“We’ll be here all week!” Fang said, passing the hat. He was amazed at how many people were tossing in euros. They might be able to quit stealing all the time. “Merci! Thank you! Merci!” said Fang, bowing. When he straightened up, a girl about his age stood there smiling at him.
“That was quite a show,” she said in English.
“Thanks,” said Fang.
“I’d like to invite you and your friends to another kind of show,” she said, “the day after tomorrow. At the Place de la Concorde. Do you know it?”
“I’m sure we can find it,” said Fang.
“Excellent,” said the girl. “Here’s a flyer. See you then!”
“Okay, see you then,” said Fang.
After she walked off, he and the gang read the flyer. “Yes!” Fang said. “We did it!”
Let the One Light make your dark days disappear! Join us at the Place de la Concorde and experience the love and acceptance of the One Light. Be part of the solution! We’re going to save the planet! Rejoice!
With love, from your friends at the Doomsday Group
59
“WHY ARE WE HERE?” I asked. “Typically, we don’t do very well in places like this.”
For some reason, we were meeting Fang and his gang at a fabulous restaurant in a superfabulous hotel—the Georges Cinq. It was decked out in a beautiful, opulent, unbirdkid-friendly, gray and gold interior. We usually tear up places like this, which is why I had lobbied for the McBurger on a little side street.
Fang nodded. “I know, but this is everyone’s first visit to Paris. Possibly their last. I wanted to show them something special. Plus we found something that I think—”
“Actually we found something,” I interrupted. “Something major. But let’s get settled first.” I hated how I was acting, trying to one-up him. We didn’t actually have anything real. We’d just overheard something that we couldn’t figure out.
The maître d’ must have been used to rock stars and child actors and other reprobate types, because he didn’t bat an eye as he led us to a long banquet table in an isolated corner. The thirteen of us sat down, all on our best behavior. Total, of course, was thrilled to pieces to be back in Paris, one of the few places on earth so civilized that dogs are allowed in stores and restaurants.
“Oh, my God. I can already smell the vichyssoise,” he rejoiced, inhaling deeply.
“The what?” Gazzy asked, peering at the menu. “Um, this is all in French. I want a burger.”
“Try the boeuf haché,’ ” Maya recommended, and I remembered Angel telling me that Maya had lived mainly in Europe since she’d been liberated from her cage in New York.
“So, what’ve you got?” Fang asked me while we waited for them to bring our drinks.
“Hm?” I asked, keenly aware that Maya was looking at me expectantly. Dylan raised an eyebrow, ready to come to my aid if necessary. “Oh, it’s nothing.” I coughed. “Just… we kept hearing all this stuff about D-day—like, the world ends day, we think—but people were pretty tight-lipped about it, so we don’t know when this whole shebang is going down.”
“Plus, we got a smidge caught up in sightseeing around ol’ Paree,” Total said, oblivious to my sharp glance. “Twelve patisseries, three parks, and four museums.” He put his paws on the table and drank some water from a glass.
“Really,” said Fang.
I paused, trying to frame our activities in a positive light. “We just went to as many places as possible where people might meet, where kids might want to go…”
“It may have been thirteen patisseries,” Dylan added unhelpfully. “But we also hit a lot of schools. We saw at least two DGers hanging out at schools, scoping out the students.”
“Checking the schools was my idea, since they seem most interested in kids,” said Gazzy, helping himself to more bread and butter. In France, plain old bread and butter were just about the best things on earth. “The patisseries were Max’s idea.”
“Of course,” said Fang, but I didn’t react.
“Dude, quit playing with her,” Ratchet said. “Are you gonna tell them what we found or not?”
Fang cocked an eyebrow at me, and I scowled.
Maya took a flyer out of her pocket and unfolded it so we could read it. “Yeah, we actually already knew about the D-day thing,” she said. “But we got the inside info.”
Fang smirked, and I kind of wanted to punch him.
