“And how did you learn to fly?” a reporter asked Dylan.
“I got pushed off a roof,” he said truthfully. The crowd laughed, eating him up.
In the darkness, Angel saw Gazzy and Iggy sitting at the restaurant’s bar, taking turns flicking almonds into glasses as if it were an advanced game of tiddlywinks. Several Hollywood writer-producer types seemed to be regressing to childhood as they joined the competition, guffawing with the boys and making a scene.
Dylan was surrounded by slinky, admiring girls, some of whom Angel recognized from TV. He was smiling, talking, turning on his own star quality, but Angel thought his expression looked strained, and his skin pale and clammy.
Dylan + pale skin = ? Does not compute.
And that’s when it occurred to her. Dylan always looked perfect. Even when he’d just been shredded by Erasers.
There was something very wrong with him. With all of them.
That was when Angel looked down at her hands, seeing them clearly in the dim light. And she screamed.
63
“MA’AM, YOU SHOULD SEE THIS.” The tech nervously pointed at the surveillance screen.
The head of information stared at the face of Subject 6. It was covered with huge oozing pustules, like boils. The subject was crying, even as she tried to keep from scratching her skin raw. There was much activity in the area as the other subjects started to gather around number 6.
“Have you seen Twenty-two yet?” the head asked.
“Yes,” the tech replied grimly, just as the subject in question came into view. The tech enhanced the nightvision capabilities of the camera. Subject 22 was indeed also covered with the plaguelike skin lesions.
“Another malfunction. unbelievable,” the head of information whispered. “This couldn’t have been from the reactant. It was tested a hundred times. We know the effect it has. It couldn’t have done this. In fact — I believe it was tested on Twenty-two himself when he was six months old. Check the records on that before I inform the doctor.”
The tech nodded.
“ASAP,” the head pressed. “The doctor is going to be very, very upset when he —” She broke off and squinted at the screen. There seemed to be some kind of commotion. People pressing together, people yelling.
“What’s going on now?”
The tech turned up the volume and tried refocusing the camera. “It may be that one of the subje
cts just collapsed? I’m not sure. Let me come in closer… .”
“We have to get field reports!” the head yelled, pulling out her phone to mobilize the street team. “This could be turning into an emergency scenario. We are not going to lose any of the subjects on my watch.”
64
I’M NOT CLAIRVOYANT or anything. I can’t read minds or pick up on stray thoughts the way Angel can. But I know where Los Angeles is, and I can read a huge blinking sign that says “Bird kids here tonight! Come meet the flock! Get your tickets at TicketsPlus!”
I pointed, and Fang nodded. “It’s a thin clue, but I say we follow it,” I said. We angled downward, avoiding cell towers and trying not to breathe in the smog, which you could have cut with a knife and spread on toast. Not that you’d want to.
The sign was perched atop a four-story building that looked as if it had once been a movie theater. On the ground floor was a restaurant called Furioso. Signs on the sidewalk proclaimed the opportunity to talk to “Nature’s Marvels, Today Only.”
“Nature had nothing to do with it,” I muttered.
“Good thing the kids are keeping a low profile,” Fang commented.
As we got closer to Furioso, people started streaming out the front doors, yelling and screaming. Burly bouncers were trying to control them, but no one can withstand the kick of a Jimmy Choo stiletto in the shin.
We waited a moment, but the flock wasn’t among the escapees. Which meant they were inside? I didn’t even have to think, just dived between designer-clad bodies.
“No one goes in!” a bouncer said, looming large in front of me. “Everyone’s clearing out!”
“We’ve got VIP passes,” I told him. Fang and I spread our wings. “up and away!” We catapulted into the air and flew right over him as he looked up at us in a daze.