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Chapters (83)
  1. Copyright Page
  2. Prologue
  3. Part One
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. Part Two
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. Epilogue
  82. A Preview of "Witch & Wizard"
  83. 1

“Jeb,” I said, speaking to him voluntarily for the first time in ages. He smiled and raised his eyebrows at me. “Have you ever heard of a Mr. Chu?”

The blood seemed to drain from his face, and I saw him struggle to keep a calm expression. “No,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “Can’t say that I have. Where did you hear that name?”

I shrugged and walked away. He’d given me all the answer I needed.

Later I watched my flock fly away without me, off to have loads of bird-kid fun.

“Max.”

“What?” I snarled, turning from the window.

My mom stood there. I felt a little bad about snarling.

“Come on. I’m going to show you how to make Puchero Yucateco.” She gently pulled me away from the window.

Please don’t let this be a craft, I prayed silently. If she pulls out yarn, I’ll —

As it turns out, Puchero Yucateco is a stew made with three kinds of meat.

Me, my mom, and Ella spent all afternoon in the kitchen, chopping up things, stirring, mixing. My mom showed us how to tell when onions had cooked enough to be sweet, and how to tell when meat was done (usually I just try to wait for it to stop moving). We cut up habanero peppers, and despite all her warnings, I managed to brush my finger against my nose, so my nose burned and ran, and my eyes watered, and I staggered around the kitchen going “Uh, uh, uh!” while Ella collapsed with laughter.

Typical family stuff. With a nonflock family.

“Huh — why is Max in the kitchen?” Gazzy asked as he walked in. His face was flushed, hair permanently tousled from the wind. Clearly he’d been having a glorious, exhilarating time, coasting high above the world. And wasn’t that special for him.

“We’re cooking,” said my mom.

“She’s just keeping you company, right?” he asked nervously as my eyes narrowed. Nudge, Fang, Iggy, Angel, and Total all crammed into the kitchen and stared at the wooden spoon in my hand.

“No,” my mom replied, trying to keep a straight face. “She’s cooking.”

Quick, alarmed glances were exchanged among the flock.

“Cooking… food?” Nudge asked. I heard someone murmur something about ordering a pizza.

“Yes, I’m cooking food, and it’s great, and you’re going to eat it, you twerps!” I snapped.

And that was how I spent my three days of forced rest. The flock saw all the Mayan wonders of the Yucatan, and I learned how to cook something besides cold cereal.

So there was much amazement all around.

But my wing healed, and soon it was time to leave. I was thinking of maybe going to South America.

But the flock had different ideas. While I was healing, they’d taken a vote.

They wanted to try Jeb’s Day and Night School.

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