“Wait, don’t tell me,” Total said, trotting after me. “We’re gonna break in, steal some stuff, break some stuff, almost get caught, and then escape in some dangerous, dramatic way.”
I set my jaw, trying to ignore Nudge’s giggle. “Maybe,” I said tightly. “You got a better plan?”
He was silent for a few moments. “Well, no.”
I know you might not believe this, but slogging through a foreign European forest in the dead of night with an ex-Eraser, a talking dog, and two kids who depend on you for their lives—well, not as much fun as you’d think. But maybe that’s just my negativity talking.
Once again, I was forcibly reminded of what slooow and hard work walking is, compared with flying. But I didn’t want to take a chance of being seen, not this close to the castle. For all I knew, they had watchtowers or radar or searchlights. Possibly all three.
But we finally made it. Standing at the edge of the woods, looking across the moat at the thick, high castle wall, I felt like this was the most castley castle I’d ever seen. It was all pointy and chock-full o’ turrets, with narrow slits for cute Robin Hood arrows, and other windows with many tiny panes of glass. Of course, the floodlights and razor wire at the top of the wall detracted a bit from its charm, but if you squinted, they faded a little.
“There’s an iron gate,” whispered Nudge, pointing. “We can see through it.”
“Yep.” Sticking to the shadows, we half crouched, half crawled toward the castle, checking carefully for trip wires or hidden traps. When we were within thirty feet of the gate, the sound of marching feet made us freeze, bellies to the ground.
My raptor vision showed me the next generation of Erasers goose-stepping in the courtyard. I saw just as clearly lines of people marching after them, fierce expressions on their faces. But there was something odd about them—something not entirely human. And then I saw my old clone double, Max II, who had tried to replace me, who Jeb had tried to make me kill. She was back.
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Standing next to me, Ari had gone rigid, his eyes locked on the Max clone. I remembered that they had been an anti–real Max team and felt my stomach tighten. My vigilance about Ari cranked up a couple notches.
While I pondered this revolting development, Nudge elbowed me in the ribs.
“Oh, my God!” she whispered. “Do you see that?”
“Yep,” I said, watching Max II grimly. “We meet again.”
“What do you mean? We’ve never seen her before,” said Nudge.
I turned and looked at Nudge. “Hello? You don’t remember that topsy-turvy day when ‘I’ tried to cook and offered to fix your hair?”
Nudge frowned. “Yeah. That was Max Two. That’s not what I’m talking about! Look, four rows behind her!”
I looked. Then I saw what Nudge meant.
There was a Nudge II—marching along with an un-Nudge-like solemnity. Other than that, she looked exactly like her.
“Holy moly,” I breathed, hardly able to believe it.
“Uh-oh,” said Angel quietly, then pointed. I swallowed a groan and dropped my head into my hands for a second. Excellent. Just what the world needed: another Angel. Because God knows, one six-year-old mind-controlling flying child just isn’t enough.
“I don’t believe it,” said Nudge. “There’s another me!”
“And another me,” said Angel.
Was everyone here a clone? Maybe not, but they were all mutants of some kind, I was willing to bet.
“What, I’m not important enough to have a double?” Total sounded completely offended. “‘No, let’s not clone the dog. He’s just a dog, after all.’”
I rubbed his head behind his ears, but he huffed and flopped over on the grass.
“I don’t have a double either,” said Ari. So Jeb hadn’t cloned his son. How sentimental of him.
“Are they going to try to replace us, like they did with you?” Nudge asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But we’ll catch on immediately when the new Nudge is silent and mopey, and the new Angel acts like an actual six-year-old.”
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