Angel (Maximum Ride 7)

I swallowed. “Oh, yeah?” I said, and congratulated myself on how casual I sounded.

There was a pause. Fang was speechless. Good.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Will you come? Will you bring the flock? I’m at the Crescent Bay Hotel, on Market Street, downtown. I can explain everything when you get here.”

“We’re pretty busy,” I hedged.

“Max, the Doomsday Group has to be stopped!” Fang said forcefully.

I sat up straight, my jaw dropping. “The Doomsday Group?”

BOOK THREE

PARIS IS BURNING

51

THE FLOCK VOTED to go join Fang in San Diego rather than stay here to look for Ella. I did not exercise my executive veto. It made sense that we should try to cut off the head of the monster instead of attempting to rescue one small escaped mouse. But the thought of Ella going back to those weirdos, the thought of someone experimenting on her, or, worse, grafting wings on her, sickened me.

I cursed to myself the whole way to San Diego. We got there in the late afternoon. Fang had called again and said to meet him at the hotel restaurant. This news was met with loud cheers, since of course everyone was starving.

When we got there, I did something completely out of character: I stopped off at the ladies’ room, yanked a brush through my snarls, washed my hands and face, and put on a relatively clean shirt from my backpack. When I came out, six pairs of eyes were staring at me like I’d turned into a porcupine.

“What?” I snapped defensively.

“You look fine,” said Nudge, giving me a little smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said frostily.

I didn’t know what I expected to see—I guess the same old Fang I’d always known, the one with the scruffy hair and dark clothes. The one with the crooked smile and midnight eyes. The one who’d broken my heart so, so badly.

I scanned the restaurant quickly, doing an automatic three-sixty, in case, I don’t know, some Erasers or Flyboys or Dumb-bots hadn’t gotten the memo that they’d been retired. Instead, I saw a tall, dark figure standing up, looking right at me. I clenched my teeth, tried to look expressionless, and led the flock over.

Then I saw that he wasn’t alone. Four teenagers were sitting at his table, watching us alertly. These were probably members of the Fang Fan Club—

“Max,” Fang said, reaching a hand out to me, then changing his mind and letting it drop to his side. “Thanks for coming.” We looked into each other’s eyes for a long minute, as if trying to peer into each other’s brains, trying to read the subtext and the unspoken words. Then an irritated cough came from behind me, and Fang’s eyes shot over to Dylan. A tiny, almost imperceptible wrinkle appeared between Fang’s dark brows.

“Dylan,” he said evenly. “I see you’re still hanging around.”

“Yep,” Dylan said.

“Hey, guys,” Fang said to the rest of them, his face softening. “Thanks for coming.”

I felt the others hesitating, so I turned and forced a smile at Nudge and Angel. “It’s okay,” I said. “You can hug him, or whatever.”

Then I plopped down in an empty chair and studied his new group, our replacements. There was a tiny, blond, cold-looking girl; a really pretty Asian girl with hair I’d kill for—and I’m not even that girly; a guy with headphones and some sweet sunglasses; and a scrawny kid who looked friendly, if a little beat up. Only one person was missing.

“Max,” my voice said from behind me. I spun around only to see myself looking down at me with a slight sneer I knew all too well. “Gee, I haven’t seen you since you tried to kill me,” she said. Her smile was snarky, and I saw a couple of Fang’s gang straighten in their seats.

The not-too-surprising thing was that Dylan was studying Max II, then me, while Fang glared at Dylan. Max II kept her eyes locked on mine.

This was going to be interesting.

52

IF BY “INTERESTING” I meant uncomfortable, awkward, infuriating, and horrible… then, yes, it was going to be most interesting.

I met Max II’s eyes coolly. “I distinctly remember totally not trying to kill you.”