Fang

47

I FELT PRACTICALLY BLINDED by pain and shock and had so many tears streaming from my eyes that I could barely see where I was flying.

I opened my mouth and shrieked, as loud and as wildly as I wanted. “Ohhgodohhnooooiiihitjusthurrrtssssooomuuuch!” The scream was torn from my throat by the wind, and finally I choked, sucking in air, half sobbing, my voice raw from yelling for so long.

In overdrive, I can hit speeds of close to three hundred miles per hour, and so in less than half an hour I’d gone into the next state over. Now utah stared back at me blankly as I slowed and came to a drifting stop at the top of a tree. I had to take a minute out of my new life to… break down and sob like a baby. I worked my way steadily through rage, hurt, embarrassment, back through rage, and then to some random emotion that seemed to need ice cream.

Gulping, I saw a heart-stoppingly familiar black streak in the sky, headed right for me. Was he coming just to say good-bye?

I desperately prayed that he hadn’t heard any of my meltdown. The whole thing was such a huge slobbery mess that I couldn’t take one more iota of emotion.

“Hey,” I said hoarsely, as he landed on a neighboring branch, making the tree sway. I wiped my face quickly, knowing I had to look like hell, my eyes bleary from freeze-dried tears.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, with his funny lopsided smile, and I almost burst into tears again.

My eyes must have been full of questions, because he shrugged and said, “Things seem somewhat under control. Jeb wants to take over the flock again. I figured I’d let him and Angel duke it out.”

I’m supposed to be brave, right? Prove it, Max. I forced myself to ask: “Are you, um, going back?”

“Nah,” he said, brushing hair out of my face. “Figured I’d rather hang with you.”

I felt hope light my face, and I didn’t try to hide it.

“You know how I feel,” said Fang, and he bent down, holding on to his branch, and kissed me. I felt like we were suspended in air, and having Fang here, knowing that he, at least, had chosen me, everything seemed a smidgen less agonizingly painful.

“So what should we do now?” I asked breathlessly when we broke away from each other. I’d been the leader so long – I was always the one who decided where we were going, what we were going to do. It felt freeing to be asking him to decide.

“Actually, I’m thinking… Vegas,” he said. “Let’s go to Las Vegas.”

“ Las Vegas?” I repeated stupidly.

“Yeah,” he said, trailing one finger down my cheek. I felt a coolness there, as if he’d hit a stray tear. “I figure – not too far away, full of freaks so we’ll blend, plenty of weird stuff to do…”

I smiled and breathed easier for the first time in hours. “Sounds perfect.”

48

“HAVE YOU BACKED UP the data?” The head of information finished scanning the shift tech’s notes for Area 8 and leaned over her shoulder to look at her computer screen. “Subject Twenty-two appears to be… abnormal. Off program. Let’s take a closer look at the images.”

The tech clicked her mouse quickly through the static scenes. The image on the screen changed from an empty living area with one lamp burning to a darkened kitchen area. The kitchen was a mess, with dirty plates and pots and glasses stacked on every surface. Food containers had been left open, unrefrigerated. The next image was a long, empty hallway with large windows on one side. After that was a bedroom.

“This is Subject Twenty-two, sleeping in Subject One’s bed, since she isn’t there,” the tech said. “During the day he’s mostly been practicing flying, but at night he’s been restless, not sleeping deeply. It could be that his circadian rhythms haven’t stabilized yet. His physio readings suggest that he’s anxious or unhappy.”

“Yes. His prime focus went away.”

“I see. Before he went to sleep, he walked around the room, examining everything, touching everything, even smelling things.”

“He’s imprinting,” said the head of information. “That’s good. But the notes indicate he’s made no attempt to follow Subject One. Can you confirm?”

“His flying skills are improving, but at this stage wouldn’t enable long-distance -”

“Irrelevant,” the head jumped in dismissively. “His programming should compel him to use any means available. Possibly a minor malfunction,” she speculated, dropping the tech’s notes on the desk. “But possibly a major one. Keep an especially close eye on that one’s stats.” She swiveled on her heel and in a flash was gone.

The tech bit her lip. The heads – as intimately familiar with the details of their constructions as they were – somehow all seemed to forget that the subjects were not, in fact, robots.

There was no malfunction. It was simply that the soul could not be programmed.

49

I WAS WORKING through Italian spumoni on a cone as Fang and I threaded our way amid the streaming crowds on the sidewalk. Those of you who haven’t been to Vegas – well, it’s bizarre in sort of a “let’s gussy up this car wreck” kind of way. It’s Disney World meets the seedy underbelly of America. But with more liquor and people smoking. A grown-up amusement park.

“I’m dying to go to a casino,” I confessed to Fang.

“We’ll have to throw ourselves three more birthday parties first,” he said. “It’s illegal – we’re underage.”

“So when has that ever stopped us?” I stared at him. “That’s just a way to make sure crazy kids don’t spend all their parents’ money. We’re not crazy, and we don’t have any parents’ money. Just our own hard-earned cash from all those CSM air shows we did.”

“Which has gotta be running low about now. You really want to risk losing it?”

“Don’t get all grown-up on me. This is, like, our vacation from being the grown-ups of the flock. And I want to go…” I looked around at the spectacularly campy scenery.

“There,” Fang declared, pointing to a building in the shape of a… horse? It definitely topped the Bizarre-o-Meter of novelty architecture. “The Trojan Horse.”

Suddenly I was having second thoughts. “Wasn’t that, like, a giant sculpture that was full of enemy soldiers or something? Back in the old days?”

Fang looked blank. “Guess I missed that lesson in Max’s Home School.” He took my hand. “Come on!”

We strolled in easily across the dizzyingly patterned carpet. Barbie doll women with trays of drinks were zipping around helping to get people loopy so they’d spend more money. Even without a drop of alcohol, it took about two seconds for me to become seized with a very unnatural need to gamble.

Fang leaned close and whispered, “Don’t freak out, but there are cameras in the ceiling every couple feet.” Ordinarily, that fact would guarantee I’d break out in paranoid hives. “And notice the guys in dark suits standing around watching everyone? Don’t worry. They’re just looking for cheaters.”

“Cheaters? us?” I smiled. “I guess we’re safe.”

The flock had always looked a little older than our biological ages – guess that came from being evolutionary wonders. But I was surprised that people didn’t boot us out immediately. Imagine money being more important than law enforcement!

We got a bunch of quarters and parked ourselves in front of a Treasure Island slot machine. I fed a quarter into the slot and pulled the arm. The wheels spun fast, eventually stopping with cherries, a weight, and the number seven.

My eyes narrowed and I pushed another quarter in.

Another miss.

“That machine took my money!” I said. “I must have revenge! Fang, get on that machine next to me,” I ordered, spilling half of my quarters into a separate plastic bucket for him. “This could take a while.”

And so our hypnotic rally began. Seriously, those spinning wheels can really send you into the zone. I guess that’s the point.

Maybe that explains why it only took about fifteen minutes for the machine to start messing with me.

’Cause instead of cherries, bars, and numbers, I saw a cartoony wolf face pop up.

Then another.

Then another. Jackpot?

“Jackpot, Max!” I heard the voice of Dr. Gunther-Hagen come from behind me.

50

I WHIRLED AROUND and saw no one. No psychotic mad scientists, anyway.

“Jackpot, Max! Jackpot!” It was Fang, and he was giggling hysterically.

For those of you just joining us, Fang doesn’t giggle. Especially hysterically.

So for a second, this seemed like one of the weirder dreams of recent days, until Fang clutched my shoulders and started shaking me. “Check it out, Max!”

The jangling sound of metal coins rushing out of Fang’s machine suddenly entered my consciousness. Fang had morphed into a wide-eyed maniac scrambling to scoop all of the change into his cup, then mine. “Get another cup!” he ordered, and I grabbed two more that had been orphaned nearby.

