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Fang and Maya were coughing from the smoke.
Suddenly, two figures jumped from the window.
“Angel!” I yelled.
Her once-white wings were dull and gray. The boy’s weight was making her sag as she flew, but she held him tightly. They were both gasping for breath and coughing.
Fang and Maya went closer. Angel looked at them and nodded. With one forceful stroke of her wings, she shot away from the building—just as the room exploded in flames, showering the sidewalk below with glass and debris.
I flew along the sidewalk beneath her, and with Fang and Maya flanking her on either side, Angel landed well down the block, setting the boy down gently. His mother raced up, shrieking in French, and grabbed him. He was coughing and sniffling but managed a smile as he motioned to Angel. The woman tearfully thanked Angel, who nodded wearily and then headed over to me. I met her halfway.
“Way to go, hero,” I said, giving her a high five.
“Thanks.” She smiled, her teeth bright white against her soot-covered face. “I bet you were dying to come get me.”
I laughed ruefully. “You know me too well. I was going crazy.”
Angel smiled again and took my hand. It was like old times.
62
I BASKED IN nostalgia for about a minute and a half, then my reverie vanished.
I saw Fang gathering up his gang. Maya said something that made him smile. He grinned back at her, and—right in the very same city that I myself was currently in—he pushed her hair away from her face. Just like he had done for me so many times.
I lost my breath, like I was getting punched in the stomach. It almost felt like my own personal D-day, where I was experiencing the end of “Fang and Max,” forever.
Suddenly, I needed to get away. I told Nudge and Angel that I’d be right back and gave them a lame, totally unconvincing smile. Then I ran down the sidewalk and launched myself into the air, ascending as fast as I could. I soared over the city and followed the Champs-Élysées, the main boulevard, to the Arc de Triomphe, the center of twelve streets that radiate away from it.
I circled the city several times, high enough not to be seen but low enough to take in some of the sights—the Eiffel Tower, of course, Notre Dame, and Sacré-Coeur, high on its hill. A light drizzle began to fall, adding to my sadness. Streetlights came on, and the city twinkled.
Finally, I alighted atop the Arc de Triomphe. No one was up on the observation deck; I had it all to myself. The day had grown chilly, and I was damp all over, strands of hair plastered to my face. From up here, nearly two hundred feet in the air, I could see most of the city. It was amazingly beautiful.
I sighed, resting my head against one of the big iron spikes at the perimeter of of the Arc’s deck.
I thought that I’d never see Fang again, but here we were, in Paris. At first I thought we’d always be together, but no. Then I thought we’d always be apart, but no again. I couldn’t count on anything; I couldn’t get used to either situation, because both kept changing. It was so frustrating! And so unfair!
I thought about what Angel had said, that I had to put my own feelings first when it came to Fang and Dylan. That would be easier if I actually knew what my feelings were. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend more time getting wet and chilly up here trying—and probably failing—to figure them out.
I sighed again. I should go back, I thought. The flock will be wondering—
Then a hand touched my shoulder. I spun around, muscles tense. It took a second for me to process Dylan’s face, his unfolded wings, his look of concern.
“Don’t sneak up,” I said, feeling my heart pounding.
He gave a little smile. “At least I was able to. Ten points for me—I’m getting better.”
“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” I mumbled. I turned away from him and looked out over the city as the sky got darker. “Everyone okay?” I asked, not looking at him.
“Some of Angel’s feathers are singed, and her face is a little pink, but she’ll be fine. Everyone else is okay. We got a suite in the same hotel Fang is staying at. But on a different floor.”
“Great,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. Dylan was quiet then, standing near me. Finally, I broke the awkward silence. “Is that why you’re here? To let me know what hotel we’re at?”
He frowned slightly, and I saw tiny drops of water on his face from the mist. “Not exactly. I came after you because you looked upset. And I wanted to be with you.”
Again with the disarming honesty. The heart on the sleeve. I looked into his turquoise eyes and saw emotion there. Fang’s eyes were so dark I couldn’t see the pupils. And besides that, there was always layer upon layer of mystery, with Fang. Dylan’s eyes were clear and open and full of… well, I couldn’t let myself think it.
Dylan had come after me. Not Fang. But that wasn’t reason enough to let him… in.
