Angel had been a bit more difficult. Dolls or games or anything for a little kid just seemed too … young. She’d changed so much in the past year. She didn’t even sleep with Celeste anymore, the ballerina bear she’d scammed for, so long ago. And yet, she was still a little kid.
He’d finally settled on a camera. And he hoped she would use it for good instead of evil. The first time she rigged it up in the boys’ bathroom, he’d take a baseball bat to it.
And for Max — Fang smiled even as his heart began to pound a little harder. He hoped she would like what he got her. He hoped she wouldn’t say it wasn’t practical or whatever. But with Max, you never knew.
It was one of the things he loved best about her.
31
“IG, YOU HAVE outdone yourself,” I said, taking another bite of chocolate cake.
Iggy grinned and cut himself a second slice, which meant there was only about half an acre of cake left, slathered with a couple bathtubs’ worth of icing.
“You have to get the right proportion of cake to ice cream,” Gazzy said. “Each bite needs cake, frosting, and ice cream, all at once. It’s the combination that really makes it.” He managed to get his carefully loaded spoonful into his mouth before it dropped onto his shirt. Like the last one had.
“And thank you to Fang for getting the ice cream,” I said, waving in his direction. “And the balloons!”
Everyone chimed, “Thank you!” while Fang bowed.
My happy, chocolate-smeared bird kids were relaxed, laughing, having the best time we’d had in — ever. It was the perfect way to celebrate our new house, our new lives.
“Is it present time?” Nudge asked, bouncing in her seat. “I can’t wait anymore!”
“Yes,” I said, and everyone cheered. So let me see: have party, massive amounts of cake and sugar, presents, etc., and I’m super popular. Insist on schooling, homework, education, and everyone hates me. Okay, got it. “Who wants to go first?”
“Me, me!” Angel jumped up and rummaged in a paper grocery bag, pulling out small packages wrapped in the Sunday comics — one for each of us.
I quickly ripped open the paper on mine, and something small fell into my lap. I picked up a necklace strung on a black silk cord.
“It’s a good-luck charm,” said Angel. “I made it myself. I found all the stuff outside.”
My necklace was weird and beautiful, not unlike Angel herself. “Is this a … snake jaw?” I asked. Angel nodded. The small, sharp fangs of a snake’s lower jaw spiked delicately among eagle feathers, bits of worn glass, and some ancient aluminum pop-tops from soda cans.
“See?” said Angel. “It’s like you: kind of dangerous but really pretty and strong and unusual. See?”
The bits of glass caught the light and glittered like gems. I nodded, really touched. “Thank you,” I said, and gave her a big hug, like old times.
Each of us had a similar but unique necklace, and each necklace really reflected who we were. Fang’s was all black obsidian, the top half of the snake jaw, and some eagle feathers. She’d really put a lot of thought and work into them.
“Now mine!” said Nudge, pulling out her wrapped gifts.
I’d never had so many presents all at once, and even though I was a big fifteen-year-old now, I couldn’t help feeling excited as I ripped off the wrapping paper.
Nudge had hot-glued all sorts of pretty shells and beads around a picture frame. It was gorgeous, too heavy to lug around, and totally not sturdy enough to survive even a light battle.
“Nudge, it’s beautiful! I love it!” I told her. She threw her arms around me, and I realized that she had grown several inches without my noticing.
“Oh, my, gosh.” Angel’s quiet voice got my attention. I looked over to see her holding a small digital camera, her eyes wide.
“Who gave you that?” I exclaimed.
Angel’s face shone. “Fang. Oh, I love it so much! I’ve wanted a camera for so long. The first thing I want to do is take a picture of all of us.”
“I can put it in my frame,” I said, holding it up. Nudge looked pleased.
“Here,” said Iggy. “I made fudge for everyone. Didn’t have time to wrap it.” He held out a large plate covered with neat squares of marbled chocolate–peanut butter fudge. I figured we had about forty minutes before we were all in sugar-induced comas.
“Max!” Gazzy cried. “Way cool!” He held up his certificate for one tattoo at the tattoo parlor a couple towns over. (No, I’m not going to mention which one.)
