The only person decidedly not mesmerized and charmed was… Fang. He watched Dylan solemnly, not angry, not tense. But definitely not like honey had just dripped all over his heart.

Dylan reached down, took a rosebud from the vase on the table, held it out to me, and smiled. His stunningly good looks made me weak.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

I couldn’t even speak. I took the rosebud and made my way carefully through the tables out of the restaurant, while behind us people clapped. I didn’t even glance back to see if anyone was coming with us.

Dylan pushed through the revolving door, then we were out in the balmy San Diego air. I turned to him.

“Thank—” I began to say, but he gently put his hand on my neck, bent down, and kissed me, smothering my words.

“I’m here for you,” he said intently, looking into my eyes.

And I couldn’t speak.

56

I RESTED MY head drowsily against a soft pillow, feeling the muffled roar of the jet’s engines. In just a few short hours, so much had come together: Fang had figured out that the Doomsday Group’s headquarters were in Paris—one of my favorite cities. We’d called on our benevolent sponsor, Nino Pierpont, who just happened to be one of the richest men in the world, and now we were in one of his many private jets, heading to Europe. My flock could fly fast but not as fast as a jet. Besides, few of Fang’s gang could fly, even though Star could run really fast.

I’d picked a seat in a corner, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and curled up, exhausted, only half listening to the murmur of voices in the background. The flock and Fang’s gang were—right now, at least—tentatively getting along. But that definitely wouldn’t last—Gazzy had suggested a game of poker.

“Yeah, and so Max and Dylan are supposed to, like, go to Germany and have kids together,” I heard Gazzy say.

My eyes popped open and I bolted upright.

“What?” Fang said, his voice icy.

“Gazzy!” I yelled.

Wide blue eyes looked at me in surprise, then back at Fang’s stoic face. “Oh. Was I not supposed to say anything?” Gazzy asked.

“What is he talking about?” Fang demanded, glaring at me, then Dylan.

“Nothing. Just some crazy stuff that Dr. Hans came up with, in some hallucination,” I said, squinting at Gazzy.

“Go off and have kids?” Fang demanded. I saw Maya watching him, her eyes studying his face.

“Yeah,” said Dylan casually, fanning the flames.

“Oh, please,” I said. “I can’t even keep a goldfish alive.”

“You and Dylan?” Fang said with an expression I’d never seen before. “Having kids?”