Instead, I tried to act mature while reading the flyer, calmly seething. “Day after tomorrow,” I said, shocked. “That’s… soon.”
We were all solemn as we pondered that thought. Until Gazzy broke the silence with, “No duh.”
“We’d better make plans…” Fang began, but he didn’t get very far.
Boom!
60
BOOM! THE WHOLE restaurant was suddenly rocked by a huge explosion that seemed to come from right beneath our feet. People screamed, the lights went out, and we heard glass breaking and walls crashing down.
“Stay together, everyone!” I yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”
Carefully, we began to edge past hysterical people, relying on Iggy’s extraordinary sense of direction, since most of us couldn’t see anything through the smoke.
Le Cinq had a big freaking hole in its outside wall, and we made for it. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth and kept hold of Nudge’s arm. I also held onto Angel’s hand as she yelled, “Calm down! Follow us! We’ll get you out! No pushing!”
People around us were panicking, climbing over tables, screaming. But I heard one unmistakable voice above it all: “Max!”
In an instant, I felt his breath on my neck, his hands on my shoulders. “I’m okay, Dylan,” I called. “Get a grip.” I found myself shrugging off his touch. At least he gives a crap, I thought. Unlike someone else, who was, mind you, out of sight.
Together we climbed over the rubble and through the hole, into the street. Sirens were already wailing. I quickly counted heads and felt a weird twinge when I saw Fang doing the same. All of us were safe.
Gazzy sniffed the air. “That’s explosives. It smells like Christmas!”
Okay, so we’ve had somewhat untraditional Christmases. With explosives.
Suddenly, there was another explosion from deep within the building. The blast made us stagger, even from across the street. Down the block, the hotel’s front doors opened and people poured out, panicked and screaming.
“We’d better move back,” Dylan said. “The whole building’s going to collapse.”
“Au secours!” a voice wailed.
“That means ‘help,’ ” Nudge said, looking around quickly. “Over there!”
Thirty feet away, a woman was pinned beneath a large chunk of building. I tried to lift the huge piece of rubble but couldn’t budge it. Kate, one of Fang’s gang, the girl who looked like a supermodel, hurried over.
“We need a crane or something!” I told her.
“No…” Kate bent her knees and placed her hands carefully to get a good grip on the boulder. I tried not to roll my eyes—at least she was making an effort.
In the background I heard another scream, a woman’s voice, yelling for help too, but we could only do one thing at a time.
“We really need something big—” I began, then stared as she easily shifted the enormous piece of debris. She didn’t even grunt or anything.
“Max!” Nudge yelled, then ran over.
“Help me!” I told her, and she and I carefully moved the woman out from under the rubble.
“That was amazing!” I told Kate.
“Max—” Nudge began.
Kate shrugged and blushed. “DNA splicing will do that for you,” she said.
“Yeah, no kidding.” I was still looking at her in awe.
“Max!” Nudge broke in again. “Angel’s in the hotel!”
61
“NO SHE ISN’T,” I said. “She came out with us!”
Nudge shook her head. “She’s trying to save
someone—she flew up to the top floor and went inside!”
“Mon fils!” a woman cried nearby, pointing.
I gaped at Nudge, my mind reeling as she pulled me toward the hotel. Nudge pointed to the spot Gazzy was staring at: there, on the top floor of the hotel, a small boy was leaning out an open window. One window over, flames were lapping out, eating the expensive silk curtains. The boy was crying and shouting for his maman, reaching for her.
“Aidez mon fils!” the woman screamed, pointing.
“Angel!” Gazzy cried.
Maya and Fang were already up there, hovering outside the window. Angel was in the room with the boy, but he was terrified and wouldn’t listen to her. She kept gesturing to the window, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Why doesn’t she just control his mind?” Gazzy asked, watching fretfully.
“The kid might be too upset,” I said, not taking my eyes off Angel.
The little boy looked about four. I watched Angel talking to him earnestly. Then I saw flames enter the room and whoosh across the ceiling.
