Somehow, we made it up to the street, where Fang was waiting. I felt faint, like I’d been hit by a truck, but I forced myself to keep moving. I remembered what was stuffed in my pockets. Names, addresses, pictures—of our parents?
“Where are the other kids? The mutants?” I asked Fang. So much was going on now. It was hard to keep it all straight, but it had to be done, so I did it.
“The girl with wings took them.” He shrugged. “She didn’t want to stay with us. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sound like anyone you know?”
I waved him off—I didn’t want to talk about it now, didn’t want to talk about anything.
I could still see Ari’s eyes rolling back, could hear his neck snapping.
“Just walk. Keep walking,” I said, and started to limp forward. “Walk the walk.”
It was almost two minutes later that I realized Angel was carrying something besides Celeste.
“Angel?” I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What’s that?”
Something small and black and furry squirmed under her arm.
“It’s my dog,” said Angel, and her chin went stiff, like it always did when she was about to get stubborn.
“Your what?” Fang said, peering at the object in question.
We all gathered around Angel, but then I remembered how conspicuous we were. “Let’s move,” I muttered. “But this discussion isn’t over, Angel.”
In Battery Park, down at the tip of Manhattan, a small, abandoned band shell was almost completely hidden by overgrown rhododendrons and yew bushes. We huddled under its shelter as the rain washed dust off the city. I was wiped. I felt like I had absolutely nothing left.
“Okay,” I said, sitting up straighter, trying to put energy into my voice. “Angel, explain the dog.”
“He’s my dog,” she said firmly, not looking at me. “From the Institute.”
Fang sent me a look that said, If you let her keep this dog, I will kill you.
“Angel, we cannot have a dog with us,” I said sternly.
The dog wiggled out of her arms to sit at her side. It looked pretty normal as far as I could tell. Its bright, black doggy eyes shone at me, and it was grinning in a friendly way. Its short, stumpy tail was wagging. Its nose sniffed the air happily, excited by all the new scents in the world.
Angel gathered the dog to her. The Gasman edged closer to look at it.
“And besides, you have Celeste,” I pointed out.
“I love Celeste,” Angel said loyally. “But I couldn’t leave Total behind.”
“Total?” Iggy asked.
“That’s what his card said,” Angel explained.
“Totally a mutant dog who will probably turn on us and kill us in our sleep,” Fang said.
The dog cocked his head to one side, his grin fading a moment. Then his tail wagged again, insult forgotten.
Fang looked at me: I got to be the bad cop and lay down the law.
“Angel,” I began cajolingly. “We can’t always feed ourselves. We’re on the run. It’s dangerous out here. It’s all we can do to deal with us.”
Angel set her jaw and looked at her sneakers. “He’s the most wonderful dog in the whole wide world,” she said. “So there.”
I looked at Fang helplessly.
“Angel,” he said severely. She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, her face grubby, clothes filthy, cornrows all fuzzy.