While Fang focused on the money, I did a 360 and started to sweat. Downside of a jackpot? People notice you. And in our case, it wasn’t all pat-on-the-back, “Oh, congratulations! How wonderful for you!” More like “Who the hell are you and could you even possibly be eighteen years old?”

As I saw figures moving toward us, I had a vision of troops inside the Trojan Horse flattening their enemy as they swarmed out. “Outta here now, Fang!” I said in my most don’t-even-think-of-arguing-with-me voice.

Clutching four heaping cups of coins, we booked it into a glass elevator that delivered us gamblin’ fools down, down, down the leg of the Trojan Horse to ground level.

“Remind me never to go to a place called the Trojan Horse again,” I said.

“What’re you talking about? It was good luck,” Fang countered.

“Not exactly,” I said, as the glass door slid open and Dr. Hoonie-Goonie was standing there to greet us.

51

DID I WHIRL INSTANTLY, fists clenched, legs tensing for battle? Or did I stay calm, act casual, and walk right on by the doc as if I hadn’t even seen him?

You guessed it – neither. Instead, I dropped one of my cups of coins. Easily a couple hundred dollars. Fang seemed more upset by the spillage than by the looming threat of evil.

“Hello, Max, Fang,” said Dr. Gunther-Hagen, smiling as he watched Fang scramble to recover his winnings. “Strange seeing you here. I didn’t think you were the gambling types.”

“We’re not,” I said. “Fang, leave that money for some poor soul who really needs it,” I said, all Mother Teresa again. Except I didn’t leave my cups of cash behind.

I stepped out of the elevator, squinting in the bright light. “Why are you here?” See, this is where my lack of social graces comes in handy. I don’t waste time and energy on thinking of what the nice thing to do is.

Dr. Hans’s eyebrows rose. “I’m here for a professional convention, being held at one of the resorts. But why are you here? Where’s the rest of the flock?”

“At Ripley’s,” I said. “So, what, you saw us and decided to just pop in, say hi?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Hans pleasantly. “Is Dylan with you? How is he progressing?”

“Dandy!” I lied again. “We left him over at one of the craps tables. That way.” I pointed back to the elevator. “I’m sure he can’t wait to see you!”

“We have to go,” said Fang, putting his hand on my arm.

“Wait, please,” said Dr. Hans. “I’m happy to have run into you. I wanted to reiterate what I said in Africa. And I wanted to make sure you received my offer for Iggy. Is it not compelling? You could give him the gift of sight, in return for a little cooperation. You could be invaluable to my project because – well, you’re a miracle, really.”

Gosh, a miracle! It had been ages since someone called me that. Actually, no one had ever called me that.

“You planning to turn Max into another one of your mistakes?” Fang asked, his face cold and still.

Dr. G-H looked around, as if realizing what a public place this was. He gestured us over toward some isolated benches in the entry plaza. “The apocalypse is coming. You’ve been on a mission to save the world. Do you understand how you’re supposed to do that?”

Okay, the details on that had been sketchy, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

“By having you chop off one of my wings to see if it grows back? I don’t think so.”

He went on. “Max, I promise you will remain intact. My research will help current humans adapt, so they can live in the radically different environment we’ll all be facing. We estimate that more than half the world’s population will simply disappear; I’ve found a way to keep some people alive long enough to ensure that the human race isn’t extinguished entirely.” His voice was pleading, his face earnest.

“You’re a prince,” I said. “But I gave you my answer back in Africa.”

He paused a second, then continued. “I anticipate people will be scared and worried. Most of them won’t understand what I hope to accomplish. But if you were my spokesperson, demonstrating that being different can be wonderful and even necessary, then I could get many, many more people to understand and accept my program.”

Who did this guy think he was? The world’s savior? Was that position even open? And what did he want me to be? A walking, talking, flying commercial?

“It seems like a worthy cause,” I said. I felt Fang’s muscles tense. “Tell you what – I’ll go ahead and jump on this crazy bandwagon. Count me in.”

Dr. Hans’s eyes widened and a smile lit his face. “Max, that’s wonderf -”

“My price is a million dollars.” I know. I’m bad.

“My dear” – he glanced with amusement at my and Fang’s hoard of coins – “I do believe you just said you didn’t need any money.”

“I said we weren’t gambling types. I’m all about serious business, Doc. And I’m telling you that a million dollars is what it will take for me to even consider this gig.”

I could see the wheels turning in his head. I bet those hamsters were tired.

“I could do a million dollars,” he said slowly, nodding.

Oh, I forgot – the guy was a billionaire arts patron and he owned a bunch of huge pharma companies that bankrolled all his plans.

“I meant a million dollars a day,” I revised. Don’t ever say I’m not a tough negotiator.

“This isn’t a joke, Max,” he said coldly. “You might think carefully about what you say to me. You’ve already lied to me once today. I know the flock isn’t with you. I also know Dylan isn’t either, even though he should be.” I felt Fang flinch next to me. “You consistently ignore my advice, and you will regret it if you continue to do so. I have great resources at my disposal. I can help you tremendously, and I want to. I can also do the opposite of that.”

I stood my ground. “You evil scientists are all the same – evil. Count me out.”

Fang and I brushed past Dr. God and walked quickly but smoothly to the exit. It was barely noon, and I’d already made a huge enemy.

Dang, I’m good.

52

“OKAY, TRY THIS ONE,” Gazzy said, handing a hot rod magazine to Iggy. Gazzy guided his finger to touch the photograph on the page.

“Mostly red, I can feel that part – but let me try without touching it.” He concentrated. “Hmm, nice. Sort of curvy. But not like a Porsche. Wait… No, it’s really low and flat but… not a Lamborghini. How about… Let me cheat a little here…” He touched the picture again. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say – Bugatti?”

Gazzy jumped up. “No way! I can’t believe you got that!”

“Hey guys! You’ve gotta come out here!” Dylan called urgently from the deck.

“What now?” Nudge asked, pulling her earbuds out. She was in the middle of a What Not to Wear download marathon.

“Probably another Eraser attack,” Iggy said, sounding bored.

Angel scampered out into the blackness, ready to deliver orders from the deck if necessary.

“Ugh!” Nudge whined. “I wish they’d wait until I finish this episode.”

“Seriously, guys,” Dylan insisted, but he sounded excited. “The sky is amazing tonight. Check it out!”

“Oh, joy.” Iggy scowled, then softened his tone. “Go ahead, Gaz,” he said. “All this vision stuff tonight has tired me out.”

Minutes later, the flock had peeled themselves away from what they had been doing and were stepping out onto the deck in the cool, clear night. Even Iggy decided to join the crew. Dylan was flat on his back. The deck was only just as wide as he was tall.

“Come down here,” he instructed. “It’s better this way. You don’t have to crane your neck. Can you believe what’s going on up there?”

“I don’t see much going on,” Nudge said. “There’s a lot of stars, though.”

“Jeb taught us the constellations,” Angel said, a little wistfully, after they had all situated themselves. “A long time ago.”

“What’re they?” Dylan asked blankly.

“Gosh, you do need help, don’t you?” Gazzy commented. “You should have gone to Max’s Home School.”

Dylan chuffed. “Yeah. A little late for that.”

“Well, for starters, there’s the Little Dipper.” It was Jeb’s voice from inside. He’d appeared behind the screen door quietly. “Can you see it, guys? Do you remember?”

“Yeah. I used to call them the Dipsticks,” Gazzy reminisced. “Back when I was a dumb little kid.”

“I know Orion!” Nudge bragged. “I see his belt over there at about two o’clock.”

“Jeb, can you show us again?” Angel asked, sounding more like her younger, more innocent self. “Like Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Cancer, and stuff?”

