But there was something on the other bridge.

Standing with feet planted and body braced.

Devina narrowed her eyes. It was a male. Dressed in… were those hot pink zebra tights? And what was that shirt? Was that… Barney?

“Jesus Christ,” she spat.

All at once, from behind those broad shoulders, a set of gossamer wings extended outward as blond and black hair spooled loose from some kind of tie.

No, it wasn’t J. C.

Lassiter, the Fallen Angel.

As Devina narrowed her eyes and her temper rose, he smiled at her. And lifted one of his hands. With an elaborate show, he blew her a kiss, turned that palm around… and extended his middle finger at her.

And thus the next generation of conflict was born.