Angel: A Maximum Ride Novel

by James Patterson

  I finally closed my mouth before I started swallowing bugs. “Throw him in your face? He’s stuck to me like glue! How could I not bring him with me? Besides, you’re the one posting cutesy videos of you and my stand-in online! How is that not throwing her in my face?”

  “She’s not your stand-in!” Fang roared. “She’s a unique individual! It’s not her fault that she looks like you!”

  In my whole life, I couldn’t remember being more furious with anyone who wasn’t a total enemy. I was practically spitting. “Well, it’s not my fault that Dylan imprinted on me! And you know what? He’s the only one who hasn’t left me! Why would I give that up?”

  Fang’s face blanched, and even I was shocked at what I’d said. We simply stared at each other, rising and falling, the air currents lifting us like waves in the ocean.

  Fang was breathing hard, his teeth clenched so tight that even his lips were white. I was so upset and pumped with adrenaline that I felt like I might throw up. Such a bummer that would be for anyone below me…

  I don’t even know how long it was before Fang swallowed, coughed, and then said, “The Doomsday Group is bigger than this, bigger than us. Do you agree that we should both try to fight it?” His voice was a little ragged now but calmer.

  I took several deep breaths. “It would probably be best if we both fought it,” I said stiffly.

  Fang nodded, some of the color returning to his face. “Please tell Dylan to go back to Arizona. This isn’t a fight for newbies.”

  And just like that, I was furious again. “Newbies!” I exclaimed. “Like your little team of high-schoolers down there? They can’t even freaking fly! At least Dylan can kick butt in battle! I’d trust him with my back before I’d trust any of the kids in the Fang Show!”

  Fang opened his mouth to yell back but stopped himself with effort. “Maya is a good fighter,” he said finally.

  “Yes, I am,” I said sharply.

  Again his eyes blazed and his mouth opened, but again he controlled himself. He let out a deep breath. “She’s not you,” he said quietly. “She really is a different person.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not asking Dylan to go.”

  Fang’s fists clenched. “We need Maya on our side.”

  Minutes of silence. If we hadn’t been two thousand feet in the air, we would have heard crickets chirping. I stared at him as if we were strangers, brown eyes looking into black.

  “So… where does that leave us?” Fang said.

  “It leaves us with Dylan and Maya, all of us fighting the DG together,” I said. “As revolting as that sounds.”

  Fang nodded stiffly and held out one hand.

  I almost snorted but reached out and shook it. We had an agreement.

  And as we flew back down to the restaurant, all I could think was, What happened to us?

  54

  I WAS SWEATY and my hair tangled in knots by the time we walked back into the restaurant. So much for tidying up for this meeting! As we approached the table, I saw that our two groups seemed very… separate. No one was talking. They watched each other warily.

  When I got closer, I heard Gazzy say, apropos of nothing, “We can fly.”

  “So can we,” said Maya, eyeing Fang. “Well, some of us.”

  “I can see really, really far,” said Dylan, not missing a chance to outdo Fang.

  “Me too,” said the tough-looking guy, adjusting his Ray-Bans. “I can hear really far too. Whispers from a mile away and all.”

  “Well, we can breathe underwater,” Angel offered, modestly avoiding any mention of the fact that she can also read minds.

  “So can I,” said the pale kid. “I can regenerate and heal really fast.”

  “We heal fast too,” Iggy countered. “And we’re really strong.”

  “Try me,” said the pretty Asian girl. “Let’s arm wrestle.”

  “Um, I can hack most computers,” Nudge said mildly.

  “I’m fast enough to steal any computer we’d need,” said the blonde.

  Gazzy didn’t miss a beat and said, “Fast enough to dodge this?” then sent a forkful of mashed potatoes flying through the air. Fast Girl dodged it easily, but then Gazzy snapped his fork to the left, flinging a glob right at… wait for it… Maya. And it hit her in the face. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “Oops,” Gazzy said with a nervous grin. “My bad.”