“I’m totally confused about what you guys are talking about,” Dylan said.

“With you on that, Dyl.” Iggy put his feet on the wooden deck rail and his hands behind his head, staring up at nothing.

“Can’t you see that meteor?” Dylan asked. “Over there. See? The flame is almost, like, greenish… Whoa! It’s getting bigger – man, how can you not see that?”

Iggy snickered. “Dude, even I know that shooting stars last for like, less than a second.”

“Oooh!” Angel cried, just as the flaming tail appeared in the sky, fast as a flash of lightning.

“Nice one!” Nudge cheered. “How’d you know it was coming, Dylan?”

“I could just see it. I don’t know how you guys missed – ooh, there’s another one coming! Right over there!” Dylan pointed left with conviction. Everyone was quiet.

Iggy broke the silence. “I can see the International Space Station too,” he said.

Seconds later, they all drew in their breaths as another flash exploded in the sky. “Must be a meteor shower,” Jeb speculated.

Dylan nodded. “Yep – yeah, I see one – no, two, three more coming! Look!”

Jeb slid the door open and took a step out onto the deck, fascinated.

“One,” he counted as they appeared several moments later. “Two, three.”

Gazzy gave a low whistle.

“Dylan,” Angel asked very quietly. “Can you see the future?”

Dylan paused. “I… I don’t know,” he answered. “I guess I just see really well.” He squinted. “And I hate to say this, Iggy, but… I actually can see the International Space Station.”

“Cool, man,” Iggy said. “Hey, by the way, can you spare one of your superhero eyeballs for me, Dyl?”

Dylan laughed. “All yours, Iggy.”

“If you can see so well, Dylan,” Angel asked curiously, “why didn’t you see those Erasers coming?”

For that, Dylan had no answer.

53

“THERE IS NO WAY those people aren’t genetically modified,” I said, taking another handful of popcorn. In the other city that never sleeps, we weren’t sleeping. In fact, we were at one of the Cirque du Soleils, watching some little Chinese girls fold themselves into knots while spinning plates on their feet and balancing balls on their heads.

“It’s completely unnatural,” Fang agreed.

“So they’re mutants, they’re weird, and here they are, holding down jobs. There is hope after all.” I ate more popcorn, unable to tear my eyes away from people doing stuff that I just couldn’t believe they could do.

We’d just come from the MGM resort, where it had happened to be Cub Day – they’d had two super-cute lion cubs playing in a huge glassed-in area.

“Now, why couldn’t they have put just a smidge of lion DNA into our mix?” I’d asked. “That would be so cool.”

Fang had groaned. “That’s all we need. Another two percent of something else in our genes. Excellent.”

“Still, just a touch of lion – we’d be even stronger, faster,” I had said wistfully. “And more graceful.”

“You’re already strong, fast, and… somewhat graceful, sometimes,” Fang had said. “You want fuzzy ears?”

I had dropped the subject. But now, looking at act after act of inhumanly flexible and powerful humans, I almost wanted just a little touch of something else.

“I’m thinking those kids have extra vertebrae,” I whispered to Fang.

“Be happy with your ninety-eight-two-percent split,” he whispered back. “Next thing you know, you’ll be grafted with, like, DNA from an elephant seal. Or a bear. ‘Where’s Max? Oh, she’s hibernating,’ “ Fang said. I had just taken a sip of soda, and now my graceful self snorted it through my nose.

Max.

“What?” Oh. Voice. ’Ssup?

Get out of there now.

Without hesitation I got to my feet. Fang looked at me in surprise, saw the expression on my face, and immediately got up too. I did a fast scan and saw guards at each entrance, but they didn’t seem to be paying attention to us.

So where…

Max, up!

I crouched down, ready to jump into the air and to take flight at the slightest sign of danger, but in the next second, strong arms grabbed me.

54

“DON’T STRUGGLE,” said the guy holding me – the “Russian Superman.” He had an act with huge rubber bands attached to his belt. He’d been jumping high and “flying” over the audience off and on all night. Now he pulled me way up to the top of the enormous tent, and the bands tightened so we were hovering there.

The audience below was oohing and aahing at the lucky girl in the audience who got to fly with the Russian Superman. Spotlights were trained on us, and the audience was going crazy.

“Who do you work for?” I growled, gauging my options.

“This is for your own good,” he said, which was, in case you’re wondering, the wrong answer.

Time to blow my cover as Ordinary Teenager. I raised one knee high, then smashed my foot backward as hard as I could, connecting with his kneecap, hearing it snap. The Russian Superman stifled a shriek, and his hold on me lessened just slightly.

Slightly was enough. I jerked my arms out sideways, and his fingers scrabbled to keep me, without success. I started to drop, and people in the audience started to scream, waiting for the poor girl to go splat in the center ring.

But of course it took only a second for me to pop out my wings, pushing downward hard so that I rose up before I’d even gotten close to the ground.

Now the audience was really going wild – shouting, clapping, whistling at the Amazing Winged Girl from the Cirque du Soleil.

The Amazing Winged Girl needed a way out. The Russian Superman, holding his knee, was staring at me in shock. I tried to shade my eyes to see Fang, then another huge burst of excitement came from the crowd, and I saw him flying up to me, outlined in the spotlights.

We can’t hover, so to stay aloft we have to move forward. I made small circles near the top of the tent, searching for an escape route, trying to stay away from the backstage crew up in the metal catwalks high above the ground.

Fang swooped low, making people scream, and then swooped back up again. He passed me, showed me the switchblade he’d pulled from his cargo pocket, and headed toward a tent wall.

I was zigzagging as I saw Fang grab a rope against the wall, hang on, and slice through the heavy plasticized nylon of the tent.

There was tremendous applause – we were a very popular act. Then an all-too-familiar sound hissed past my ear, and I dropped fast, swung around, and raced over to Fang.

“They’re shooting – they’ve got silencers,” I reported urgently just as he sliced an X large enough for us to slip through. Another bullet pinged off a nearby catwalk, and Fang folded his wings and slipped out of the tent.

I took one quick glance down as I started to edge through the hole, and a roaming spotlight picked him out of the crowd. Dr. Scary. Here at the Cirque du Soleil, where we were under attack.

What a coinkydink.

55

“WILL IT HURT?” Nudge asked quietly as she put on her shoes. Early-morning light was breaking through the leafy trees outside and sprinkling sun across the room, and the flock was gathering for their next “field trip.”

“Oh, I’m sure not,” Angel said vaguely, digging around in her backpack for her coupon. “I mean, not more than, like, getting punched by an Eraser. Or a sprained wing.”

“Comforting,” Iggy commented. “I think it’s a great idea, personally, but I don’t think Gazzy’s so thrilled.” Iggy went to look for the Gasman as the others headed toward the front door.

“Are you sure everyone wants to go through this, Angel?” Dylan asked. “I mean, most of us aren’t… fond of needles. Lab associations and all.”

“Come on, guys. If Max were here, you’d be all into this,” Angel said a little testily. “The tattoos were Max’s birthday presents to us, after all.”

“Not to me,” Dylan said, wistful.

Just then, Jeb strode in, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. “Good lord, Angel! What did I just hear you talking about?”

“We’re going to get our tattoos. Max gave us gift certificates for our birthdays.”

“You most certainly are not!” Jeb said firmly, just like the old days. “You’re underage – it’s illegal. I won’t hear of it.”

“You’re not the leader, Jeb,” Angel reminded him. “I am.”

“Well, Jeb’s a grown-up,” Nudge pointed out.

Angel’s eyes narrowed. “You guys elected me leader.”

“Hmm,” said Nudge, sounding doubtful. “More like we elected Max not leader. I wonder what she’s doing?”

“You mean besides not worrying about us?” Angel started to feel angry. “I’ll tell you what she’s doing – she and Fang are off somewhere, having a great time, not even thinking about us! They’re all cozy, just the two of them, and’ve probably forgotten our names by now!”