“Get out of there!” I shrieked.
Fang and Maya were beckoning to Angel and holding out their arms. A fire truck rounded the corner just then, sirens blaring, lights flashing.
Now the fire was very close to Angel and the boy. He was sobbing. On the street, his mother was wailing and wringing her hands. Then a billowing cloud of thick smoke rolled through the room, hiding the boy and Angel from us.
My mouth gaped in horror as I shot out my wings and started flying toward the window.
Fang and Maya were coughing from the smoke.
Suddenly, two figures jumped from the window.
“Angel!” I yelled.
Her once-white wings were dull and gray. The boy’s weight was making her sag as she flew, but she held him tightly. They were both gasping for breath and coughing.
Fang and Maya went closer. Angel looked at them and nodded. With one forceful stroke of her wings, she shot away from the building—just as the room exploded in flames, showering the sidewalk below with glass and debris.
I flew along the sidewalk beneath her, and with Fang and Maya flanking her on either side, Angel landed well down the block, setting the boy down gently. His mother raced up, shrieking in French, and grabbed him. He was coughing and sniffling but managed a smile as he motioned to Angel. The woman tearfully thanked Angel, who nodded wearily and then headed over to me. I met her halfway.
“Way to go, hero,” I said, giving her a high five.
“Thanks.” She smiled, her teeth bright white against her soot-covered face. “I bet you were dying to come get me.”
I laughed ruefully. “You know me too well. I was going crazy.”
Angel smiled again and took my hand. It was like old times.
62
I BASKED IN nostalgia for about a minute and a half, then my reverie vanished.
I saw Fang gathering up his gang. Maya said something that made him smile. He grinned back at her, and—right in the very same city that I myself was currently in—he pushed her hair away from her face. Just like he had done for me so many times.
I lost my breath, like I was getting punched in the stomach. It almost felt like my own personal D-day, where I was experiencing the end of “Fang and Max,” forever.
Suddenly, I needed to get away. I told Nudge and Angel that I’d be right back and gave them a lame, totally unconvincing smile. Then I ran down the sidewalk and launched myself into the air, ascending as fast as I could. I soared over the city and followed the Champs-Élysées, the main boulevard, to the Arc de Triomphe, the center of twelve streets that radiate away from it.
I circled the city several times, high enough not to be seen but low enough to take in some of the sights—the Eiffel Tower, of course, Notre Dame, and Sacré-Coeur, high on its hill. A light drizzle began to fall, adding to my sadness. Streetlights came on, and the city twinkled.
Finally, I alighted atop the Arc de Triomphe. No one was up on the observation deck; I had it all to myself. The day had grown chilly, and I was damp all over, strands of hair plastered to my face. From up here, nearly two hundred feet in the air, I could see most of the city. It was amazingly beautiful.
I sighed, resting my head against one of the big iron spikes at the perimeter of of the Arc’s deck.
I thought that I’d never see Fang again, but here we were, in Paris. At first I thought we’d always be together, but no. Then I thought we’d always be apart, but no again. I couldn’t count on anything; I couldn’t get used to either situation, because both kept changing. It was so frustrating! And so unfair!
I thought about what Angel had said, that I had to put my own feelings first when it came to Fang and Dylan. That would be easier if I actually knew what my feelings were. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend more time getting wet and chilly up here trying—and probably failing—to figure them out.
I sighed again. I should go back, I thought. The flock will be wondering—
Then a hand touched my shoulder. I spun around, muscles tense. It took a second for me to process Dylan’s face, his unfolded wings, his look of concern.
“Don’t sneak up,” I said, feeling my heart pounding.
He gave a little smile. “At least I was able to. Ten points for me—I’m getting better.”
“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” I mumbled. I turned away from him and looked out over the city as the sky got darker. “Everyone okay?” I asked, not looking at him.
“Some of Angel’s feathers are singed, and her face is a little pink, but she’ll be fine. Everyone else is okay. We got a suite in the same hotel Fang is staying at. But on a different floor.”
