“I know!” I tried to sound perky. It was hard. “That’s why we really want to be part of this. We came all the way from the US of A to help! Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I’m not sure what else there is,” the girl said, smiling helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
“We were thinking that maybe a cool aerial show would help advertise the rally,” I said quickly. “We could show people how special it is to be different—or enhanced.”
Dylan stepped back and quickly extended his wings, fifteen feet of bones, muscle, and raw power. The girl almost fell over backward.
“Oh, yes,” she said in awe. “I think an aerial show is a brilliant idea!”
69
HALF AN HOUR LATER, we were gliding and swooping over the Place de la Concorde on a gorgeous sunny morning in Paris. If we weren’t there trying to stop a bunch of crazies from blowing up the world, it would have been great.
As it was, the closer it got to noon, the more people poured into the enormous plaza, and the more I realized just how many people might lose their lives right in front of me if we couldn’t figure out what was going on and how to stop it.
The four of us (me, Dylan, Nudge, and Iggy) pulled out all the stops: we dive-bombed the crowd, making them scream; we did death spirals around the obelisk (that I hoped were not omens); we shadowed flocks of pigeons and imitated their movements. It seemed like everybody in the plaza had their eyes glued on us, spellbound, making anyone engaged in nefarious activity easier for us to spot.
Throughout everything, I maintained a raptor lookout for Angel and Gazzy, lasering in on everyone working around the stage, every member of the DG I saw. Fang and his gang were in plain view—well, not Star so much, what with all the zipping around. They were handing out copies of the Enhanced People’s Manifesto, selling T-shirts, and generally walking about, and, we hoped, gathering some intel.
An emcee had taken the stage and was starting to whip the crowd into a frenzy, announcing their special lineup, the musical guests, and the huge fireworks display at the end.
But still no Angel or Gazzy.
Dylan and I were flying in tight formation, moving our wings with split-second precision so we wouldn’t crash. I wondered if Fang had noticed or if it bothered him. I still noticed Maya. A lot. Every time I saw her, it was like getting salt water in my eyes all over again.
Suddenly, I realized that Dylan had shifted his position to fly barely two feet above me, matching me wing stroke for wing stroke.
“What are you doing?” I asked, craning to look up at him.
“I like this view,” he said.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I like watching your… power,” he said. “You’re a beautiful flyer. Your hair is streaming through the air like silk ribbon. The sun is shining on your feathers. And I’m just glad to be here, with you. Even if we are trying to stop mass destruction.”
My face burned. Once again, when I was feeling at my most vulnerable, Dylan was somehow there, saying exactly the right thing, reading my mind—
“Can you read minds?” I asked.
“No,” Dylan said. “Not that I would tell you if I could.” He gave me an infuriating smile and then rose higher in the air, looking graceful and strong.
Everything was so messed up.
I almost looked around but then realized that I was hearing Angel’s voice in my head.
My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the city streets below.
