The Angel Experiment

A life-size stuffed giraffe surrounded by other life-size stuffed animals led the way to the whole stuffed-animal area, which was practically as big as our old house.

  I looked down at Gazzy and Angel to see them staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at too many fabulous toys to even comprehend.

  “Iggy,” the Gasman said, “there’s a whole room of Lego and Bionicle.”

  “Go with them,” I told Fang. “And let’s keep an eye out for each other, okay?”

  He nodded and followed the boys into the Lego room, while I trailed after Angel and Nudge, who were picking up one stuffed animal after another.

  “Oh, my gosh,” Nudge was saying, holding a small stuffed tiger. “Oh, Max, isn’t he the cutest thing? Oh, his name is Samson.”

  I dutifully agreed that he was in fact the cutest thing and kept glancing around for either an Eraser or some kind of clue my Voice might point me to.

  “Max?” Angel tugged on my sleeve. I turned to her, and she held up a small stuffed bear. It was dressed as an angel, with a white gown and little wings on its back. A tiny gold wire halo floated above its head.

  Angel’s eyes were pleading with me. I checked its price tag. The pleasure of owning this small stuffed bear could be hers for only forty-nine dollars.

  “I’m so sorry, Angel,” I said, bending down to her eye level. “But this bear is forty-nine dollars. We’re almost out of money—I don’t have anywhere near that. I’m really sorry. I wish I could get it for you. I know it’s an angel, just like you.” I stroked her hair and handed her the bear back.

  “But I want it,” Angel snapped at me, which was completely out of character for her.

  “I said no. That’s it, kiddo.”

  I wandered a few feet away, still within eyeshot of the girls, to look at a “mystical” display. There were Magic 8 Balls, and when you shook them, an answer would float to the surface of a little window. I shook one. “Very likely” was its prediction. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to ask it a question.

  There was a game called Ca-balah!, a Gypsy Fortune-teller game, and the old favorite: a Ouija board. I breathed out, my hands in my pockets, and looked around the store. Maybe we should sleep here tonight.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I detected a slight movement, and my raptor gaze locked on it. It was the little Ouija doohickey, the thing that “spirits” are supposed to guide across the board, pointing to certain letters, but everyone knows it’s really the kids doing it.

  This one was moving with nothing touching it.

  I looked around: No one was near. Angel was almost twenty feet away, not looking at it, still holding the angel bear. I waved my hand over it—there were no wires. It had touched the S and then the A. I lifted the game board and held it up, in case it was being moved by a magnet underneath. The pointer reached the V and headed toward the E.

  Save.

  I put the board back down as if it were red-hot.

  The small black triangle paused on the T, then moved to the H. Then the E.

  The.

  It slid very slowly toward the W, and I frowned. It moved up and over to the O, and my jaw clenched. By the time it reached the R, I was ready to throw the board across the store. Grimly, I watched as it finished. The L. The D. The M, the A, the X.

  Save the world, Max.

  91

  “Fang!”

  He whirled, saw my face, and instantly tapped Iggy’s and the Gasman’s hands. They joined me and Nudge under the huge clock.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I muttered. “A Ouija board just told me to save the world.”

  “Gosh, you’re, like, famous,” said the Gasman, clearly not feeling the ominous dread that I was.

  “Where’s Angel?” Fang asked.

  I reached out for her and grabbed air. My head whipped around, and I rushed back to the stuffed-animal section. Already, panic was flooding my senses—it had been barely more than a week since she’d been kidnapped. . . .

  I skidded to a stop by a life-size chimpanzee hanging from a display. In front of me, Angel was talking to an older woman. I’d never seen an Eraser that old, so my heartbeat ticked down a couple notches.

  Angel looked sad, and she held up the angel bear to show the woman.

  “What’s she up . . .” Fang began.

  The woman hesitated, then said something I couldn’t hear. Angel’s face lit up, and she nodded eagerly.

  “Someone’s buying something for Angel,” Iggy said quietly.

  Angel knew we were watching her, but she was refusing to meet our eyes. The five of us followed them to the checkout counter, and I watched in disbelief as the woman, seeming a bit bemused, took out her wallet and paid for Angel’s bear. Angel was practically jumping up and down with happiness. She bounced on her heels, clutching the bear to her chest, and I heard her say “Thank you” about a thousand times.

  Then, still looking slightly confused, the woman smiled, nodded, and left the store.

  We swarmed around our youngest family member.

  “What was that about?” I asked. “Why did that woman buy you that bear? That thing cost forty-nine dollars!”

