Angel looked at him, surprised. “Everything is fine,” she said firmly. “Let’s go inside.” The crowd parted around her as if she had waved a magic wand. With her enhanced raptor vision, Angel could see everything in the smoky darkness as they weaved through the restaurant.

Their contact, a talk show host named Madeline Hammond, ran forward, her hands out.

“Kids!” she said, beaming a thousand-watt smile. “Thanks so much for coming! Hey, give us a little room, will ya?” she called to the crowd, and people edged back. “Welcome to the pre-party! Isn’t this great? The Harrells are going to play later, and Beth Duncraft and Fala Cochran are here.” Her gaze fell on Dylan just then, and she looked up into his turquoise eyes. “Oh, my goodness,” she said slowly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dylan,” he said. “The new bird kid on the block.”

Madeline looked stunned, then recovered herself, turning to speak to the crowd. “They sure can make ’em, right, folks? Is this guy gorgeous or what?” The crowd roared its approval. Madeline smiled. “All of you are just fantastic!”

Nudge squealed with delight. She turned and posed again, waving.

“Let me introduce you to some people,” said Madeline Hammond, and for the next twenty minutes, Angel was absorbed in a blur of smiles and air kisses and shaking hands. But with every passing moment, noises seemed to grow louder, colors seemed to get brighter, and her skin felt more and more itchy and tight.

She glanced at Nudge, who was beaming up into the face of a boy currently starring in a popular sitcom. He looked about sixteen, and Angel grinned, wondering if he knew that, despite her height, Nudge was only elev — twelve.

“And how did you learn to fly?” a reporter asked Dylan.

“I got pushed off a roof,” he said truthfully. The crowd laughed, eating him up.

In the darkness, Angel saw Gazzy and Iggy sitting at the restaurant’s bar, taking turns flicking almonds into glasses as if it were an advanced game of tiddlywinks. Several Hollywood writer-producer types seemed to be regressing to childhood as they joined the competition, guffawing with the boys and making a scene.

Dylan was surrounded by slinky, admiring girls, some of whom Angel recognized from TV. He was smiling, talking, turning on his own star quality, but Angel thought his expression looked strained, and his skin pale and clammy.

Dylan + pale skin = ? Does not compute.

And that’s when it occurred to her. Dylan always looked perfect. Even when he’d just been shredded by Erasers.

There was something very wrong with him. With all of them.

That was when Angel looked down at her hands, seeing them clearly in the dim light. And she screamed.

Chapter 63

63

“MA’AM, YOU SHOULD SEE THIS.” The tech nervously pointed at the surveillance screen.