“I bet not,” Nudge said stubbornly, as Iggy and Gazzy entered the room.

“Look, everyone, I have news for you,” Jeb said. “In the future, it might be that each one of you has a flock of his or her own to lead.”

Everyone looked around, blinking in surprise. Jeb sat down on the floor and motioned for them to do the same. He had a lot of explaining to do.

“Max has actually been a pretty good leader – she’s kept you alive; she’s taught you how to survive. I know you have your problems with her. I do too.” He gave a little laugh. “But here you are: You’re a flock and you need a leader. Angel says that she’s the leader, and I guess you guys are agreeing to it. So here are my questions:

“What are you going to do differently from Max? How will it be an improvement? How will you handle another attack like the one yesterday? How will you all work together to grow and change and adapt, to maximize your chances of survival?”

Angel thought. She listened to her Voice. She thought some more.

“Jeb? I’ve been thinking about it and I have something to say to you. To everyone.” She paused. One by one they stopped what they were doing and looked at her. “Maybe living is more important than just surviving.”

56

“THIS IS IT, SIR.” The lead geologist double-checked her GPS and overlaid its image with a satellite-based graph. “Satellite and radar confirm it. This stream leads to the underground source that the subjects get their water from.”

“I hope you’re right,” Dr. Gunther-Hagen said icily. He was irritated at the Cirque du Soleil blunder, tired from the late-hour flight, and altogether eager for some progress in this project. “Your performance up till now has been pathetic. Be glad I’m somewhat more forgiving than Mr. Chu.”

The geologist swallowed and rechecked her instruments with fingers that trembled slightly. “No, this is it,” she said, trying to make her voice strong. “I’m positive.”

“Okay, then,” said Dr. Gunther-Hagen. “Release the reactant.”

Another agent opened a foam cooler. A fog of dry ice swirled around them like early-morning mist. He carefully pulled on heavy gloves that protected him from fingertip to elbow. Following that, a gas mask covered his face. The others moved away to stand upwind. The agent carefully removed a test tube from the dry ice with tongs. He uncapped it, and after a moment’s hesitation, tipped the test tube so its pale pink liquid flowed into the thin mountain stream.

“Of course, this will affect everything it comes into contact with,” he murmured, praying that Dr. GuntherHagen knew what he was doing.

“Not necessarily,” said Dr. Gunther-Hagen. “It’s been specialized to bind only to certain receptors. These mutants have them; not many other species do.”

The team was silent as the reactant blended invisibly with the crystal-clear stream. Within thirty minutes, it would infiltrate the natural water reservoir that served the flock’s house.

Dr. Gunther-Hagen could barely contain his excitement. Now the real experiments would start.

57

ALL EYES WERE ON ANGEL. She was almost vibrating with anticipation. Max would never have been able to do this in a million years. Max never would have wanted to. In fact, she would have threatened to lock them all in their rooms if someone suggested it.

Now she tapped a pencil against the tabletop. “Attention! Everybody, listen up! I’ve called you all here to make my announcement!” she said. “Get ready, because I have a huge surprise!”

“Do we need any more surprises?” Iggy asked.

“I’m the leader of this flock,” she announced, “and I want to announce some improvements we’re going to make.”

“What kind of improvements?” Iggy asked, leaning on his broom.

“Well, first, I’m abolishing bedtime,” Angel said, nodding firmly.

“We didn’t have much of a bedtime before,” Nudge pointed out.

Angel frowned at her. “I mean, if we want to sleep all day and stay up all night, then that’s what we’ll do!”

Gazzy shrugged. “Okay.”

“No more homeschooling!” Angel said. “Hear, hear,” said Iggy, clapping.

“I’m still going to learn stuff,” Nudge said. “I’m halfway through the Rosetta Stone level one for French.”

“If you want to, that’s fine,” said Angel graciously. “But right now, I’m going to announce our best, most exciting project ever!”

“We’re going to buy our own car?” Gazzy asked with raised eyebrows.

“Have parties every week?” Nudge guessed.

“How about a little order, a little taking care of business?” Total muttered as he trotted into the room. “That would be a huge surprise.”

Angel ignored him. Even though she was the one who had rescued him from the lab back in New York, secretly she wondered if he was more on Max’s side now. “Okay, everyone, saddle up!” She beamed at them. “We have a long flight ahead of us!”

“To where?” Nudge asked.

“A concert!” Angel said. “In Hollywood! Where we’ve signed up to appear as special celebrity guests!”

Blank faces looked back at her.

“Is this a joke?” Iggy finally asked.

“No! It’s going to be so fabulous!” Angel said. “The concert is a benefit, for fixing up a section of Santa Monica Boulevard. All kinds of famous people are part of it, and they want us to help. If they advertise that the flock will be there, thousands more people will come!”

“And a percentage of them will be toting semiautomatic handguns, or weird mind-control chips, or heck, even bows and arrows!” said Iggy. “There’s a reason we don’t go out in public much.”

“Is this a CSM benefit?” Nudge asked. “I mean, Santa Monica Boulevard?”

“No,” said Angel. “But it’s totally cool. I’ve talked to our agents -”

“What agents?” Nudge interrupted.

“The ones I’ve been interviewing,” said Angel smugly. “The ones who offered us the best deal. They’re going to pay us a whole bunch of money, and guarantee our safety too. We’re supposed to call them when we get to the Villa d’Arbanville.”

“Villa d’Arbanville? I’ve heard of that place,” said Nudge. “That’s where stars hang out! The lobby was voted ‘the best place to break up’ by Superstar magazine!”

Finally, Dylan spoke up. “Sounds like fun, but… I think I’ll be staying here.”

All eyes turned to him in surprise. “C’mon, man – live a little,” Iggy said. He was just starting to get used to having Dylan around.

“Not sure I have time for partying.” He didn’t look anyone in the eye. “I’ve got to keep working on my flying,” he explained. It wasn’t a very good excuse, but Angel could work with it.

“Well, then you’re coming with us, Dylan,” she announced, feeling decisive and leaderly. “We’re gonna fly eight hundred miles to get there. Practice makes perfect.” Angel tried to zero her powers of influence in on Dylan. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’ll see if I can hitch a ride on a private jet,” said Jeb. “Total, you and Akila are welcome to come with me. Dylan, you can come with us too,” said Jeb.

Dylan shook his head, making some of his shaggy, sunstreaked hair fall into his turquoise eyes. “No. I’ll fly with the others,” he said determinedly, but he seemed sad.

Angel saw the intent look in his eyes. And for the first time, she picked up on some of his thoughts.

He had been hoping Max would come home.

58

“THIS IS THE COOLEST HOTEL EVER!” squealed Nudge, flopping facedown onto a king-size bed.

Angel was trying to get the snarls out of her blond curls, still wet from her shower. Through the doorway to the room next door, she heard Gazzy ordering room service – again. The kitchen had probably had to send someone out to get more groceries.

Nudge rolled off the bed and looked at herself in the mirror. “I’m twelve now. I don’t look different, but I feel different.” She stretched her wings out slowly, their feathers shades of tan, caramel, and coffee.

“You do look different,” said Angel. “We’re all taller. You don’t look like a little kid anymore – more teenagery. Iggy and… the others have really started looking older.”

“Can I come in?” Dylan leaned in the doorway connecting their two rooms.

“Sure,” said Nudge. “Have you recovered? That was a long flight.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t drop like a rock over the Grand Canyon,” Dylan said, leaning against the dresser. “I bet I won’t be able to move my wings tomorrow.”

“You did great,” said Angel. “Aren’t you glad you came with us?”

Dylan shrugged and brushed some hair out of his face. He already looked like a Hollywood star – some teenage girls had whispered and pointed at him when the flock had been checking in.