  Maya wiped off her cheek and stood up, flashing a look that could kill. She grabbed the basket of rolls and began pelting Gazzy with them, lightning fast.

  Gazzy laughed and ducked, taking no offense. “Food fight!” he cried happily.

  Immediately, the uncivilized hellions in my flock and the free-wheeling punks in Fang’s gang let all their inhibitions go. Nudge tossed her milk shake at the blond girl. The scrawny kid mashed his hamburger in Iggy’s face. It fell to the floor, and Total dropped on it like a small, black avenging angel. Angel methodically dipped fries in ketchup and launched them at anyone she could. Fang and I were waving our arms and shouting for them to stop, but they were well beyond hearing us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some security guards starting to make their way over to our table. Just like old times.

  And then it hit me: things had actually been fairly peaceful with Fang and me apart. Horrible and heartbreaking but quiet. Now that we were in the same room, all heck was breaking loose. Maybe we were better off apart? Maybe the whole freaking world was better when we were apart?

  “Guys!” I shouted. I was about to tell my flock to do an up-and-away before we all got arrested, and then, all of a sudden, Dylan jumped up on a chair.

  And he started to sing.

  55

  I’D SEEN THE effect of Dylan’s singing before. It would stop a rabid dog in its tracks. And it had the same effect now.

  “When I look in your eyes, I see the ocean,” he sang, and the food fight started moving in slow motion.

  “When I look in your heart, I see myself.

  When we’re apart, I’m just a shadow.

  Can’t you see, oh can’t you see,

  We were meant to be…”

  Glancing around quickly, I saw that the kids had stopped, freezing in position as if they were playing statue. The security guards had stopped too, and were standing still, listening to Dylan, mesmerized by his beautiful voice. The diners who had been fleeing the chaos paused and turned around. Then Dylan locked his eyes on mine.

  “You and me, we’re a team,” he crooned.

  “You and me, we’re a dream…

  Is this real? Are you what you seem?

  I can tell you, you can count on me.

  Can’t you see, oh can’t you see,

  We were meant to be…”

  I can’t describe the effect his voice had on me—it was like soothing honey, calming my nerves. And it wasn’t just me—people were clapping, the food fight was forgotten, the security guards were beaming as if they expected Dylan to whip out an engagement ring and pop the question.

  The only person decidedly not mesmerized and charmed was… Fang. He watched Dylan solemnly, not angry, not tense. But definitely not like honey had just dripped all over his heart.

  Dylan reached down, took a rosebud from the vase on the table, held it out to me, and smiled. His stunningly good looks made me weak.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  I couldn’t even speak. I took the rosebud and made my way carefully through the tables out of the restaurant, while behind us people clapped. I didn’t even glance back to see if anyone was coming with us.

  Dylan pushed through the revolving door, then we were out in the balmy San Diego air. I turned to him.

  “Thank—” I began to say, but he gently put his hand on my neck, bent down, and kissed me, smothering my words.

  “I’m here for you,” he said intently, looking into my eyes.

  And I couldn’t speak.

  56

  I RESTED MY head drowsily against a soft pillow, feeling
the muffled roar of the jet’s engines. In just a few short hours, so much had come together: Fang had figured out that the Doomsday Group’s headquarters were in Paris—one of my favorite cities. We’d called on our benevolent sponsor, Nino Pierpont, who just happened to be one of the richest men in the world, and now we were in one of his many private jets, heading to Europe. My flock could fly fast but not as fast as a jet. Besides, few of Fang’s gang could fly, even though Star could run really fast.

  I’d picked a seat in a corner, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and curled up, exhausted, only half listening to the murmur of voices in the background. The flock and Fang’s gang were—right now, at least—tentatively getting along. But that definitely wouldn’t last—Gazzy had suggested a game of poker.

  “Yeah, and so Max and Dylan are supposed to, like, go to Germany and have kids together,” I heard Gazzy say.

  My eyes popped open and I bolted upright.

  “What?” Fang said, his voice icy.

