Fang (Maximum Ride 6)

“WHERE DOES DR. GOD hang out?” I asked. “Where exactly has Angel gone? How did she know where to find him?”

Nudge headed to our computer. “On it.”

“I’ll go with you,” Fang told me, already starting to load his pockets with knives, throwing stars, Snickers bars.

“No,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I’ll go by myself.”

He straightened up, and let me tell you, it was all I could do not to crumble and beg him to come with me. Any fight was possible with Fang as my backup. Any trip was more fun. But what if this was all designed to get him? I just didn’t know. I couldn’t take that chance. The thought of anything happening to Fang … it was much worse than thinking of anything happening to me.

Fang, typically, didn’t start pelting me with questions. Instead he looked at me, cocked his head slightly, and thought things through.

“You think you’ll have more chance of success without me?” he asked mildly.

“No,” I answered honestly. “Of course not. But I’m willing to risk me. I’m not willing to risk you.”

He opened his mouth to start arguing, but I held up my hand. “Fang, we don’t know what this whole ‘Fang’s time is up’ thing is about. But if it turns out that Angel’s doing this as part of that, then I don’t want to make it easy for them. You know?”

I turned to Jeb. After the shooting incident, I felt I had to trust him more. “Are you going to be staying here for a while?” I asked him.

He nodded.

“You can’t go by yourself, Max,” said Dylan.

I blinked. I mean, I don’t take direction from people I love, so direction from people I’ve practically just met? Not likely.

“Um, I found an address in Malibu, weirdly enough,” said Nudge.

“Malibu?” I frowned. “That’s practically next door.”

“Max, what if something happens to you?” Dylan asked.

I ignored him and turned back to Jeb. “If Fang is in any way harmed while I’m gone — if he gets a hangnail — you won’t see another morning. Are we clear on that?”

Fang crossed his arms over his chest. “This is ridiculous. I’ve never needed a babysitter.”

“Not a babysitter — just backup,” I told him. “Iggy, Nudge, and Gazzy are also on duty here. But I don’t think I’ll be gone long.”

I moved to leave, and Dylan actually grabbed my shoulders. I was so surprised that I forgot to karate-chop his elbows and break his arms.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said urgently.

“What you want does not matter here,” I said slowly and carefully. I hoped Dylan was sensitive enough to read between the lines, to the subtext of: Let go of me or I’ll kill you.

He let go of me. Fang was looking at him with narrowed eyes. I didn’t have time for this.

“Okay, later,” I said, and strode off to save the day, once again. I hoped.

70

DR. HANS GUNTHER-HAGEN left his computer console and headed out to the terrace overlooking the ocean.

“Max is on the way,” he said. “I thought it would take longer for her to find this house.”

“Nah,” said Angel, dunking a strawberry into her nonalcoholic strawberry daiquiri. “They’re totally on top of the research, especially with that government computer.”

“Government computer?”

“Yeah. From the CIA or the NSA or something,” Angel said. She lay back on her patio lounger and adjusted her sunglasses. Her pure white wings were spread out to the sides, about nine feet across. The sunlight warmed the feathers, soaking in to heat the porous, light bones. It felt fantastic.