“I got one too!” Nudge squealed, waving it around. “I’m going to get a unicorn! Or a heart! Or a rainbow!”
“I’m going to get a stick of dynamite on my arm,” Gazzy said.
Okay, it wasn’t the most imaginative gift, but I’d been pretty sure everyone in the flock would like a tattoo. It looked like I was right.
Fang came and stood next to me. “This is for you.”
He held out a small box tied with satin ribbon. My heart started thumping hard, as if I’d been in a fight. With shaking fingers, I pulled off the ribbon and opened the box.
32
I QUIT BREATHING for a moment when I saw what was inside the box. It was a delicate, old-fashioned birthstone ring, with this month’s birthstone.
Every other person in the world would have looked at it and thought, Max would hate this. It was girly. It was beautiful. It wasn’t made of titanium and black leather with spikes on it. But it seemed exactly right, in a weird, heartfluttery kind of way. And I really loved it.
Quickly I slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand. It fit like it was made for me. I couldn’t stop looking at it.
I realized that Fang was waiting for a reaction. “Thanks,” I managed, my voice husky. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” Fang whispered, leaning close. “As is.”
It took several seconds for me to realize I was beaming at him like an idiot. I shook my head, trying to escape the pull of his gaze.
“Okay, now! Everyone up to the roof!” Gazzy said, clapping his hands. “I can’t give you your presents inside! Something might catch on fire.”
I had a flash of concern that was quickly wiped out as we all flew up to our rooftop. The sun had just set, and there was a lingering pink glow outlining the mountains in the distance.
We sat down in a line on the roof, our legs dangling over the edge. Even in the dim light, I kept turning my hand this way and that, looking at my ring, feeling like I was glowing inside.
Nudge, sitting next to me, gave me another hug. “A tattoo!” she said happily. “They’re so in right now! I can’t decide.”
“You’ll find the perfect thing,” I told her, happy that she liked my gift.
“Now, everyone, stay sitting down,” Gazzy said, fiddling with something in a big cardboard box. Fang moved behind me and gently pulled my shoulders back so I was leaning against his chest. Of course I started practically hyperventilating. After the flock’s teasing, I was super selfconscious, but clearly Fang had no intention of pretending that we weren’t — together.
“Max first,” said Gazzy. “Since it was her idea to have a birthday party.”
We all cheered as Gazzy flicked his lighter. Something caught fire in the darkness, and after a few seconds of hissing and crackling, went whoosh out into the night. Three seconds later it exploded, making a gorgeous blue fireball of sparks, and we all went ooh and ahh. As the sparks fizzled and began to fall, they looked roughly like the letter M.
“Oh, my God!” I cheered. “Gazzy, that’s beautiful! How did you get it to do that?”
Gazzy smiled modestly. “I can’t tell you that. Next, Fang!”
Fang’s fireball was a brilliant orange, lighting up the sky.
In fact, it was so bright that it illuminated the old, unused logging road way below us in the gorge. And it showed a black Jeep four-wheeling it up the side of our mountain.
I got to my feet just as Fang’s orange letter F appeared. “Fl
ock!” I announced. “We have company.”
33
WE CROUCHED DOWN, staying in the shadows on the roof. The moon was bright overhead, and our raptor vision easily picked out the dark Jeep as it came toward us.
“Any chance it’s lost? On its way somewhere else?” Fang asked softly.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Sure. It’s probably the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, and they’re looking for the North Pole.” I shook my head, already pumped into battle mode.
It was starting. I could feel something change. I’d been on edge, paranoid for days. There was too much déjà vu: the house, the location … I’d seen an Eraser paw and an Eraser face. Even the black Jeep reminded me of the first time the Erasers attacked our old house. We’d been on the run ever since.
It was almost like the nightmare of the past year was about to start all over again.
“Okay, guys,” I said tightly, “let’s fan out. Hide high in trees, watch and see what happens. Check the sky for choppers; make sure the Jeep’s sunroof doesn’t open. When I give the signal, we attack. Aim for the Jeep’s windows. Break ’em.”