  “Gazzy!” I yelled.

  Wide blue eyes looked at me in surprise, then back at Fang’s stoic face. “Oh. Was I not supposed to say anything?” Gazzy asked.

  “What is he talking about?” Fang demanded, glaring at me, then Dylan.

  “Nothing. Just some crazy stuff that Dr. Hans came up with, in some hallucination,” I said, squinting at Gazzy.

  “Go off and have kids?” Fang demanded. I saw Maya watching him, her eyes studying his face.

  “Yeah,” said Dylan casually, fanning the flames.

  “Oh, please,” I said. “I can’t even keep a goldfish alive.”

  “You and Dylan?” Fang said with an expression I’d never seen before. “Having kids?”

  Fang’s face never gives anything away. I’d seen him scared, furious, amused, impatient, and it all kind of looks the same. But this was different. I’d never seen him look this upset. Call me selfish, but it was kind of a relief that he could still get so upset over me, you know?

  “Don’t look at me—it was Hans’s idea,” I protested.

  Dylan looked cool as a sea breeze. He stretched out his arms, then loudly cracked his knuckles. The butthead.

  Fang almost had smoke coming out of his ears.

  “You didn’t think to mention this to me?” he asked me coldly.

  My eyes narrowed, and when I spoke, the temperature inside the plane dropped several degrees. “When was I supposed to tell you?” I asked, deceptively calm. “When you told me not to look for you? When you told me not to contact you? When you told me to forget about you?”

  There haven’t been many times when I’ve rendered Fang speechless, so they’re extra sweet when they happen. I enjoyed this one a lot. I mean, a lot.

  Fang ran his hand through his somewhat shorter black hair and looked like he wanted to punch a hole in something.

  I took a split-second to look around and realized that everyone was sitting silently, their eyes big, watching us as if we were a mongoose and a cobra.

  And you know what? I hated that Fang and I were acting this way, hated that they had seen us fighting.

  “I told you she was bad news,” Maya said, breaking the silence. And that was when the cow pies really hit the fan.

  57

  I LOST EVERY bit of cool I had and turned angrily to Maya. “You stay out of this!” I snapped.

  She leaped to her feet, knees flexed, hands like knife blades, karate-style.

  “Who’s gonna make me? You’re just mad that Fang doesn’t need you anymore!” Maya said, and I felt my blood boil.

  “Yeah?” I snarled. “Is that why he replaced me with me?”

  Her eyes flashed as she took a step toward me. To tell you the truth, pounding the heck out of someone right then would have been a relief. I was full of feelings that had nowhere to go, so knocking Maya’s lights out would have felt pretty good.

  Suddenly there was a little whoosh, and I got knocked back a couple feet. The same invisible force threw Maya back, and we stood there blinking, wondering what had just happened. Then that girl Star appeared again, sitting down in her chair.

  “You guys stop it,” she said, as her hair settled into place. “I know twin sisters always fight, but you shouldn’t. I would love to have a sister.”

  “We’re not tw—” Maya and I both said, then stopped and looked at each other, frowning. We probably weren’t twin sisters, but we didn’t really know for sure. We might be. Or maybe she was just my clone. Actually, what’s the difference? I needed to do a little research.

  “I can tell all of you are mad at each other,” Angel said, stepping to the middle of the aisle. “But I don’t know why.” She looked at all of us. “Is this what you want to do right now? I mean, Max and Fang each have their own flocks. Fang, you chose to leave, so you can’t really argue with anything Max is doing now. If you wanted to have an opinion about it, you should have said something before you left.”

  I was surprised to hear Angel say that, and Fang looked stunned.

  “She doesn’t have to—” Fang started, but Angel held up her hand, with a stern, no-nonsense look that only a seven-year-old could pull off.

  “Max can do what she wants,” Angel said. “You can either stay and weigh in, or you can leave and have no say. That’s how it works.”

  Fang opened his mouth, then closed it, looking like he rued the day Angel learned to speak. He threw himself down in a chair, not looking at her, waves of heated anger almost visible.

