Angel (Maximum Ride 7)

58

/> “STEP RIGHT UP and see the amazing superkids!” Fang shouted to the passersby as he shook a tambourine.

Behind him, Kate was juggling a cinder block, a locked safe, and a marble statue.

“Find something too heavy for her to lift!” Fang called. “She’ll juggle anything you bring over!”

Fang had spent the first fourteen and a half years of his existence trying hard not to stand out. He’d developed a habit of extreme stillness that allowed him to blend in with whatever his surroundings were.

So this was not coming naturally to him.

Ratchet was listening in on people’s conversations from ten yards away, then offering to “read their minds” when they came to check out the hubbub.

Star was racing around and sneaking up behind people, catching them unawares. They rubbed their eyes in disbelief.

And Holden? The fast-healing boy was breathing fire. He’d been practicing for almost an hour now and was doing pretty well, having set only two trees ablaze by accident.

“Fang! Check this out!” He took a swig of the flammable liquid and started burping his ABCs—in flame. “Ayyy, Beee, Ceee,” he belched, fire shooting out of his mouth.

A crowd started to form where Fang’s gang was putting on their show, not far from the amazing glass pyramid in the courtyard of one of the world’s most famous museums, the Louvre. As soon as they’d all landed at Paris-Orly airport, Max and the flock had taken off to carry out their part of the plan. Fang’s objective was to bait whatever DG scouts lurked throughout the city. They’d peopled their rally with Gen 77 kids and were probably on the lookout for more. So Fang and his crew were out in public, being as obviously Gen 77 as they could be.

Fang and Maya held hands, ran about twenty feet across the plaza, and launched themselves into the air. They spread their wings wide as people gasped and started taking pictures. While Ratchet and Holden passed the hat down below, Fang and Maya did acrobatic maneuvers, loop-de-loops, somersaults, steep dives, and whatever else they could think of.

By the time they landed, a crowd of at least a hundred people had gathered, taking photos, clapping, and talking excitedly.

“We’ll be here all week!” Fang said, passing the hat. He was amazed at how many people were tossing in euros. They might be able to quit stealing all the time. “Merci! Thank you! Merci!” said Fang, bowing. When he straightened up, a girl about his age stood there smiling at him.

“That was quite a show,” she said in English.

“Thanks,” said Fang.

“I’d like to invite you and your friends to another kind of show,” she said, “the day after tomorrow. At the Place de la Concorde. Do you know it?”

“I’m sure we can find it,” said Fang.

“Excellent,” said the girl. “Here’s a flyer. See you then!”

“Okay, see you then,” said Fang.

After she walked off, he and the gang read the flyer. “Yes!” Fang said. “We did it!”

Let the One Light make your dark days disappear! Join us at the Place de la Concorde and experience the love and acceptance of the One Light. Be part of the solution! We’re going to save the planet! Rejoice!

With love, from your friends at the Doomsday Group

59

“WHY ARE WE HERE?” I asked. “Typically, we don’t do very well in places like this.”

For some reason, we were meeting Fang and his gang at a fabulous restaurant in a superfabulous hotel—the Georges Cinq. It was decked out in a beautiful, opulent, unbirdkid-friendly, gray and gold interior. We usually tear up places like this, which is why I had lobbied for the McBurger on a little side street.

Fang nodded. “I know, but this is everyone’s first visit to Paris. Possibly their last. I wanted to show them something special. Plus we found something that I think—”

“Actually we found something,” I interrupted. “Something major. But let’s get settled first.” I hated how I was acting, trying to one-up him. We didn’t actually have anything real. We’d just overheard something that we couldn’t figure out.

The maître d’ must have been used to rock stars and child actors and other reprobate types, because he didn’t bat an eye as he led us to a long banquet table in an isolated corner. The thirteen of us sat down, all on our best behavior. Total, of course, was thrilled to pieces to be back in Paris, one of the few places on earth so civilized that dogs are allowed in stores and restaurants.

“Oh, my God. I can already smell the vichyssoise,” he rejoiced, inhaling deeply.