I nodded. It would be darker than the street, and we’d have enough room to take off. Five minutes later, we were rising above the city, leaving the lights and noise and energy behind. It felt fabulous to stretch my wings out, stroking hard, feeling so much faster and smoother and cooler than I did on the ground.
Just for fun I flew in huge, banking arcs, taking deep breaths, enjoying the feel of my newly weightless hair. The stylist had called it “wind-tossed.”
If only she knew.
111
Up this high, I could clearly see the outline of Manhattan. Right across the East River was Long Island, which was much, much bigger than New York City. We flew above its coast as the sun went down, barely able to see the curly ridges of white-capped waves breaking along the shore.
After an hour and a half, we saw a long stretch of black beach with few lights, which meant few people. Fang nodded at me, and we aimed downward, enjoying the heady rush of losing altitude. Roller coasters had nothing on us.
“Looks good,” Fang said, scoping out the beach after we landed on the soft sand. It was undeveloped, with no attached parking lots. Huge boulders sealed off both ends, so it seemed even safer. Plus, other large boulders formed a natu
ral outcropping that created a bit of shelter maybe thirty yards inland.
“Home, sweet home,” I said drily, taking off my new backpack.
I rummaged in it for food, passed out what we had, and sank down on a large chunk of driftwood. Twenty minutes later, we stacked fists, tapped, and then curled up in the sand beneath the outcropping.
I winced slightly as the Voice drifted into my head. Time to learn, it said.
Then I was pulled into unconsciousness as if getting dragged beneath a wave. Dimly, I heard bits of foreign languages that I didn’t understand, and the Voice said, This is on a need-to-know basis, Max. You need to know.
112
The ocean. Another new and incredible experience. We’d grown up in lab cages until four years ago, when Jeb had stolen us. Then we’d been in hiding, avoiding new experiences at all costs.
Now we were doing something different every day. It was a trip.
“A crab!” the Gasman yelled, pointing at the surf by his feet. Angel ran over to see, holding Celeste so her back paws barely touched the water.
“Cookie?” Iggy asked, holding out a bag.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said. This morning I had toned down my appearance a tad, then Nudge and I had hit the closest town. We’d stocked up on supplies at a mom-and-pop store that sold their own fresh homemade cookies.
My mission, and I chose to accept it, was to find chocolate-chip cookies as good as the ones I’d made with Ella and her mom. So I’d brought back a couple dozen.
I took a bite of cookie and chewed. “Hmm,” I said, trying not to spit crumbs. “Clear vanilla notes, too-sweet chocolate chips, distinct flavor of brown sugar. A decent cookie, not spectacular. Still, a good-hearted cookie, not pretentious.” I turned to Fang. “What say you?”
“It’s fine.”
Some people just don’t have what it takes to appreciate a cookie.
“I give them a seven out of ten,” I pressed on dutifully. “Though warm from the oven, they lack a certain je ne sais quoi. My mission will continue.”
Iggy laughed and rummaged in a bag for an apple.
Nudge ran up, her clothes wet past her knees. “This place is so cool,” she said. “I love the ocean! I want to be a scientist who studies the ocean when I grow up. I would go out to sea, and scuba dive, and find new things, and National Geographic will hire me.”
Sure, Nudge. Probably around the same time I become president.
Nudge ran back to the water, and Iggy got up and ambled after her.
“They’re happy here,” Fang said, looking at them.
I nodded. “What’s not to like? Fresh air, peace and quiet, the ocean. Too bad we can’t stay here.”
Fang was quiet for a moment. “What if we were safe here?” he asked. “Like, we just knew no one would come hassle us. Would you want to stay?”