Nevermore: The Final Maximum Ride Adventure

distress thing, especially when I’ve saved Dylan’s feathery butt more times than he can count. Second of all, no. Just… no.”

Total ignored me and hopped up onto the counter and opened the medicine cabinet with his nose, taking out a little white box and pushing it toward me.

“What’s that?” I asked warily.

Total winked. “Breath mints.”

30

“NOOOO!” ON THE screen, a woman’s eyes bugged almost out of her head, and I tried not to scream.

Tried not to scream in exasperation, I mean. The serial killer was right in front of her, wide open! Clearly, instead of weeping like a moron, she should be lunging forward and administering a swift uppercut to his chin. Then this entire pointless ordeal would be over with, and I could go home.

Okay. I’ll stop whining. It wasn’t that bad, sitting there in the movie theater next to Dylan. We were in the row directly behind Nudge and Sloan—partly so we wouldn’t get separated, partly so I could knock Sloan unconscious if he tried anything—and, to be completely honest, I was feeling pretty relaxed.

In a completely nervous, freaked-out way, of course.

Because as soon as the words AND NOW… YOUR FEATURE PRESENTATION had flickered across the screen, Dylan had tentatively reached out and taken my hand.

And I hadn’t stopped him.

So that was the situation: dark theater, warm hands, terrible blood-drenched movie, and so much tension between me and Dylan that it felt like my brain was about to short-circuit.

Basically, I wasn’t sure whether to just go with it and have fun (like a human) or panic and get the heck out of this pitch-black enclosed space (like a bird kid). So far, the human way was winning, but the jury was still out.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the stupid bug-eyed lady got stabbed, and wailed dramatically. I turned to the side and made a face at Dylan.

“Well, you can’t blame her,” he whispered, and his eyes flashed like blue coins in the dim half-light. “She hasn’t exactly been trained for fights to the death.”

“Oh, come on! She still totally just sat there and let herself get stabbed,” I protested. “In my humble opinion, she deserved it.”

He snickered quietly. “You may be the only person who’s rooting for the serial killer.”

We smiled at each other, and that was when my usual harshness came slamming back into me with a jolt, making me bite my lip and focus on the movie again. No time for blushing and admiring; make sure Nudge is doing okay! Check for escape routes!

Sometimes my survival skills really get in the way of things.

I stayed completely still through the rest of the movie, even when Dylan’s thumb began tracing fiery circles on my palm, even when my heart started pounding so loudly I thought people six rows away could probably hear it. Get it together, I told myself. Be calm. Be Zen. You are Buddha.

Except I highly doubt that Buddha would be experiencing the same tingles down his spine that I was. And because of Dylan! Someone, anyone, just put me in a straitjacket and be done with it.

Finally, the screen went black and the end credits started rolling. I shot to my feet, dropping Dylan’s hand like a hot potato. “Okay, well, that was fun! Let’s head home now!”

“No way,” Nudge said, frowning. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

“Yeah,” said Sloan. He nudged Nudge—no pun intended—and gave her a little smirk. “Let’s you and me go back to my place.”

I choked, not sure whether to be horrified or revolted or amused. For one thing, if this guy thought there was even a slim chance that I’d let him get his hands all over my Nudge, he was sorely mistaken. For another thing, gross. For a third thing, what “place”? Didn’t this kid have parents? I mean, true, we didn’t, but we weren’t exactly the norm.

“No, I think we’ll be going home now,” I growled, grabbing Dylan’s wrist and practically pushing him out into the aisle. “C’mon, Nudge.”

Nudge sulked, but she followed obediently, with a glowering Sloan right behind her. He probably hated me, which I cared absolutely zero about. He wouldn’t be the first one.

As soon as we stepped out of the theater and into the cool night air, I let out a sigh of relief. No matter how many amazingly attractive guys held my hand, no matter how many dates I went on, I would always, always prefer to be out in open space, with room for flying.

Unless, of course, that space was filled with three hulking figures.

“We’ve been waiting for you guys,” said Ari.

31

FOR A FEW moments, I couldn’t even speak. All I could do was stare dumbly at the person who’d died in my arms. Twice.

Ari.

And he wasn’t alone. Two big, snarling Erasers flanked him, looking oddly similar to their ringleader.

“How are you… alive?” I asked shakily. Sloan visibly tensed at my words, and I remembered that, while undoubtedly a sleazy moron, he was still a relatively innocent human. If this turned into a fight, it would be bad.

“I’m not a zombie,” Ari said in his gruff voice. “Just a better version of myself.”

I tensed, my hands twitching. The previous versions hadn’t been particularly pleasant.

Ari chuckled. “Don’t look so nervous, Max. I didn’t come on this friendly little visit to see you, anyway.” He looked pointedly at Dylan. “ ’Sup, Dyl.”

“Do I know you?” Dylan cocked his head, confused and understandably wary. “Max? Who is this?”

This weird man-wolf-child? I didn’t really know how to answer that. Ari and I had been mortal enemies—his first death had been caused by me accidentally breaking his neck in a New York subway tunnel—and then we’d been kind of friends. And then he’d died. What was I supposed to make of this new Ari?

When in doubt, play it safe. I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, Ari, tell us. Who are you this time? Good? Evil? Still deciding?”

“Relaaax, sis. We’re buds. My third coming is in peace. Actually, I already did you a favor.” His wolfy grin just sent more adrenaline hurtling through me.

“What kind of favor?”

Ari crossed his arms proudly. “I killed your clone.”

“Clone?” Sloan said shrilly, but we all ignored him.

My stomach clenched. “You what?” I snarled, but I knew it was true even before Ari elaborated.

“ ’Fraid so,” he said, smirking. “A scratch, a smash, wham, bam, Max II is dead—just like you always wanted.”

I swallowed. Admittedly, I’d flirted with the idea, but not for real.

“Anyway, on to business,” Ari said lightly before I could respond. He looked again at Dylan, who, taking a cue from me, had assumed a hostile stance. “Jeb wanted me to tell you not to worry about Dr. G.-H. and your little mission.”

“Jeb?” Dylan asked, clearly confused.

“Jeb!” I exclaimed, my voice rising. “What does Jeb have to do with—”

“We’ve got the situation covered,” Ari said with finality, his eyes boring into Dylan’s. I scowled. His smile was playful, but in his eyes there was a definite threat.