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“You saw the poster. Noon,” I said, my anxiety making me cranky.
His eyes met mine, and his expression told me that he understood, that he didn’t take it personally. Just then I remembered being with him atop the Arc de Triomphe. Being held, being comforted again wouldn’t be such a bad thing right now…. I looked away, angry at myself for thinking like a weak and weepy damsel.
“We should go there early,” said Nudge, fidgeting in her chair. Despite all the baddies and dangers and disasters we’d faced, this one felt different. We were all on edge.
I nodded. “We’ll head there right after breakfast—and try to volunteer.”
Fang’s gang had its own plan; our part was to get jobs at the rally.
By 10:00 a.m., crowds were gathering at the Place de la Concorde. It was a huge plaza and could hold thousands of people. Somehow the DG had gotten permission to close off the traffic circle around the tall pink-marble obelisk that had been a gift from Egypt nearly two hundred years before.
The DG had plastered the place with flyers, promising a wonderful rally, filled with truth, enlightenment, and new beginnings, all starting at noon.
“Truth, enlightenment, and new beginnings? Try mass destruction of humanity!” Dylan sputtered.
I nodded, continuing to scan the area. I saw nothing ominous—and no signs of Angel or Gazzy. How would D-day come about? A bomb? Death rays? A huge meteor that no one expected? So far I wasn’t getting any clues. I felt tense, with a weird sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. Still, this could all turn out to be a huge bust. Maybe the DG had overextended itself?
I could only hope.
We found the main stage, where kids were setting up metal barriers to control the crowd. At least six news vans were unloading equipment, getting ready to film whatever happened.
“Why haven’t we heard from Angel and Gazzy?” I asked under my breath as we waited to speak to someone in charge. “I’m getting nothing from her.”
“I’m sure she’s okay,” Dylan said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I tried not to jump out of my skin. Would I ever get used to him? It really seemed like too much, to have to deal with my feelings about him on top of saving the world.
“Yes?” A smiling teenage girl came to the metal barrier. She looked normal, 100 percent human. Though that didn’t mean anything. “Can I help you?”
“We’d like to volunteer,” I said eagerly. “This is so exciting!”
“It really is,” said the girl. “I feel so honored to be here today serving the One Light.” She gave us another smile. “We’re lucky to have all the help we need right now, so why don’t you grab a good spot and wait for the rally to begin? We’re going to have multiple live feeds to just about every major city in the world—and then a huge fireworks display at the end!”
“I love fireworks!” Nudge said cheerfully.
“It’s going to be beautiful!” The girl’s eyes sparkled. “Mark is going to deliver a really inspiring message.”
“I know!” I tried to sound perky. It was hard. “That’s why we really want to be part of this. We came all the way from the US of A to help! Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I’m not sure what else there is,” the girl said, smiling helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
“We were thinking that maybe a cool aerial show would help advertise the rally,” I said quickly. “We could show people how special it is to be different—or enhanced.”
Dylan stepped back and quickly extended his wings, fifteen feet of bones, muscle, and raw power. The girl almost fell over backward.
“Oh, yes,” she said in awe. “I think an aerial show is a brilliant idea!”
69
HALF AN HOUR LATER, we were gliding and swooping over the Place de la Concorde on a gorgeous sunny morning in Paris. If we weren’t there trying to stop a bunch of crazies from blowing up the world, it would have been great.
As it was, the closer it got to noon, the more people poured into the enormous plaza, and the more I realized just how many people might lose their lives right in front of me if we couldn’t figure out what was going on and how to stop it.
The four of us (me, Dylan, Nudge, and Iggy) pulled out all the stops: we dive-bombed the crowd, making them scream; we did death spirals around the obelisk (that I hoped were not omens); we shadowed flocks of pigeons and imitated their movements. It seemed like everybody in the plaza had their eyes glued on us, spellbound, making anyone engaged in nefarious activity easier for us to spot.
Throughout everything, I maintained a raptor lookout for Angel and Gazzy, lasering in on everyone working around the stage, every member of the DG I saw. Fang and his gang were in plain view—well, not Star so much, what with all the zipping around. They were handing out copies of the Enhanced People’s Manifesto, selling T-shirts, and generally walking about, and, we hoped, gathering some intel.
An emcee had taken the stage and was starting to whip the crowd into a frenzy, announcing their special lineup, the musical guests, and the huge fireworks display at the end.
But still no Angel or Gazzy.
