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I’d been told that he had been created—literally created—just for me, as my “perfect other half.” Let me tell you—if Dylan was my perfect other half, then I needed to give my first half a serious look-see. It all just seemed like total sciencey bullcrap right now.
“I know why, Dylan. It’s because I’m the only available teenage winged female you’ve ever met. You might want to wait until they start mass-producing them. Better selection. They’ve still gotta work all the bugs out.” I frowned, thinking of Fang finding a bug-free Max.
“Never, Max,” Dylan said. “I’m programmed to imprint on you. You know it. I can’t fight the urge to be with you, no matter what.”
“That’s why you’ve been stuck to me like glue?” I said. “Because you have to?!”
Dylan frowned at me. “Yeah. I think.”
“You think?”
Suddenly his gaze was piercing, haunted. “I think I’d want to be with you even if I were programmed to do the exact opposite.”
There was nothing I could say to that. Instead, I folded back my wings and dropped fast to the ground.
5
AH, THE GOOD OLD DAYS, when we were running for our lives, eating out of Dumpsters, getting into life-and-death battles on a regular basis, unable to trust anyone…
That was before I’d found my mom, the woman who had supplied my second X chromosome. I don’t usually live with her. I’ll always be part of the flock first, and Valencia Martinez’s daughter second. Amazingly, she understands that. I love the fact that she exists and cares about me. But as I stepped into her house, I felt a burst of nostalgia for the days when life was hard and dirty and dangerous.
“Taste,” Nudge said, shoving a still-warm cookie at me.
My stomach was churning from my little aerial battle with the Cloned Heartthrob, and I wanted to say no.
But she stuck the cookie into my mouth, then peered at me anxiously as I tried not to gag. “Your mom’s teaching me how to cook. Too dry? Too chocolaty?”
“Too chocolaty is an oxymoron,” Iggy s
aid from the couch, where he was sitting next to my half sister, Ella. “Okay, go on. You were just at the part where Tarzan kills the big ape.”
Ella grinned at me, then found her place on the page and continued reading to Iggy. (He’s blind. Lab accident.) As amazing as it was for me to have a real mom, it was equally amazing for me to have a real half sister. I’d been sharing her room at night for the past week, and the conversations we’d had in the dark, when everyone else was asleep, made me feel like a normal teenage girl. That is, until she started talking to me about her crush on Iggy. Then I felt like I was listening to her talking about my son. Who’s the same age I am…
Normal’s pretty fleeting around here. But right now, across the room, Gazzy and Angel were doing something totally unevil, working a jigsaw puzzle together, and they smiled at me with similar smiles. Of the five (formerly six) of us, they’re the only real blood siblings. Which I suppose explains why I have brown hair and brown eyes, Fang has dark hair and darker eyes, Iggy is tall and fair and light-haired, Gazzy and Angel are both blond and deceptively angelic-looking, and Nudge is African American, with light brown skin, curly corkscrew hair almost the same color, and eyes like melted chocolate.
I sighed as I took in the cozy, tranquil domestic scene.
“Hi, honey,” my mom said. She came over and pushed my hair behind my shoulders. I tried to remember the last time I’d untangled it, but after I thought back two days, I gave up.
“Hi,” I said.
“Why don’t you go take a nice shower?” she suggested.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
Across the room, Angel suddenly cocked her head in a way that made me stiffen and brace myself.
“Someone’s coming,” she said.
“Who is it?” my mom asked.
Angel concentrated, her brows furrowed. “It’s Jeb,” she said. “Jeb and Dr. Hans. Hans Gunther-Hagen.” And how would she know this, you might ask? Her scary mental powers. She can pick up on people’s energy and emotions, from a distance. And close up? Let’s just say don’t have any private, personal, embarrassing thoughts around her. Yeah. Good luck with that.
“How did they—” I began, then looked at my mom. “You told them we were here?! You know I hate seeing Jeb! And the last time I saw Dr. Hans, he’d just accidentally almost sort of killed Fang!”
“I know, honey,” my mom said, looking unruffled. “But Jeb called, and he said he just had to talk to you. Something urgent—he was very insistent.”
I looked into her warm brown eyes that were similar to mine. Her hair was darker and curlier than mine. We didn’t look much alike.