“Right,” said Gazzy, his face determined.
Almost silently, we ran hunched over to the other side of the roof, farthest from the road. I couldn’t believe this was happening. We’d barely been at the house a week… .
I coiled my muscles, just about to jump — but then Angel cocked her head. “Wait — hold on, Max. I think … it’s Jeb.”
“Jeb?” Nudge said in disbelief.
Angel straightened and nodded her head. “Yeah, it’s Jeb. We don’t have to attack him, do we?”
I groaned to myself. As much as Jeb now claimed he was trying to help us, help me, I could never trust him again. It was like he woke up and said, “Oh, today’s Tuesday, an evil day.” Or “Friday again — guess I’ll be a white hat.” His shifting loyalties made my head spin.
“Is he alone?” I asked.
Angel looked thoughtful for a moment. “No.”
“Great.” I sighed. “No, I guess we don’t have to attack him. But keep an eye on whoever’s with him. It’s not my mom, is it?” I asked, suddenly hopeful.
Angel shook her head. “Sorry.”
The Jeep pulled up at the base of our house’s supports, and I jumped down to the ground to meet it. (You could get into our house only by flying or climbing a long ladder that we let down. Or not. That little design feature had been my idea.)
The driver’s door opened, and Jeb got out. At one time he’d been my savior, my teacher, my confidant. Now he was mostly just someone to be wary of — and, apparently, my biological father. But his contributing a cell to a test tube didn’t make me all misty eyed and eager to forgive. He would never feel like a father to me — not anymore.
“Jeb,” I said evenly. “I guess Mom told you where we were, how to find us?” Inexplicably, my mother still trusted Jeb. And I trusted my mom. Which was the only reason Gazzy wasn’t under the Jeep right now, rigging a detonator.
“Yes,” Jeb said. “She’s getting a team together for another CSM mission — I’ll have to tell you all about it later.”
The other car door opened, and I braced myself. But instead of, say, Mr. Chu, or a killer robot, or a cyborg assassin, it was something worse: Dylan.
My “perfect other half.”
34
JUST BETWEEN YOU AND ME and the lamppost, Dylan could easily be any girl’s perfect other half. If I didn’t already have a perfect other half, I might have been thrilled with the gift of my very own gorgeous mutant.
The moonlight glinted off Dylan’s dark blond hair, which dipped in a wave over one eye. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and I could see the tops of his wings, a warm chocolate brown, darker than mine or Nudge’s.
For no reason I could think of, my heart seemed to thud to a halt. Somehow I hadn’t expected to see Dylan again, no matter what the Voice said. I’d left him behind in Africa. Now here he was, at my home. Looking at me intently.
Almost as if I were prey.
One by one, the rest of the flock fluttered down from the roof to stand with me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Jeb curtly. “And how did you get hold of him? Are you best buds with Dr. Gunta-Hubunka?”
“I wanted to come see you,” Jeb said. “Wanted to make sure the house was okay, that you were settling in, that it seemed safe.” He beckoned to Dylan to come closer. “Dr. Gunther-Hagen works in the same field of science as I do. We’ve crossed paths.”
I thought about how the good doctor had said he didn’t know Jeb. Did anyone ever just tell the truth anymore?
“Hi, Jeb,” said Angel. “Hi, Dylan.”
Everyone except me said hi. Not warmly or welcomingly — we’re too naturally wary for that — but somewhat civilly. Angel actually smiled.
Having Jeb here was bad enough — a violation of our privacy. And he’d had the gall to bring Mutant-Freak 2.0. Don’t be scared of possibilities, Max, the Voice said now, just to piss me off. Don’t close any … escape routes.
Huh? Escape routes? How could Dylan be an escape route?
“Dylan, you remember the flock,” Jeb said, pointing at each of us in turn. “Angel, the Gasman, Nudge, Iggy, Fang, and Max.”
Dylan nodded. “I’m really glad to see you again,” he said, not smiling. “You’re the only ones who are … like me.” His eyes focused on me again. I looked away.