  “What did you say to her?” Iggy demanded. “No one’s buying us stuff.”

  “Nothing,” Angel said, holding her bear tightly. “I just asked that lady if she would buy me this bear, ’cause I really, really wanted it and I didn’t have enough money.”

  I started shepherding everyone out the front door before Angel asked someone to buy her the life-size giraffe.

  Outside, the sun was bright overhead, and it was time for lunch. Time to get us back on track.

  “So you just asked a stranger to buy you an expensive toy, and she did?” I asked Angel.

  Angel nodded, smoothing her bear’s fur down around its ears. “Yeah. I just asked her to buy it for me. You know, with my mind.”

  92

  Fang and I exchanged a look. This was a little scary. Actually, a lot scary.

  “Um, what do you mean, exactly?” I asked Angel. Okay, so she can pick up on most people’s thoughts and feelings. But this was the first I’d heard of her sending a thought.

  “I just asked her, in my mind,” Angel said absently, straightening the bear’s small white wings. “And she said okay. And she bought it for me. I’m going to call it Celeste.”

  “Angel, are you saying that you influenced that woman so she would buy you the bear?” I asked carefully.

  “Celeste,” Angel said. “What’s influenced?”

  “To have an effect on something or someone,” I said. “It sounds like you sort of made that woman buy you the bear—”

  “Celeste.”

  “Celeste, whether she wanted to or not. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  Angel frowned and shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Then her brow cleared. “Well, I really wanted Celeste. More than anything in the whole wide world.”

  Like that made it okay.

  I opened my mouth to explain the life lesson that was screaming to be learned here, but Fang caught my eye. His expression said, Save it, and I shut up and nodded, waiting to hear his thoughts later.

  And now, back to our mission. If only I had one freaking clue as to how to find the Institute.

  We stopped and bought falafel for lunch, keeping an eye out for danger as we walked along eating. Angel tucked her bear—Celeste—into the waistband of her pants so she’d have both hands free.

  Angel is only six, and God knows her upbringing hasn’t exactly been normal. Still, I thought she was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. I thought she knew that influencing that woman to buy her Celeste was wrong. But she had done it anyway.

  Which I found disturbing.

  I winced and grabbed my temple just as the silky Voice said, It’s just a toy, Max. Kids deserve toys. Don’t you think you deserve a toy too?

  “I’m too old for toys,” I muttered angrily, and Fang glanced at me in surprise.

  “Did you want a toy?” the Gasman asked, c
onfused.

  I shook my head. Don’t mind me, folks. Just talking to my little Voice again. But at least my head didn’t hurt nearly as bad this time.

  I’m sorry it hurts sometimes, Max. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help you.

  I clamped my lips together so I wouldn’t answer it. When I wanted information, it was silent; when I didn’t want to hear from it, it got chatty.

  It was almost as irritating as Fang.

  93

  I was starting to seriously freak out. Everywhere we went, something from the Other Side got to me. If it wasn’t a voice in my head, it was a TV screen in a window. It was a hacker kid in a subway tunnel, the contents of my brain displayed on his computer. Bus drivers telling us where the fun was. The Erasers. What’s that saying—you’re not paranoid if somebody really is chasing you?

  “We’re surrounded,” I muttered, staring at the toes of my boots as we walked along.

  I felt Fang do a 360 next to me.

  “We’re wasting time,” I finally said in frustration. “We need to find the Institute. Discover our histories and destinies. We don’t need to go to toy stores. We’ve got to get serious about this.”

  All in good time, Max.

  Fang started to answer me, but I held up a finger—one sec.

  You need to learn how to relax. Relaxation facilitates learning and communication. Studies have shown it. But you’re not relaxing.

  “Of course I’m not relaxing!” I hissed under my breath. “We need to find the Institute! We’re running out of money! We’re constantly in danger!”

  The others had stopped and were watching me with alarm. Fang was probably ready to drag me to the funny farm.

  I was totally losing my mind, right? Something had damaged my brain—I’d had a stroke or something, and now I was hearing voices. It made me different from the rest of the flock. Too different. I felt alone.

  Just one voice, Max. Not voices. Calm down.

  “What’s wrong, Max?” asked the Gasman.

  I took a deep breath and tried to get a grip. “I feel like I’m about to explode,” I said honestly. “Three days ago, Angel said she’d heard there was more info about us in a place called the Institute, in New York. More info. This could be what we’ve always wanted to know.”

  “’Cause we might find out about our parents?” Iggy said.

  “Yes,” I answered. “But now we’re here, and really weird things are happening, and I’m not sure—” With no warning, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  “Hello, kids!”

