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.

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