“Maybe we can come in,” said Jeb. “Get caught up.” There was no way I was letting them in our house. It wasn’t that I automatically assumed Dylan was evil. The jury was still out on that. But I just didn’t get the point of his being here.
And he bothered me. He bothered me a lot.
“Sorry, no can do,” I said, just as Fang said, “Sure, what the hey. Come on up.”
I looked at Fang. His dark eyes questioned me.
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” I agreed ungraciously. I felt as taut as a bowstring and wondered how soon I could get rid of them both.
“Dylan, you can just fly up, like the rest of us,” said Fang. “Jeb, we’ll put down the ladder for you.”
Dylan glanced up at the house’s doorway, frowning. Angel and Nudge jumped up and were through the door with a couple of wing strokes. Dylan looked at me again, then at Jeb. “Yeah, okay,” he said finally.
He set his jaw, rolled his shoulders a couple times, then gave a jump into the air and tried to flap hard. But he hadn’t given himself enough room, and he just thunked back to the earth again, his wings whapping painfully against the ground. Typical newbie.
I heard barely suppressed snickering from Gazzy and Iggy as they flew up onto the porch.
Dylan’s chiseled face flushed as he let out a controlled breath and shook his head. “Not as easy as it looks,” he said wryly. “I’ve been trying —”
“Max taught the younger kids to fly,” Jeb said. “Max, why don’t you take a minute, give Dylan some pointers?”
My jaw all but dropped open. “Oh, he’ll get it soon enough,” I said, glaring meaningfully at Jeb.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” said Dylan, acting casual. “It’ll just take practice. Max doesn’t need to waste her time on this.” I wondered if he didn’t want a girl teaching him.
Incidentally, other people not wanting me to do something has often been Step One in making sure I do something. Plus, for a minute I actually felt a little sorry for him. It’s one thing to be a three-year-old with baby wings and learning how to fly. But this guy was … almost … a man. A little pathetic.
“Well, whatever. I can take a minute,” I heard myself say.
“Yeah?” Dylan raised an eyebrow and looked at me. He seemed to be trying not to look too eager.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” I said, making a mental note to get a good look at his wings. For all I knew, they were remote-controlled and duct-taped to his back.
“Have at ’im,” Fang said easily, and he was on the front porch with an almost silent flutter of his wide deep-black win
gs. God, Fang’s wings were gorgeous. They looked like they belonged on the Angel of Death.
“Good — thanks, Max,” said Jeb, climbing the ladder Fang had just lowered, and I indulged in a moment’s fantasy about someone slamming the trapdoor on his head.
Then it was just me and Dylan alone out here in the canyon, in the moonlight, and I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin.
“Okay,” I said, but my voice came out weird. I gave a little cough. “Let’s do this thing.”
35
FOR A COUPLE OF SECONDS Dylan and I stood there awkwardly. The night seemed darker and quieter than it had a moment ago. I could smell Dylan’s clean scent, like soap and mountain air.
“I thought flying would come naturally to me,” he said. He carefully opened his wings and frowned, as if testing their strength.
“Well, it’s like walking, or riding a bike,” I explained. “It’s sort of natural, but you also have to practice.”
I remembered Ari, Jeb’s son. He’d been a little sevenyear-old. Then someone had spliced his DNA with Eraser genes and grafted wings onto him, retrofitting them. The result had been a huge disaster, a Frankenstein.
It looked like they had finally gotten everything right with Dylan. No one could accuse him of being a Frankenstein. More like Frankenhunk.
I realized what I was thinking and immediately shooed it out of my head. “So, I, uh … ,” I started babbling. “I guess you flew here … from Africa?” I asked. “Like, in a plane?”
“Yeah. What about you guys?”
“We flew flew here. Took about five days. We were pretty whipped afterward. That Atlantic Ocean is a beast.”
“That’s so amazing.” He gazed at me in open admiration. “I can’t believe how strong you are.”
The dream I’d had about Dylan popped into my head in full Technicolor. “Was it hard for you to get used to being big?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. Chitchat is obviously not my best skill. “I mean, I guess you grew pretty quickly.”
Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel Page 7
