We can’t hover, so to stay aloft we have to move forward. I made small circles near the top of the tent, searching for an escape route, trying to stay away from the backstage crew up in the metal catwalks high above the ground.

Fang swooped low, making people scream, and then swooped back up again. He passed me, showed me the switchblade he’d pulled from his cargo pocket, and headed toward a tent wall.

I was zigzagging as I saw Fang grab a rope against the wall, hang on, and slice through the heavy plasticized nylon of the tent.

There was tremendous applause — we were a very popular act. Then an all-too-familiar sound hissed past my ear, and I dropped fast, swung around, and raced over to Fang.

“They’re shooting — they’ve got silencers,” I reported urgently just as he sliced an X large enough for us to slip through. Another bullet pinged off a nearby catwalk, and Fang folded his wings and slipped out of the tent.

I took one quick glance down as I started to edge through the hole, and a roaming spotlight picked him out of the crowd. Dr. Scary. Here at the Cirque du Soleil, where we were under attack.

What a coinkydink.

Chapter 55

55

“WILL IT HURT?” Nudge asked quietly as she put on her shoes. Early-morning light was breaking through the leafy trees outside and sprinkling sun across the room, and the flock was gathering for their next “field trip.”

“Oh, I’m sure not,” Angel said vaguely, digging around in her backpack for her coupon. “I mean, not more than, like, getting punched by an Eraser. Or a sprained wing.”

“Comforting,” Iggy commented. “I think it’s a great idea, personally, but I don’t think Gazzy’s so thrilled.” Iggy went to look for the Gasman as the others headed toward the front door.

“Are you sure everyone wants to go through this, Angel?” Dylan asked. “I mean, most of us aren’t … fond of needles. Lab associations and all.”

“Come on, guys. If Max were here, you’d be all into this,” Angel said a little testily. “The tattoos were Max’s birthday presents to us, after all.”

“Not to me,” Dylan said, wistful.

Just then, Jeb strode in, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. “Good lord, Angel! What did I just hear you talking about?”

“We’re going to get our tattoos. Max gave us gift certificates for our birthdays.”

“You most certainly are not!” Jeb said firmly, just like the old days. “You’re underage — it’s illegal. I won’t hear of it.”

“You’re not the leader, Jeb,” Angel reminded him. “I

am.”

“Well, Jeb’s a grown-up,” Nudge pointed out.

Angel’s eyes narrowed. “You guys elected me leader.”

“Hmm,” said Nudge, sounding doubtful. “More like we elected Max not leader. I wonder what she’s doing?”