Dylan was doing pretty well at fitting in with the rest of the flock. He wasn’t demanding, and he was a good listener and a good fighter. Angel loved Fang a lot, but Dylan was… easier. Warmer. He talked more. It was almost as if he were made to be with them.

A knock on the door made Nudge pull her wings in fast.

Angel hurried over and peeped through the eyehole.

“Bad guys or good guys?” Nudge asked.

Angel smirked. “Bad guys,” she said, and pulled open the door.

Four men came in, looking around with avid curiosity. They were all very tan, dressed casually but in nice clothes and jackets. One of them was chewing gum.

“Who are you?” Dylan asked.

“Joe Harkins,” one of them said, holding out a tanned hand. “Pleased to meetcha. From Talent unlimited. Here’s my card.” He pressed a business card into Dylan’s hand.

Another knock on the door almost went unheard as the men started shaking each bird kid’s hand, introducing themselves eagerly. Gazzy opened the door and let in Jeb, Total, and Akila.

“Whoa, you brought your dogs!” one man exclaimed, and Angel hoped Total wouldn’t bite him on the ankle.

“Hello, son,” one of the men said to Dylan, looking him up and down. “Now, that’s what I call star quality! All of you, of course! Talent unlimited couldn’t be happier to offer representation!”

“Talent unlimited?” Jeb asked.

“Yep! And your kids here are pure gold,” said Joe Harkins. He literally rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s talk numbers. Kids, why don’t you guys go play in the pool downstairs while Dad and I talk business?”

Angel heard Total choking back laughter. It was time to show these guys who was the leader.

“He’s not our dad,” she said, her face serious. “He won’t be making decisions for us.” Keeping her eyes on the agents, she unfolded her wings.

The men stared. Angel could almost see dollar signs in their eyes, like in cartoons.

“I’ll be negotiating our contract,” Angel said solemnly. “Why don’t we sit down over here?”

The room fell silent as the men waited for someone to say she was kidding. When no one did, Angel motioned again to the table and chairs set up in the suite’s dining area. The men hesitated.

“I hear the usual agent share is fifteen percent,” Angel said, concentrating, focusing. “We need ninety-five percent.” Chuckling at Angel’s joke, they relaxed and trickled over to the table to sit down.

Of course, Angel wasn’t joking. An hour later, they got up, looking pale, shaken, and incredulous. They stared at the copies of the contract on the table like they couldn’t believe they had actually signed them.

“ ’Kthnxbye!” Angel said brightly, opening the door for them. The men wandered out as if they had just barely survived a crash.

“What did you do to them?” Jeb asked.

“Persuaded them.” Angel’s too innocent face wouldn’t have fooled a kindergartner. “Isn’t that what a good leader would do?”

“Angel, we’ve talked about -,” Jeb began.

“Come on, everyone!” Angel cried. “Press conference by the pool!”

59

“REPORTERS?” GAZZY ASKED. “Max will kill us if she finds out about this.”

“Max isn’t in charge anymore,” Angel reminded him coolly. “It’s time the world knew about our special abilities.”

“I’m not feeling that special right now,” said Iggy, hunched over in a chair. “I’ve been feeling weird all afternoon.”

Nudge frowned. “Me too. Not sick, exactly, but weird. Like, tingly, all over.”

Jeb heard this last bit and he quickly searched Nudge’s face. “Tingly? On your skin or inside?”

“All over,” said Nudge.

“I feel that way too,” said Gazzy. “I didn’t even realize it till you said it. I thought it was just the PowerDrives kicking in.”

“Let’s get through this press conference,” Angel said briskly, “then we can figure out what’s going on.” She was feeling weird herself, but it was showtime, folks.

Ten minutes later, they were stretched out on lounge chairs by the hotel pool.

“Where’s our waiter?” Nudge asked ten minutes after that. She tipped her pink star-shaped sunglasses down on her nose. “I need more iced tea.”

Dylan stood up. “I was going to get some – I’ll get yours too.”

“Here are the reporters,” Angel announced, pointing at a small throng of people who were being let into the fenced pool area. The private security team frisked each one and checked their names off on a list.

Dylan reappeared with the iced teas, and several of the reporters gasped or went speechless at the sight of him. Angel grinned. Who needed Fang when they had Dylan? The flock was a whole lot nicer to look at – and be a part of – with him around.

She motioned for the security people to let the reporters come closer. There were about ten of them, some carrying microphones, some with big video cameras on their shoulders.

“Hi!” she said, putting on a party face. “Thanks for coming! We can answer questions for ten minutes, and then there will be a photo op. Who’s first?”

“Where are your parents?” cried one reporter. “Do they have wings?”

“Our parents were a test tube and a turkey baster,” Angel said. “No wings.”

“Can you actually fly, or has that been a publicity stunt?” called another reporter.

In response, Gazzy shook out his wings, climbed onto the diving board, bounced a couple times, then launched himself into the air. There were gasps and murmurs of excitement as he moved up and down with each flap of his wings, eating an ice cream cone. Then he popped the last of the cone into his mouth, folded in his wings, and cannonballed into the pool. Several reporters got drenched.

“There’s your answer,” Angel said.

“How old are you? Are you all related?” A woman held a microphone toward Nudge.

“We’re… fifteen, twelve, nine, and seven,” Nudge said, still getting used to their new ages. “Gazzy and Angel are the only real brother and sister.”

“You weren’t all from the same egg, so to speak?” asked another reporter, causing laughter.

Nudge looked at him. “Do we look like we’re all from the same egg?” She pointed to Iggy, who was very pale skinned. She herself was at least partly African American. Gazzy and Angel both had cornsilk-yellow hair, ivory skin, and blue eyes.

“Where’s Maximum? And the tall dark boy? We’ve seen them in pictures,” someone said.

“They’re busy right now and couldn’t be here,” said Angel smoothly.

“Who’s the new member?” a woman asked Dylan.

“I’m a friend of the family,” Dylan responded casually. “Birds of a feather, you know.”

Everyone laughed, and flashes popped as he smiled. Then the cameras clicked some more. They couldn’t get enough of him.

“Do you have any other special talents?” a reporter yelled.

Angel looked right at him. “No.”

“But Angel – that’s not true,” Dylan said.

Angel glared at him. She should have gone over some flock rules with him. She should have thought of this. Now she had to fix it.

60

“DYLAN,” BEGAN ANGEL, sounding firm.

“Dylan?” Jeb asked, walking over to him with an urgent look.

“… ‘Cause I can sing,” finished Dylan, standing up.

“Oh, lordy, spare me the karaoke!” Total muttered, trotting over to sit in the shade beneath a patio table.

“You were in the rain, I saw you there,” Dylan sang. Angel recognized the words of a song that had been playing incessantly on the radio. “I want to kiss the rain, and your sorrow, from your hair…”

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Total murmured. “That kid can actually carry a tune.”

Angel sat back on her lounge chair and grinned. The reporters were eating this up, taking pictures, yelling questions. She was going to ask for more money.

Gazzy jumped up and stood behind Dylan, adding a beat box layer to the song. Iggy began drumming on a table with his hands. Nudge began singing backup and harmony, the way Angel had heard her do a million times, along with the radio.

“Give me your pain, I can take it.” Dylan jumped up on a bench by the pool and spread his wings. “Give me your heart, I won’t break it.”

“I won’t breeeaak it,” Nudge echoed, her voice sounding great with Dylan’s.

Total edged out from under the table and threw back his head to join in, but Angel tapped him with her foot. He glared at her. “Don’t overshadow the others,” Angel whispered. “Let them have this.” Total’s glare faded and he nodded magnanimously.

