Now he nodded at Fang. “This way, dude.”

“We’re famous,” Iggy whispered, so low that Fang could barely hear him.

“So’s swine flu,” Fang whispered back.

They followed Keez to an abandoned building in the middle of a scary, decrepit block. People eyed them curiously, but with a simple hand motion from Keez, they looked away.

“I want a Ghosts jacket,” the Gasman whispered to Fang. Fang felt the Gasman’s hand start to reach for his, then drop. Since they’d split, the Gasman had been trying to be super tough. Fang had to remind himself that he was just a little kid. Max, though she was about the toughest person Fang had ever met, was weirdly good with all the mom stuff, putting bandages on, calming the kids down when they had bad dreams. He’d never realized how much extra work that took.

As they followed Keez up some broken brownstone steps, Fang reached out and took the Gasman’s hand. The kid looked up at him, surprised, but then Fang felt the small hand tighten around his. So he’d done the right thing.

Two big guys were standing guard at the front door, but a nod from Keez made them step aside. Inside it was a lot like that burned-out crack house Max and Fang had found in DC, only with less cozy charm. But it was relatively safe and hidden, and those were two of his favorite things.

“Crash here.” Keez motioned them into a shell of a room that looked as if one of Iggy’s bigger experiments had exploded in it not long ago.

“Cool. Thanks, man,” Fang said. Then he, Iggy, and the Gasman collapsed on the floor. It was time for Fang to step up and make a plan.

75

“This is your plan?” Iggy’s voice held disbelief.

“Yep. Grab your backpack.”

The Gasman didn’t say anything, but Fang wondered if he was wishing he’d decided to go with Max. The first day it had seemed like an adventure. Now it was starting to seem just...painful. But there was no way Fang was going back—until Max ditched the cretin.

The offices of People magazine were on about four floors of a colossal building in downtown LA. Fang was sure that if Angel were here, it would be no problem for them to see the president of the whole company and convince him to publish an entire special issue about Itex and their evil ways.

But he was Fang, and he could work his own wiles. He held up a bag of deli sandwiches, and the front guard signed them in. “Delivery elevators in the back,” he said in a bored voice.

“Let’s take the stairs,” Gazzy whispered.

“We’re going to the twenty-seventh floor,” Fang whispered back.

Basically, stepping into the elevator felt like volunteering for psychic trauma. It was small, enclosed, and full of other people, all of them better dressed and significantly more hygienic than the bird kids.