What day was this? No clue. Would Dr. Martinez be at work?
I let my mind focus on this question in order to avoid the bigger, scarier question: Would they even want to see me again?
Or, nightmare: Had something bad happened to them because they'd sheltered me before?
Just like the first time, I stood frozen on the edge of their yard, unable to will myself forward, to knock on the door.
Max, began the Voice, and I answered it inside my head. You're the one who said connections were important, I reminded it. Well, I'm here to make some connections. Deal with it.
"What the heck are we doing here?" Fang's tone of mild curiosity meant that he was so stunned he was about to fall over.
I had no answer for him. I didn't even have an answer for myself.
Then, just like the first time again, fate stepped in; or rather, Dr. Martinez stepped out of her front door. She blinked in the bright sun, then turned to lock the door behind her. Then she paused, as if listening, or sensing something: moi.
Behind me, Fang instinctively faded into the woods, where he would be invisible among the shadows.
Slowly Dr. Martinez turned, while I stood tense and almost quaking at the edge of her yard. Her deep brown eyes swept the area and flashed on me almost immediately. Then her mouth opened soundlessly. I made out the word "Max."
25
Then Dr. Martinez and I were running toward each other, and it felt like it was all happening in slow motion. I had planned on a cool, casual "Yo? Wha's happ'nin'?" But that dream was gone, gone, gone, baby. Instead I clung tightly to her, trying not to cry, taking a weird, deep, terrifying satisfaction from the sensation of her holding me.
Her hand stroked my hair as she whispered, "Max, Max, Max, you've come back." Her voice sounded broken, and I didn't trust myself to speak.
Then I remembered I was indulging in this revolting display of saccharine emotion right in front of Fang. Who would probably never let me hear the end of it. I turned and looked toward the woods. With my raptor vision, I could barely make out his dim outline.
I raised my hand to him, and Dr. Martinez's gaze shot toward the woods.
"Max? Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes on the trees and shadows.
"Yes. I-I didn't mean to come back," I said hesitantly. "But-I...We were in the neighborhood..."
Dr. Martinez's eyes widened when a stiff-faced Fang slowly emerged from the woods, as if a shadow had taken form and come to life. How's that for a little bird-kid imagery, eh? The soul of a poet, that's me!
"This is my...brother, Fang," I muttered, stumbling over the word brother. Because he'd kissed me. And no southern jokes, please. Ick.
"Fang?" Dr. Martinez said, giving him a slow smile, warming up my day. She held out her hand, and he came toward us as if dragged by an invisible rope, as tense and unyielding as I'd ever seen him. Which is saying something.
He stopped about two yards from us and didn't take her hand.
"Fang? Are you-like Max?" asked Dr. Martinez.
"Nope," he said, sounding bored. "I'm the smart one."
I resisted the urge to kick his shin.
"Well, come in, both of you," said Dr. Martinez, sounding excited and bemused and awestruck. "I was going to run to the grocery store before Ella got home from school. But that can wait."
Inside, the house seemed more familiar to me than Anne Walker's, though I'd only been here maybe forty-eight hours, months ago. Maybe because it had felt like home, the first real home I'd ever been in.
Behind me, Fang stood close to the door, taking in every detail, cataloguing exits, planning courses of action in case violence broke out. As it tended to do around us.
"Are you guys hungry?" asked Dr. Martinez, taking off her jacket and putting down her purse. "I could make you sandwiches."
"That would be great," I said, my stomach growling at the thought.
Fang sniffed the air. "What's that...scent, that..."
Dr. Martinez and I smiled at each other.
"Chocolate-chip cookies," we said at the same time.
26
"So, you have your price," I said to Fang, speaking around a mouthful of crumbs. "Your soul for a cookie."
Making sure Dr. Martinez wasn't looking, Fang shot me the bird and took another bite, clearly savoring the warm chewiness, the notes of vanilla, the semimelted chocolate chunks. I grinned at him, then stuck out my tongue.
Dr. Martinez sat down at the table with us and dipped a cookie into her mug of coffee. She patted my arm. "I'm really glad to see you again, Max," she said, with so much sincerity that I blushed. "You know, there have been reports about mutant flying children in the news lately."
I nodded. "Yeah. We keep forgetting the 'lie low and hide' part of our plan."
"Do you have a plan?" she asked, concern on her face. "What are you doing now? Are there more of you?"
Just like that, my natural instincts for secrecy and self-protection kicked in, and I felt my face shut down. Next to me, Fang stiffened in midchew.
Dr. Martinez had no problem reading my expression.
"Never mind," she said quickly. "Forget I asked. I just...wish I could help in some way."
Dr. Martinez was a veterinarian, and she'd treated me for a gunshot wound at her clinic. She was the one who'd discovered, when she did an X-ray, the microchip in my arm.
"Maybe you can," I said. "Remember my chip?"
"The one in your arm?" Dr. Martinez frowned. "Do you still have it?"
"Yeah. And I still want it out."
She finished her cookie and drank some coffee, thinking it through. "Since you left, I've examined your X-ray a hundred times." She smiled. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but it drove me crazy-I had to figure it out. I've looked and looked at it, trying to see if there's any way to take out the chip without damaging your nerves so badly that you'd lose the use of your hand."
"Did you come up with something?" I was practically quivering with anticipation.
Her shoulders sagged slightly. "I'm not positive. It seems like I could possibly do it with microsurgery, but..."
"Do it," I said quickly. "Do it now."
I felt Fang looking at me, but I stayed focused on Dr. Martinez.
"I want this chip out," I said, hating the pleading sound in my voice. "I don't care what it does."
You can't risk losing the use of your hand, said the Voice.
For some reason I was finding it particularly annoying today. Why? I thought, sarcasm dripping. You think I can't save the world with one hand tied behind my back?
Dr. Martinez looked hesitant, too cautious to take risks.
Suddenly Fang grabbed my left hand and turned it over, baring my forearm on the table. The angry red scars from when I had sawed at my arm with a broken seashell flamed up at us, puckered and ugly. Heat flushed my face, and I tried to pull my arm away.
"Oh, that," I muttered, aware of Dr. Martinez's wide, horrified eyes.
"She tried to cut it out herself," Fang said tersely. "Almost bled out, on a beach. Take it out, so she won't be such a moron again. Or at least not in that same way. Maybe in a different way," he acknowledged realistically.
I frowned fiercely at him, hating the look of consternation on Dr. Martinez's face. Then I glared at her, daring her to express pity. I swear, I would knock their two heads together if-
"I can try," she said.
27
"Where's Angel?" Gazzy's whisper was barely a breath in Nudge's ear.
"Don't know," she breathed back.
The truck stopped, and the back doors opened. It was daylight. The Flyboys riding in the back with them climbed out, then slammed the heavy metal doors, making Nudge's ears ring.
Ages later, the doors opened again, and a Flyboy threw in some pieces of bread and some fruit that was half rotten. The doors slammed shut again. There was creepy laughter outside.