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, sun-streaked 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 m
aking. 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.
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