Problem averted, and they sounded dang good, Angel thought. What if… they became a family band? Like in The Sound of Music? Angel pictured them becoming rich and famous – famous for something other than being freaks. Maybe her plan to bring the flock into “a new era of peace and prosperity,” as her Voice had called it, was really going to work.

But if it was such a great idea, why was she feeling so sick?

She looked at the others. Their song was winding down, and they were smiling and bowing to the cheering crowd… but Nudge looked pale.

“Jeb? Could you get rid of the reporters? We need to rest before the concert tonight.” Being a leader was coming naturally, she had to admit. She knew how to delegate – unlike Max, who only knew how to give orders.

“Okay, that’s enough for now,” Jeb said, starting to wave the reporters away. He motioned to the security team to clear the area, and they went into action.

“I feel like crap,” complained Gazzy. “And it’s not my digestive system this time.”

“Tell me about it. I have the spins,” said Nudge, sinking onto her chair and closing her eyes.

“I feel like I ate some rotten escargot. So much for the joys of room service,” Total grumbled, lying down with his head next to Akila’s paws. His lady friend seemed fine. “Try not to yak in the pool,” Angel advised, even though she was having a hard time not doing it herself. “We need to make a good impression.”

Jeb felt their foreheads, the way he had a long time ago. “No fever. But you all feel bad? What did you have for lunch? Did you all eat the same thing?”

“Uh-oh,” said Gazzy, but Angel was so nauseated she didn’t have time to leap to a safe distance, or grab a gas mask.

Bbbbbrrrrrrrttthhhhhhttttttt.

“Mother of God, no!” Total cried, doing a fast belly-crawl to the pool and throwing himself in. “You said it wasn’t your digestive system!”

“What was that?” Dylan asked. He winced and threw an arm over his nose and mouth. “Another nerve gas bomb?” “Sorry,” Gazzy said miserably, but he couldn’t help a tiny grin.

Nudge was clawing at a stack of towels to cover her face.

“Nice one, Gaz,” said Iggy. “You know, I just thought of something: It’s only us who’re sick. Not the normal ones, like Jeb and Akila – only the recombined ones.”

“Wait – that was Gazzy? Is that why you call him… Oh, crap,” said Dylan weakly.

Angel stood up, but her balance was a little off. “I think we should all…,” she began, and then the world faded and went topsy-turvy, before everything went black.

61

THE WAITRESS at the all-day breakfast buffet brought me four more pancakes, looking at me doubtfully.

“Yay, thanks,” I said, making room on my plate. “You want that last sausage?” I said to Fang.

He pushed it over to me. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

I quit chewing. “What?”

“You hardly got any sleep last night, your flying has been erratic and clumsy all day, and you’re slowing down after only twelve pancakes. What’s on your mind?”

“You really do know me,” I said, and swallowed. Although – “Wait a minute. My flying was clumsy? I don’t think so.”

Fang grinned at me, with predictable heart-fluttery results.

“Okay,” I said. I poured myself a lake of maple syrup and started pushing triangular rafts of pancake into it. “I’ve been thinking. Angel said that you were gonna die. Then Dylan shows up, Mr. Perfect. Jeb comes back into our lives. Angel boots me out of the flock. Dr. God is now everywhere, and there’s someone shooting at us. What if Angel and Dr. G-H are working together? Or he’s controlling her somehow?”

Fang stared at me blankly and then looked out the window.

“What if it’s all part of some larger plan?” I continued, keeping my voice down. “Like, someone’s trying to split up the flock. Or Jeb is trying to take over again, and can’t with me there. Or you,” I amended. As a rock-solid hypothesis – ha-ha – it wasn’t much.

Fang pushed food around on his plate. “Mr. Perfect?” was his only comment.

“What? Oh.” My stomach knotted. “No – I mean, it’s just like he’s a Ken doll or something. Mutant Ken, with wings. Like he was designed to be…”

“Perfect?” Fang’s gaze was level.

“Someone’s idea of perfect,” I said. “Not mine, obviously.”

“Yeah,” said Fang. Awkward silence. “Or… it could all just be a bunch of weird stuff happening for no reason. Here’s the non-conspiracy-theory version: Dr. God is just an egomaniac. Angel is just another one in the making. Jeb and Dylan are just a couple of losers looking for a family. And maybe you were just a pain-in-the-butt leader and the kids kicked you out for good reason.”

My eyebrows rose, and Fang gave me a lopsided grin before I could shoot him down.

“Or maybe not,” he admitted. “Maybe we should call, check in?”

“I still feel responsible for them.” I sighed. “Even though they’re, you know, all backstabbing little ingrates.”

Fang nodded, and his too-long black hair swished like silk.

“I’ll call Nudge,” I decided. “She seemed kind of the least turncoaty.”

Holding my breath, I dialed Nudge’s number. If she hung up on me or told me not to call anymore, it would be very bad. I hesitated, thinking this through.

“Just hit send,” said Fang.

So I did. It rang for a long time. What were they do -

“Hello?” Nudge sounded so normal I wanted to cry.

“Hey, Nudge. It’s me.” I cleared my throat and braced myself. There was a lot of noise on her end, people talking, a TV blaring. I heard Gazzy laughing in the background. “ ‘Ssup?”

“Max!” Nudge sounded thrilled to hear from me. “Max, hi! Where are you?”

That was weird. She knew I wouldn’t say anything over the phone. “Where are you?” I asked as a test.

“LA!” she said. “We’re going to a party with celebrities!”

“Huh. um, are you okay?”

“We all had, like, stomach flu earlier. But now we’re fine. I miss you! Oops, limo’s here! Gotta go. Love you! Call ya later!” She hung up.

I looked at Fang. “They’re fine. Going to a party with celebrities in LA. Limo was there to pick them up.”

Fang looked at me. “Trap?”

I nodded. “Oh, yeah. Trap.”

62

THE LIMO PULLED to a stop outside Furioso, the hottest, most exclusive restaurant in Los Angeles. Needless to say, it wasn’t dog friendly, so the canines had stayed back at the hotel. There was a crowd of people on the sidewalk.

The flock gazed out the darkened windows of the limo. This was pretty much the farthest situation from anything that Max would have agreed to. They were surrounded, trapped in a car driven by a stranger, with tons of people taking pictures.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jeb asked.

That was enough to decide it for Angel. “Yep. It’s showtime, folks,” she said, popping her door open. The flock heard murmurs ripple through the crowd. Then people were jostling, trying to get closer, trying to see them as they spilled out of the limo.

“It’s the bird kids!” Flashes went off like a hundred tiny fireworks.

Nudge gave a big smile, posing for the cameras. “Hello,” she said, changing her angles. Dylan looked down at first but couldn’t help giving shy smiles to the adoring onlookers. Gazzy bounced up and down and waved.

“Get me out of here,” said Iggy, whose superior sensory skills normally made him comfortable weaving his way through any scene of chaos. “This is giving me the willies.”

Angel looked at him, surprised. “Everything is fine,” she said firmly. “Let’s go inside.” The crowd parted around her as if she had waved a magic wand. With her enhanced raptor vision, Angel could see everything in the smoky darkness as they weaved through the restaurant.

Their contact, a talk show host named Madeline Hammond, ran forward, her hands out.

“Kids!” she said, beaming a thousand-watt smile. “Thanks so much for coming! Hey, give us a little room, will ya?” she called to the crowd, and people edged back. “Welcome to the pre-party! Isn’t this great? The Harrells are going to play later, and Beth Duncraft and Fala Cochran are here.” Her gaze fell on Dylan just then, and she looked up into his turquoise eyes. “Oh, my goodness,” she said slowly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dylan,” he said. “The new bird kid on the block.”

Madeline looked stunned, then recovered herself, turning to speak to the crowd. “They sure can make ’em, right, folks? Is this guy gorgeous or what?” The crowd roared its approval. Madeline smiled. “All of you are just fantastic!”

