“Dylan?”
“Hey, Max,” he answered, as if he’d just run to the store and was back now. I’d thought he was dead all this time.
“Max Mum?” Harry asked uncertainly.
Dylan looked past Harry to where I was still sitting on the ground, but all I could do was blink back at him dumbly. After my silence lasted a beat too long, Dylan asked, “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Yeah. I just. I thought,” I said haltingly, still out of sorts. “For a second you looked like… Fang.”
Dylan’s entire posture stiffened, but his face seemed to crumple, his gaze falling to the ground.
Nice one, jerkface. Real sensitive.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, starting to recover from the shock. “I mean yes, of course!” I scrambled to my feet and ran to him. “I am really happy to see you, Dylan.”
Now I was a grinning idiot, so freaking relieved that he was safe. When he folded me into a hug, I loved the way he squeezed me a little too tight, held on a little too long. I sighed against him, but I was confused by the way my heart was leaping like a frog on speed when just a minute ago I’d wanted so desperately to see Fang.
I had to pull back.
“Everybody thought you were dead!” I said. I was gripping the sides of his arms, and his muscles were bigger than I remembered, more solid. His hair was changed, too—cropped close to his skull—and his eyes, which had always been so clear and bright, looked strangely cloudy.
“Why do you look so different?” I asked, my gaze traveling down from his black coat to his heavy combat boots. “And why are you dressed like you’re in a biker gang? You even have gloves—so much more prepared for this weather than me.”
Rather than answer me, Dylan turned behind him, and a smaller figure stepped forward.
“Oh, my God! Angel!” My heart lit as it always did when I saw her. I rushed to her, saying, “I was on my way to join you! I can’t believe you’re here, too!”
But Angel wasn’t smiling, and the expression on her face stopped me in my tracks. Something wasn’t right.
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” I frowned.
Angel pressed her lips together, like she was trying to hold something in tight. “Max…”
That cold feeling returned, flooding my whole body, and my voice rose shrilly.
“What’s wrong?”
68
THEN ANGEL RAN to me, crashing into me, almost bowling me over.
“Oh, Max!” she cried. She wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face in my shirt as her too-thin body shook against me.
I rubbed her back, smoothed her hair. I was so relieved to be holding her like this, so grateful to have my littlest girl back with me that I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t want to ruin that one happiness.
But I had to know.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” My voice was flat, certain. “The rest of the flock is dead. Fang, Nudge, Iggy, Total…”
Angel pulled back from me, her eyes red.
“No.” She wiped her nose with her palm and shook her head. “Nudge is okay. Iggy. They’re not all—”
“I saw on the blog. They said Gazzy…” My voice cracked and I swallowed. “I guess if you screw around with explosives for long enough, that’s what happens.”
“It’s not true,” Dylan said, stepping forward. “The deaths were faked. The kids are fine.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” I said bitterly. “I can handle it.”