“Hi!” she said, putting on a party face. “Thanks for coming! We can answer questions for ten minutes, and then there will be a photo op. Who’s first?”

“Where are your parents?” cried one reporter. “Do they have wings?”

“Our parents were a test tube and a turkey baster,” Angel said. “No wings.”

“Can you actually fly, or has that been a publicity stunt?” called another reporter.

In response, Gazzy shook out his wings, climbed onto the diving board, bounced a couple times, then launched himself into the air. There were gasps and murmurs of excitement as he moved up and down with each flap of his wings, eating an ice cream cone. Then he popped the last of the cone into his mouth, folded in his wings, and cannonballed into the pool. Several reporters got drenched.

“There’s your answer,” Angel said.

“How old are you? Are you all related?” A woman held a microphone toward Nudge.

“We’re … fifteen, twelve, nine, and seven,” Nudge said, still getting used to their new ages. “Gazzy and Angel are the only real brother and sister.”

“You weren’t all from the same egg, so to speak?” asked another reporter, causing laughter.

Nudge looked at him. “Do we look like we’re all from the same egg?” She pointed to Iggy, who was very pale skinned. She herself was at least partly African American. Gazzy and Angel both had cornsilk-yellow hair, ivory skin, and blue eyes.

“Where’s Maximum? And the tall dark boy? We’ve seen them in pictures,” someone said.

“They’re busy right now and couldn’t be here,” said Angel smoothly.

“Who’s the new member?” a woman asked Dylan.

“I’m a friend of the family,” Dylan responded casually. “Birds of a feather, you know.”

Everyone laughed, and flashes popped as he smiled. Then the cameras clicked some more. They couldn’t get enough of him.

“Do you have any other special talents?” a reporter yelled.

Angel looked right at him. “No.”

“But Angel — that’s not true,” Dylan said.

Angel glared at him. She should have gone over some flock rules with him. She should have thought of this. Now she had to fix it.

Chapter 60

60

“DYLAN,” BEGAN ANGEL, sounding firm.

“Dylan?” Jeb asked, walking over to him with an urgent look.

“… ‘Cause I can sing,” finished Dylan, standing up.

“Oh, lordy, spare me the karaoke!” Total muttered, trotting over to sit in the shade beneath a patio table.

“You were in the rain, I saw you there,” Dylan sang. Angel recognized the words of a song that had been playing incessantly on the radio. “I want to kiss the rain, and your sorrow, from your hair… .”

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Total murmured. “That kid can actually carry a tune.”

Angel sat back on her lounge chair and grinned. The reporters were eating this up, taking pictures, yelling questions. She was going to ask for more money.