Nudge squealed with delight. She turned and posed again, waving.

“Let me introduce you to some people,” said Madeline Hammond, and for the next twenty minutes, Angel was absorbed in a blur of smiles and air kisses and shaking hands. But with every passing moment, noises seemed to grow louder, colors seemed to get brighter, and her skin felt more and more itchy and tight.

She glanced at Nudge, who was beaming up into the face of a boy currently starring in a popular sitcom. He looked about sixteen, and Angel grinned, wondering if he knew that, despite her height, Nudge was only elev – twelve.

“And how did you learn to fly?” a reporter asked Dylan.

“I got pushed off a roof,” he said truthfully. The crowd laughed, eating him up.

In the darkness, Angel saw Gazzy and Iggy sitting at the restaurant’s bar, taking turns flicking almonds into glasses as if it were an advanced game of tiddlywinks. Several Hollywood writer-producer types seemed to be regressing to childhood as they joined the competition, guffawing with the boys and making a scene.

Dylan was surrounded by slinky, admiring girls, some of whom Angel recognized from TV. He was smiling, talking, turning on his own star quality, but Angel thought his expression looked strained, and his skin pale and clammy.

Dylan + pale skin =? Does not compute.

And that’s when it occurred to her. Dylan always looked perfect. Even when he’d just been shredded by Erasers.

There was something very wrong with him. With all of them.

That was when Angel looked down at her hands, seeing them clearly in the dim light. And she screamed.

63

“MA’AM, YOU SHOULD SEE THIS.” The tech nervously pointed at the surveillance screen.

The head of information stared at the face of Subject 6. It was covered with huge oozing pustules, like boils. The subject was crying, even as she tried to keep from scratching her skin raw. There was much activity in the area as the other subjects started to gather around number 6.

“Have you seen Twenty-two yet?” the head asked.

“Yes,” the tech replied grimly, just as the subject in question came into view. The tech enhanced the nightvision capabilities of the camera. Subject 22 was indeed also covered with the plaguelike skin lesions.

“Another malfunction. unbelievable,” the head of information whispered. “This couldn’t have been from the reactant. It was tested a hundred times. We know the effect it has. It couldn’t have done this. In fact – I believe it was tested on Twenty-two himself when he was six months old. Check the records on that before I inform the doctor.”

The tech nodded.

“ASAP,” the head pressed. “The doctor is going to be very, very upset when he -” She broke off and squinted at the screen. There seemed to be some kind of commotion. People pressing together, people yelling.

“What’s going on now?”

The tech turned up the volume and tried refocusing the camera. “It may be that one of the subjects just collapsed? I’m not sure. Let me come in closer…”

“We have to get field reports!” the head yelled, pulling out her phone to mobilize the street team. “This could be turning into an emergency scenario. We are not going to lose any of the subjects on my watch.”

64

I’M NOT CLAIRVOYANT or anything. I can’t read minds or pick up on stray thoughts the way Angel can. But I know where Los Angeles is, and I can read a huge blinking sign that says “Bird kids here tonight! Come meet the flock! Get your tickets at TicketsPlus!”

I pointed, and Fang nodded. “It’s a thin clue, but I say we follow it,” I said. We angled downward, avoiding cell towers and trying not to breathe in the smog, which you could have cut with a knife and spread on toast. Not that you’d want to.

The sign was perched atop a four-story building that looked as if it had once been a movie theater. On the ground floor was a restaurant called Furioso. Signs on the sidewalk proclaimed the opportunity to talk to “Nature’s Marvels, Today Only.”

“Nature had nothing to do with it,” I muttered.

“Good thing the kids are keeping a low profile,” Fang commented.

As we got closer to Furioso, people started streaming out the front doors, yelling and screaming. Burly bouncers were trying to control them, but no one can withstand the kick of a Jimmy Choo stiletto in the shin.

We waited a moment, but the flock wasn’t among the escapees. Which meant they were inside? I didn’t even have to think, just dived between designer-clad bodies.

“No one goes in!” a bouncer said, looming large in front of me. “Everyone’s clearing out!”

“We’ve got VIP passes,” I told him. Fang and I spread our wings. “up and away!” We catapulted into the air and flew right over him as he looked up at us in a daze.

After that, LA’s young and restless got out of our way.

Inside, it was dark enough to hide most face-lifts, but it took only a moment to locate the flock – they were standing by the one light source in the place. I also spotted Jeb’s sandy hair. At the same time, I took in the fact that three people dressed in black were converging on the flock, and they didn’t look like hospitality associates.

I nodded at Fang, and he broke away, circling behind them as I pulled back into the shadows. Nudge sniffled and caught sight of me. I was shocked to see that her eyes were almost swollen shut. I glimpsed the others’ faces and noticed weird spots and swelling. WTH?

I put a finger to my lips, then circled it in the air. Nudge nodded almost imperceptibly, reaching behind her to tap Iggy’s hand twice. He tapped Gazzy’s hand twice, and Gazzy stopped blinking back tears and went quietly on alert.

So pretty much everyone was already primed by the time the biggest guy reached Jeb, pulled a gun out of his coat, and jabbed it into Jeb’s side.

“Nobody move!” the guy barked. “You’re all going to come with us! Somebody wants to see you.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to see us looking like this,” said Dylan.

The woman closest to him whirled, also pulling out a gun. In less time than it takes to tell, Dylan chopped the gun out of her hand, then grabbed her, locking her arms behind her back. So smoothly, so professionally, it was almost as though he had known she was coming.

Immediately, I swept my foot under the third one’s shoes, knocking him off balance, then clapped my hands hard over his ears. He shrieked in pain as his eardrums popped, and he fell. I planted my foot firmly on his neck, ready to stomp if he moved a muscle.

Meanwhile…

Almost as if in slow motion…

The gun skidded across the floor. And guess which of us had her bird kid claws all over that grisly weapon in the blink of an eye?

You got it. The scary seven-year-old with a leadership complex.

Having been subjected to the threat of guns way too many times in our short lives, the flock were not fans of them. Didn’t touch them, didn’t believe in them, didn’t want anything to do with them. And, fortunately, didn’t have a shred of experience using them.

So looking at Angel holding a gun? It wasn’t just terrifying. It was tragic. I felt crushed by the horror of what our lives had come to.

My sweet little Angel, looking like a murderer in a pink party dress.

I might say this a lot, but: This was like my worst nightmare. For real this time.

But then it got worse.

Because when Angel lifted the gun, she pointed it at me.

65

“NOBODY MOVES UNTIL I TELL them to,” Angel said calmly, as if she’d been doing this – or at least watching R-rated Mafia movies after I’d gone to sleep – her whole life.

I must admit, as a tactic the shock factor was super effective. Everyone was frozen with disbelief. For a moment, it was as if we were all on the same team, trying to talk a psycho down from the ledge. Every single one of us wanted that gun out of that child’s hands.

The scary thing was, she didn’t look like a child anymore. She looked very, very focused. And I was very, very focused on the barrel of the gun.

“Put it down,” the guy holding Jeb told her. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yes, she does,” said Dylan seriously.

“Well, then, what does she think she’s doing?” the woman he had captive asked through clenched teeth.

“Okay, so what happens next is that everyone shuts up and listens to what I have to say,” Angel demanded.

Tell me to shut up, and I speak. “I’m listening, Angel. I simply cannot wait to hear this one.”

She gave me a look. Listen to me, Max.

“One by one, and only when I say,” Angel began, “the grown-ups will turn around and walk away without hurting us. And if you don’t do it, I’ll pull the trigger. And then what happens?”

“You’ll kill Max,” Fang said hoarsely.

