‘What kind of a lure?’ asks Dee.

‘Should we dangle little babies from the bridge?’ asks Dum.

‘Sadly, that’s not funny,’ says Doc.

I rub my forehead. I’m usually not prone to headaches, but all this desperate talk of coming up with a plan is killing me. I’m not really the planning type.

My eyes drift to the window, and I become mesmerized by the drone of the adult voices in the car and my own sleepiness.

We’re driving along the bay as we head north to San Francisco. The water sparkles like a field of diamonds waiting to be picked if only you could reach in with magic hands and grab them.

The wind picks up, floating leaves and trash by the side of the road. I don’t remember seeing trash by the freeway in the World Before, but a lot has changed since then.

My eyes lazily follow a piece of paper as it flitters across the road. It dances in the breeze, floating up and down, then pirouetting on the wind. It lands in the water, causing a ripple of sparkles around it.

In my half-dreaming state, it looks like one of the twins’ talent show flyers.

‘Come one, come all to the greatest show of all.’ Isn’t that what the flyer says?

I can see the twins standing on an apple crate, wearing striped suits and hats like barkers at a carnival. They’re calling to the ragged refugees. ‘Step right up, folks. This will be the biggest fireworks show in history. There’ll be bangs, there’ll be screams, there’ll be popcorn! This is your last chance – your last chance to show off your amazing talents.’

Then it all comes together.

I sit up, as wide awake as if I’d been zapped by my mother’s cattle prod. I blink twice, tuning back in to the conversation. Sanjay is saying something about wishing he knew more about the angels’ physiology.

‘The talent show.’ I look at the twins with wide eyes. ‘Who could resist a talent show?’

Everyone looks at me as if I’m nuts. That puts a slow grin on my face.

Chapter 55

55

By the time we arrive at Golden Gate, it’s noon. We have about six hours until sunset.

The famous bridge is in shambles like all the other bridges around the bay. Several of the suspension cables swing in the air, tethered only at the top. It’s broken in four sections, with a big chunk missing just past the middle. One of the sections leans precariously, and I wonder how long it’ll be before it falls.

The last time I saw the Golden Gate, I was flying in Raffe’s arms.

The wind chills me as I get out of our SUV, the salty air tasting like tears.