“Great,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. Dylan was quiet then, standing near me. Finally, I broke the awkward silence. “Is that why you’re here? To let me know what hotel we’re at?”
He frowned slightly, and I saw tiny drops of water on his face from the mist. “Not exactly. I came after you because you looked upset. And I wanted to be with you.”
Again with the disarming honesty. The heart on the sleeve. I looked into his turquoise eyes and saw emotion there. Fang’s eyes were so dark I couldn’t see the pupils. And besides that, there was always layer upon layer of mystery, with Fang. Dylan’s eyes were clear and open and full of… well, I couldn’t let myself think it.
Dylan had come after me. Not Fang. But that wasn’t reason enough to let him… in.
“About that being-with-me thing,” I asked. “Why is that, really? Because if there’s a little bot gene inside of you that says ‘Me want Max’ all day long, I’m telling you right now, that’s just gross. I’m not interested.”
He watched me intently, and I wasn’t sure if I felt like prey or predator.
“See?” I jumped in. “Time’s up. You have no idea why you like me.”
Dylan smiled and reached out, gently taking my hand. “Well, for starters… you’re kind of beautiful.”
Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. Saving the world doesn’t give you a whole lot of time to look in the mirror. I’d done it maybe half a dozen times at most in the past year, most of the time to wipe blood off my face and check out injuries.
He couldn’t be serious.
“You have no idea how dumb that sounds, Dylan.” I snorted and pulled my hand away. “I guess you’re too adolescent to understand that girls want you to like them for who they are, not how they look.”
Dylan shrugged. “I said ‘for starters.’ You didn’t let me finish.”
“So… be my guest.” I tapped my fingers playfully on the railing as his eyes bored more deeply into mine.
“Waiting…” I said in a singsongy, now slightly jittery voice. He was moving toward me slowly, as if giving me a chance to protest. I didn’t.
“Can we… talk about that later?” he asked. “I’m kind of… distracted right now.”
But he couldn’t have been more focused.
I didn’t move—my back was against
the safety bars. He touched my cold cheek with one hand, then pushed my damp hair away from my face. He ran his fingers down my tangly mop as if it were a strand of pearls.
When he looked back into my eyes, his expression gave me a little jolt.
“Um…” I said.
Then he stepped even closer and tilted his head slightly to one side, his eyes still locked on mine. I was frozen in place as his mouth touched mine and he kissed me. He was strong and warm and solid, and he gathered me to him, an arm around my waist. I didn’t remember making a decision, but my arms found their way around his neck as he kissed me harder, holding me close in the mist.
And for a long time, it was just the two of us, silhouetted against the Paris skyline, the night deepening around us.
And it felt… right.
And kind of beautiful.
63
I AM NOT Miss Savvy about romantic relationships. The only one I’ve ever really had was with Fang, and, I admit, it was kind of strange to fall in love with someone I had grown up with. So I was quietly freaked out about kissing Dylan. Eventually, it dawned on us that we were really hungry, so we’d flown back to the hotel together, only to find everyone walking down the street to a little crepe place on the corner.
I’d felt Fang’s sharp gaze studying our faces as we sat down, Dylan’s leg warm against mine, and I started to feel self-conscious. Then I remembered what Angel had said: he could stay and weigh in, or leave and keep his mouth shut. That made me sit up straighter, and I smiled at Angel as I asked her to pass the bread. I didn’t know what all this meant, didn’t know where it was going, but for the time being, at least I wasn’t running away screaming. Which was progress.
After dinner (which was fabulous—ham and cheese and potato crepe), we all walked back to the hotel together. Angel and I fell behind and were talking quietly while the others went ahead. I was half paying attention to what she was saying and half reliving kissing Dylan.
And I’m sure you already realize what I didn’t remember till it was too late: Angel can read minds. And she isn’t too particular about who’s mind it is or when she reads it.
Angel: A Maximum Ride Novel mr-7 Page 13