“Right.” Her grip, her arm, didn’t waver. “And you grown-ups know as well as I do that Max is the prize. The only prize that really matters to your boss. You know exactly who I’m talking about. He would be very, very mad if she died and it was your fault, wouldn’t he? That would be very, very bad for you. Wouldn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t kill a member of your own flock. You’d never do it!” the guy whose neck was under my foot cried from the floor.

“Is that what you think?” Angel smiled. “Max, what do you think?”

I only needed to consider for a millisecond. “No question about it,” I said, staring her down. “She would do it.”

“Give us one good reason why we should believe that!” squawked Dylan’s captive.

“In case you guys didn’t catch last week’s episode, I’m out of the flock,” I informed them, letting my voice shake as much as possible. “Angel has no allegiance to me. She’s wanted me gone for a long time. And in case you didn’t catch all of the episodes from the past year, Angel is… unbalanced.”

“Untrustworthy,” Fang seconded.

“Unpredictable,” Jeb added.

“Dangerous,” Dylan chimed in. The other kids were, thankfully, too scared to speak up.

“Right,” Angel said slowly. “That’s just the word I would use. But I think everyone understands that now. So, Dylan, you can let your lady there go. She’s under control. Nice and easy, ma’am. Just turn around and walk away.”

As Dylan slowly loosened his grip, the woman’s eyes glazed over, and zombie-like, she headed out of the restaurant. Angel’s gaze was back on me now, strong and steady.

“Max, I think the gentleman under your foot is ready now. Bye-bye. Leave. Don’t ever come looking for us again,” she told him firmly.

Even after seeing Angel in action all these years, I was still awed by her powers as I lifted my foot and watched the man peel himself from the floor and stumble out.

“And finally, you, sir, with the gun. You’re going to leave now without hurting any of us bird kids. Go home and forget everything that just happened. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, with a bizarre expression on his face.

Then he pulled the trigger.

There was a pop, and Jeb collapsed. The rest of us gasped in horror.

“I didn’t hurt any of you bird kids,” he said emotionlessly. “Just like you said.”

Looking dazed, he dropped his gun to the floor and ran out.

66

JEB ALWAYS SAID HE’D TAKE a bullet for us. Now that he had, it significantly changed my sense of superiority over him. If he died, I would have some major soul-searching to do. Advice: Don’t wait until someone you have issues with – especially someone you’re related to – gets shot before you work it out.

Fortunately, the bullet seemed to have missed the important parts, but he’d lost a lot of blood, so there was no way we could avoid the dreaded hospital. I’d rather be in a zoo. Instead I was in a waiting room, taking out my frustrations on a vending machine that wasn’t working. I really needed some chocolate.

“Max!” I heard someone call. I felt my stomach unknot slightly.

“Mom!” I hurried to her, and we hugged. I’m not a huggy person, but her hugs were pretty much the best hugs on earth.

“Jeb’s out of surgery,” she said. “It looks like he’ll be fine.”

Fang and I led my mom to a room where the rest of the flock was under observation. The “agents” that Angel had hired had set up their private security guys outside the door – they didn’t want word of this leaking out. These kids were no longer marketable.

“Dr. Martinez!” Nudge said, managing a weak smile. Mom was good about not grimacing. Nudge’s skin looked like chocolate pudding bubbling in a pot on the stove. The rest looked like they had been dipped in a cauldron of lye. Doctors had swabbed the flock’s sores, taken blood, taken their temperatures – but hadn’t found squat.

“Oh, my gosh, Nudge,” my mom said gently. She smoothed some of Nudge’s corkscrew curls off her forehead, then went around and said hi to everyone else.

“I’m Dylan,” Dylan said when she paused by his bed, looking confused.

“He’s the latest, um, acquisition,” I explained weakly. Even with his messed-up skin, he still looked like he’d been designed by Gods R us. Except right now it was Trolls R us. But, like, a troll who would totally be a pinup in all the troll teen magazines.

“Hi, Dylan,” my mom said. “I’m Valencia Martinez, Max’s mom.”

Dylan’s puffy eyes widened. “You have a mother?” he asked me. “Wow. I had no idea. Do you have a father too, then?”

Bad, bad question. My mom quickly changed the subject. “You know, I read about a case where someone poisoned a spy with a radioactive element,” she said. “The pictures I saw kind of looked like this.”

“Oh, holy crap,” I said, putting my hand to my mouth.

“It’s not radiation poisoning,” said a voice.

“Jeb!” My mom went over and closed the door behind him.

“How do you know?” I demanded of Jeb. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“No,” said Jeb. He was wearing a hospital gown, open in the back, and I hoped he was enjoying the breeze. An IV dripped into his arm, and he had wheeled its little stand in with him. He looked pale and weak – after all, he had taken a bullet for us. Maybe I should be a tad less accusatory.

“No,” he repeated. “And I hope I’m wrong, but I think it’s an… accelerator of some kind. A genetic accelerator.”

“What the heck is that?” Gazzy asked.

Jeb paused. “Well… it’s something that would react with your genes. Basically introducing new mutations and speeding up mutations you already have. I think all of us got dosed, except maybe Max and Fang, because they were gone. But it’s having an effect only on you, whose DNA has already been modified.”

There was an appalled silence. I’d been gone for, like, two days, and in that time, everything had completely careened out of control.

“But what if it helps us become even better?” Angel said, ever the creepy optimist. Her normally beautiful face looked like a personal-size pizza with eyes. “We could be like superheroes!”

“Yeah, so far that’s working out well for you,” I said, gesturing to everyone’s ruined skin. “Do you have any idea who would -” I stopped as the obvious answer came to me. “Dr. Seersucker.”

Angel sat up. “Dr. Gunther-Hagen is really brilliant, Max.”

“You want to be accelerated? Fine. But you have no idea what’s going to happen to you next. We already know that your good doctor’s self-healing genetics can have some pretty scary side effects.”

Angel frowned, and Dylan looked concerned. I’d forgotten he had been gifted with Dr. Gunther-Hagen’s magic spit.

My mom turned to Jeb, who was leaning against a wall, looking gray. “Is there any way to know what will happen to them? How toxic is it? Is it deadly? Is there any way to get it out of their systems?”

“Um, not really, I’m not sure, I don’t think so, and I doubt it,” said Jeb, trying to answer all her questions. “My guess is that this initial bad reaction might be the shock of having it introduced to their systems. I’m hoping that once it’s absorbed, these side effects will go away.”

“This was someone conducting an experiment,” Fang said slowly. Frowning, he turned to Jeb. “Someone who’d want to be there to see the results.”

Jeb held up a hand. “Don’t even go there, Fang. The accelerant would have had to be in a shared source – say, in the air or water at the house. I would have been affected too.”

“But it wouldn’t affect you because you’re normal,” Fang objected. “You said so yourself.”

“That’s just a theory,” Jeb said. “This was not my doing.” My mom interjected. “Let’s focus on the important thing here. Is there a way to undo this?”

Jeb shook his head. “If I’m right, it would have been designed to start binding to their DNA immediately, inserting its enzymes and amino acids directly into their chromosomes.”

I sank down onto a hard plastic chair. “Oh, my God.”

“This could give us cancer!” Nudge said, blinking back tears.

“Or turn us into, like, pterodactyls or something,” said Gazzy. “It wouldn’t take much.” He looked stoic.

Jeb sighed. “We should contact Gunther-Hagen to see if he admits to any of this – or even if he won’t admit it, maybe he’ll give us clues as to what it is.”

The idea of contacting the doc for help was totally crazy to me. Excuse me, but hadn’t Jeb just been shot by one of the man’s employees?

“I would vote to get out of here, get to a safe house, and see what happens over the next twenty-four hours,” I suggested.

“I’ll call a contact at the CSM,” said my mom, reaching for her phone. “He’ll be able to help us find a place.”

But I had only one real desire right then: to go back to Colorado and drink the water. If my flock was going through this, I needed to go through it too.