  I was in shock too. Angel had said things that I had felt but had been unable to put into words. She was summing up everything that was making me mad and expressing it so much better than I could have. I hadn’t gotten much further than “Me mad.”

  “And Max,” Angel said, turning to me, “you’re the flock leader. Frankly, you need to do better than this.”

  I blinked.

  “You’re the flock leader when Fang is there, and you’re the flock leader when Fang is gone. I know you’ll always love Fang, but you shouldn’t let him—or Maya—get to you like this. And you shouldn’t let Dylan’s feelings toss you around like a little boat without a sail. You’re a big boat, Max. You have to act like it.”

  “I’m a… big boat?” I asked. She’d lost me back at “Maya.”

  “Yes,” she said patiently. “You are. You’re the leader, but you’re acting like everyone else’s feelings are more important than your own. Your feelings should be the most important feelings to you.”

  “I have to think about what other people feel,” I protested. Especially since I’d been criticized in the past for not caring about other people’s feelings!

  “Yes,” Angel agreed. “When it’s a group decision or something that affects all of us. But you don’t when it’s something that’s just about you. You decide how you feel about Fang. You decide how you feel about Dylan. Quit letting everything else get in the way.”

  I started to wonder if Angel had been injected with some fancy experimental DNA-type thing that made her sound forty years older than she actually was. And honestly, her face seemed to have lost some of its baby roundness, I noticed, as if in a dream. Her words swirled all around me, like little rays of light clearing paths through my brain.

  “Be with one or the other or neither of them,” Angel concluded. “But just do it and quit whining about it.”

  I almost said something, then changed my mind. I am not a whiner. I have taken quite a lot without whining. But maybe Angel had a point.

  Maybe she had a lot of points.

  “The Japanese have an idiom for whining that is translated as ‘vomiting up weakness,’ ” Total said helpfully.

  I sat quietly for several moments, thinking, letting my mind sift through the confusion in my brain. When I finally spoke, I felt rock solid for the first time in weeks.

  “We all need to fight the Doomsday Group,” I said. “So we need to coordinate our efforts. But, for the most part, it seems to be bad news when Fang and I get together. So the groups should split up, each doin
g our own thing. But first we’ll make a joint plan. Then we’ll carry out our separate parts.” I looked around. Nudge was nodding, Total was trying to give me a high four, and Fang gave a subtle nod: he agreed.

  Dang, growing up was tough.

  58

  “STEP RIGHT UP and see the amazing superkids!” Fang shouted to the passersby as he shook a tambourine.

  Behind him, Kate was juggling a cinder block, a locked safe, and a marble statue.

  “Find something too heavy for her to lift!” Fang called. “She’ll juggle anything you bring over!”

  Fang had spent the first fourteen and a half years of his existence trying hard not to stand out. He’d developed a habit of extreme stillness that allowed him to blend in with whatever his surroundings were.

  So this was not coming naturally to him.

  Ratchet was listening in on people’s conversations from ten yards away, then offering to “read their minds” when they came to check out the hubbub.

  Star was racing around and sneaking up behind people, catching them unawares. They rubbed their eyes in disbelief.

  And Holden? The fast-healing boy was breathing fire. He’d been practicing for almost an hour now and was doing pretty well, having set only two trees ablaze by accident.

  “Fang! Check this out!” He took a swig of the flammable liquid and started burping his ABCs—in flame. “Ayyy, Beee, Ceee,” he belched, fire shooting out of his mouth.

  A crowd started to form where Fang’s gang was putting on their show, not far from the amazing glass pyramid in the courtyard of one of the world’s most famous museums, the Louvre. As soon as they’d all landed at Paris-Orly airport, Max and the flock had taken off to carry out their part of the plan. Fang’s objective was to bait whatever DG scouts lurked throughout the city. They’d peopled their rally with Gen 77 kids and were probably on the lookout for more. So Fang and his crew were out in public, being as obviously Gen 77 as they could be.