Max nearly jumped out of his skin when the hand gripped his face, believing his head was about to be twisted off his neck like a bottle cap. For a terrifying irrational moment, he was convinced the firm hand around his mouth belonged to Sheriff Barker.

But the hand didn’t belong to Barker, of course. The irate lawman was still snorting and raging like a bull at a rodeo straight ahead of where Max cowered behind the bushes.

The hand belonged to a woman.

She was slim as a whip, covered from head to toe in a black outfit that combined two worlds: the silent, deadly elegance of a ninja mixed with the armored, metallic toughness of a medieval knight. Ebony robes met protective armor, seamlessly merging to provide an appearance as dark as the shadows Max crouched in. The woman’s face was mostly hidden behind a black bandit’s mask. Frizzy Raggedy Ann hair poked out from under the dark hood covering her head. The hair was so unnaturally blood-red, it was surely a dye job.

How this strange and strangely dressed woman had sidled up to Max so noiselessly was a mystery. He didn’t know who she was, but something about her reminded him of the water moccasins he sometimes encountered when fishing—black, sleek, and deadly. Everything about her screamed she was someone to be wary of.

Except, that is, her emerald eyes. Shining in the darkness, they alone appeared friendly. They danced with merriment as they regarded Max, as if the woman was tickled by a knee-slapper only she could hear.

She raised an index finger to her masked mouth. Max didn’t have to be an expert in body language to understand what the woman meant: Be quiet! She needn’t tell him twice. Heck, he didn’t need to be told once considering the homicidal sheriff a stone’s throw away.

Completely nonplussed, Max nodded.

The woman’s eyes still looked amused as she withdrew her gloved hand from Max’s face. He sucked in a lungful of air, trembling with a fresh surge of adrenaline, tempted to shadow hop away from this insane asylum that had just added a new inmate.

But he was too curious about the costumed woman. Shoving aside thoughts of what happened to cats who got too curious, Max stayed put for now. He stared at the woman as she quietly fished in the folds of her outfit.

She pulled out three small balls. The size of kids’ marbles, they glowed dully, like fireflies were trapped within each. She held them in her palm for Max to see like it was show-and-tell.

The strange woman peered through the bushes at Barker, as if he was the target at the end of a gun range. After giving Max a saucy wink, the woman used a skyhook to lob the balls overhead, in the direction of where Barker still cursed, ranted, and raved.

The balls disappeared into the night sky. Seconds passed.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Small explosions like the detonations of weak firecrackers sounded out. The sheriff spun toward the sounds, his back now to where Max and the woman crouched. His gun blazed as Barker shot blindly into the darkness, the blasts far louder than the firecracker sounds had been.

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If Max had blinked, he would have missed what happened next.

The strange woman sprang from her crouch. She somersaulted over the bushes and landed running. She raced toward Barker, who was still firing into the dark. She drew a black-hilted sword from a scabbard strapped to her back that Max hadn’t noticed before. The blade shone with a strange black flame.

Despite her dead run, the swordswoman was as silent as a wraith until she was practically on top of the sheriff.

“Allons-y!” she suddenly cried out. Her voice held as much irrepressible mirth as her eyes had.

The sheriff spun toward her, his gun at the ready.

The fiery sword flashed toward Barker. The sheriff screamed. His gun went flying. Max’s hands flew to his mouth, shocked and mortified. He thought Barker’s hand would go flying too, as the woman had sliced all the way through Barker’s wrist.

Max blinked. Barker’s wrist and hand were unbloodied and completely intact. Panting, Barker stared incredulously at the hand the woman had swiped with the sword. The hand’s fingers were splayed and crooked, making his hand look like a claw.

“Goddamned bitch!” the sheriff exclaimed, half-whimpering as he tried to flex his fingers. “What’d you do to my hand?”

The woman replied cheerily.

“Just paralyzed it, is all. If you think about it, it’s really your own fault. Don’t you know better than to bring a gun to a sword fight?”

Standing well out of the sheriff’s reach, she kicked the gun from where it had landed into the darkness untouched by the moonlight.

“Stop your mewling—the paralysis is not permanent,” the woman added. “Though it’ll hurt like the dickens until it wears off. Don’t be such a baby. You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re an elected official. You’re supposed to set an example. Think of the children.”

“I’ll rip off your head and piss down your throat!” Barker snarled.

“No thanks, I’m not thirsty. And that’s mighty bold talk for a guy with a crippled jerk-off hand. Tell you what—I’ll even the odds a little.”

She sheathed her flaming sword. “It’s still not a fair fight, granted, but it’s the best I can do without taking a crowbar to my own kneecaps.”

She beckoned the man with a mocking little gesture.

“C’mon, tough guy. Please commence that head-ripping you promised.”

The sheriff held back, caution piercing his drunken anger. Barker hadn’t stayed the undisputed monarch of Rebel County for decades by being completely reckless. Despite him being far bigger than this diminutive woman, she carried herself with too much flippant self-confidence to be the flyweight she appeared to be. Plus, there was the not-so-small matter of her costume and how her flaming sword had paralyzed his hand without so much as nicking him.

“You think I’m stupid?” Barker spat. “You’re one of them Unreal freaks. Just like your pussy boyfriend. You’ll use your witchcraft on me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s much too young. What do I look like, a cradle-robber? And for the thousandth time, Unreal abilities aren’t magic.” Exasperation was thick in the woman’s voice, like she had explained this more times than she could count. “All magical powers are Unreal, but not all Unreal powers are magical. I’m a non-magical Unreal. So not a witch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s fine if that’s who you are. I have many witch friends. My father’s a witch.”

The woman looked at Barker expectantly. Barker’s wary eyes stared back at her blankly.

“Okay. Not a Seinfeld fan,” the woman said dryly. “Guess I should have known. Ya’ll are probably still too salty about losing the War of Northern Aggression to watch a show about a bunch of Yankees like Seinfeld. Jewish ones at that. Probably more The Andy Griffith Show fans around these parts.

“Hey Opie!” the woman raised her voice, her head turning in Max’s direction without her taking her eyes off of Barker. “Opie!”

Max was still crouched out of sight. With a start, he realized the woman was talking to him.

“Stand up, Opie, so you can get a good gander at us. Don’t be scared—momma’s not gonna let the bad man touch you in your naughty places. Good boy! You applied to Hero academies to learn how to fight. Well, consider this lesson number one. Take notes on how I tune up Deputy Barney Fife over here without using my powers. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

The dismayed look on Barker’s face told Max that the sheriff was thinking what Max was also thinking:

The strange woman was a Hero.