My heart was breaking. The Gasman tried so hard to be brave, but he was just a little kid. He leaned against me, burying his face in my shirt, and burst into tears.
“Did you hear anything about me? Or Max?” Fang was stripping the bark off a stick. His tone was casual, but his shoulders were tight, his face stiff.
“Your mom thought you died, like Nudge,” Angel said. “She was a teenager. They don’t know who your dad was. But they told your mom you died.”
The stick Fang was holding snapped in two, his knuckles white in the darkness. I saw pain in his dark eyes. Pain and sadness, and the reflection of our fire.
I cleared my throat. “What about me?” I’d always dreamed of having a mom. Even—and this is so awesomely embarrassing that I’ll never admit I said it—hoping that someday she would show up and be so wonderful and marry Jeb. And take care of all of us. I know. Pathetic, isn’t it?
Angel blinked up at me. “I didn’t hear anything about you, Max. Nothing. I’m real sorry.”
72
“I can’t believe it,” the Gasman said for the thirtieth time. “They gave us away. They must be sick. Sick jerks. I’m glad I don’t know them.”
“I’m sorry, Gazzy,” I said for the thirtieth time, digging down deep for my last shred of patience. I totally, totally felt for him, but I had reached my limit about thirteen times ago.
Anyway, I ruffled his fine, light hair and hugged his shoulders. His face was dirty and streaked with tears. I wished we could just go back to our mountain house. The Erasers knew where it was, had swarmed all over it. We could never go back. But right now, I so wished I could just stick Gazzy under a hot shower, then tuck him into bed.
Those days were gone, baby.
“Angel? It’s late, sweetie. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? Actually, we could all use an early night.”
“I’m going to sleep too,” said Nudge, her voice still thick from crying. “I just want this day to end.”
I blinked. That was the shortest sentence I’d ever heard her utter.
The six of us gathered around. I held out my left fist, and Fang put his on top of it, and everyone else did too. When we had a stack, we tapped the backs of one another’s fists with our right hands.
We always do it, wherever we are. Habit.
Angel curled up in her spot, and I covered her with my sweatshirt. The Gasman lay down next to her, and then Nudge settled down too. I knelt next to her and tucked her collar around her neck.
I almost always go to sleep last—like I have to make sure everyone else is down. I started to bank the fire, and Fang came and helped me.
“So maybe you were hatched after all,” Fang said. The six of us had always teased one another, saying we’d hatched out of eggs.
I laughed drily. “Yeah. Maybe so. Maybe they found me in a cabbage patch.”
“In a way, you’re lucky,” he said quietly. “Not knowing is better.”
I hate the way he can read my mind, since he doesn’t even have mind-reading abilities.
“It leaves all the possibilities open,” he went on. “Your story could be worse, but it could also be a hell of a lot better.”
He sat back on his heels, watching the fire, and then extended his wings a bit to warm them. “A teenager, jeez,” he said in disgust. “She was probably a crack addict or something.”
He never would have said that if the others were awake. Some things we trusted only each other to understand.
“Maybe not,” I said, covering the fire with ashes. “Maybe she was a nice kid who just made a mistake. At least she wanted to actually wait the nine months and have you. Maybe she would have kept you or let a really nice family adopt you.”
Fang snorted in disbelief. “On the one hand, we have a mythical nice family that wants to adopt me. On the other, we have a gang of insane scientists desperate to do genetic experiments on innocent children. Guess which hand I get dealt?”
Tiredly, he lay down next to Gazzy and closed his eyes, one arm over his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Fang,” I mouthed silently.
I lay down myself, reaching out my foot to touch Nudge, putting an arm around Angel. I was too tired to worry about my brain attack earlier. Too tired to wonder how we would find the Institute in New York. Too tired to care about saving the world.