl dangled herself next to the open window. She swung herself in, feet first, and kicked Donkey Punch in the jaw. The Humvee swerved sharply.

For a brief moment, Gold Owl stopped thinking and just kept kicking and clawing. And then it was over, and the two girls waited until the police were in sight before flying off.

An hour later, the two avian avengers had returned to the home that they shared with their grandfather, and after changing out of their costumes and into regular clothes, they were now Nicole Veton and her foster sister, Aisha Diallou.

They could hardly have been more different. Nicole was nineteen, slender but sinewy, an American girl with a mix of Albanian and Mexican ancestry. She had her father's slightly sunken cheeks and strong nose, and her mother's small, dark eyes and full lips. Her skin was fair, and her shoulder-length straight dark hair was tied into two pigtails. Her grandfather insisted that her willful, tomboyish nature was entirely her mother's fault, but he could be incredibly stubborn himself.

Aisha, just over eighteen, was Somalian, the only member of her family to have been granted asylum in the US. Even after several years living in America, and several months living with Nicole and her grandfather, she still looked like she'd barely survived. She was still woefully skinny. Her face, framed with shoulder-length coal-black curls, was pretty but gaunt, her cheeks sunken, her lips perpetually pursed, her eyes habitually looking elsewhere. Where Nicole was outspoken and brash, Aisha was quiet and reserved, and devoutly Muslim. If Nicole had not goaded her, she would still be wearing an austere black abaya.