  Directly in front of us, two Erasers leaped out of the doorway of a building.

  Angel screamed, and I instinctively grabbed her arm, jerking her back hard. In a split second, I had swung around and we were racing down the sidewalk at top speed. Fang and Iggy were behind us, Nudge and the Gasman on either side. The sidewalks were full of people, and it was like an obstacle course.

  “Cross!” I yelled, and darted into the street. The six of us whisked between two passing taxis, whose drivers honked angrily. Behind us, I heard a loud thunk! and a startled, half-choked cry.

  “Bicycle messenger took an Eraser out!” Fang shouted.

  Can you giggle while racing for your life and protecting a six-year-old? I can.

  But two seconds later, a heavy clawed hand grabbed my hair, yanking me backward, right off my feet. Angel’s hand was ripped out of mine, and she screamed bloody murder. You think you understand those words—bloody murder? Trust me; you don’t.

  94

  Without pausing, the powerful Eraser swung me up over his shoulder. Talk about being dead meat.

  I smelled his harsh animal smell, saw his bloodshot eyes. He was laughing, happy to have caught me, and his long yellow fangs actually looked too big for his mouth. Angel was still screaming.

  Bloody murder!

  I kicked and yelled and hit and punched and scratched, but the Eraser just laughed and started tearing down the sidewalk while people stared. “Is this a movie?” I heard someone ask.

  Nah—this is too original for Hollywood. They do sequels.

  Lifting my head, I saw Fang, dark and determined, streaking toward us. He was keeping pace, but he wasn’t catching up. If a car was waiting, I was a goner. I struggled as hard as I could, chopping at the Eraser, punching and scratching, and it was infuriating how little effect I had on the beast. Had they been bred to have no pain receptors?

  “Fang!” I bellowed, seeing him even farther away than he had been. We were outpacing him. Dimly, I could still hear Angel’s high-pitched shrieking. Every nasty swear word I knew came pouring out of my mouth, punctuated with punches and chops and kicks. The Eraser didn’t even slow down.

  The next thing I knew, we were going down, suddenly and with no warning, as if someone had cut the Eraser’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, and I cracked my head against the sidewalk so hard I saw fireworks. My legs were pinned, and I frantically started kicking, scrambling out from under him.

  He didn’t move. Had he knocked himself out? How?

  I scrabbled back into a trash can, snapped onto all fours, and stared at the Eraser. He was completely still, his eyes open and glassy. Blood trickled out of his mouth, which had morphed halfway to a wolf’s snout. A few curious people had paused to watch us, but most kept on walking, talking into their cell phones. Life as usual in New York City.

  Fang roared up and pulled me hard to my feet, starting to drag me away.

  “Wait!” I said. “Fang—I think he’s dead.”

  Fang looked from me to the Eraser, then nudged his boot against the still form. It didn’t move, didn’t blink. Still holding my hand, Fang knelt and put his fingers against the Eraser’s wrist, wary and alert for movement.

  “You’re right,” he said, standing. “He’s dead. What’d you do to him?”

  “Nothing. I was whaling on him, but it didn’t do squat. Then he went down like a ton of bricks.”

  The crowd thickened and moved a bit closer as the rest of the flock raced up. Angel leaped into my arms and burst into tears. I held her tight and shushed her, telling her it was all right, I was safe.

  Fang flipped the Eraser’s collar back, just for a second. We both saw the tattoo on the back of his neck: 11-00-07.

  Just then, a cop car pulled up, lights flashing, siren wailing.

  We started to fade into the background, edging away through the crowd.

  “Crazy drug addict!” Fang said loudly.

  Then we strode quickly, turning the first corner we came to. I put Angel down and she trotted next to me, keeping up, sniffling. I held her hand tight and gave her a reassuring smile, but actually I was shaking inside. That had been so freaking close.

  We had to find the Institute and get the heck out of here—back to the desert. Somewhere they couldn’t ever find us. It was late, though. We were almost to the park, where we planned to sleep. In the street beside us, cars and taxis passed, unaware of the high drama that had just taken place.

  “So he was five years old,” Fang said quietly.

  I nodded. “Made in November, year 2000, number seven of a batch. They’re not lasting too long, are they?” How much longer would we last? All of us? Any of us?

  I took a deep breath and looked around. My eye was caught by a taxi with one of those flashing-red-dot signs on top that advertise Joe’s Famous Pizza, or a cleaning service, or a restaurant. This one had the words racing across its face: “Every journey begins with one step.”

  It was like a taxi-fortune cookie. Every journey, one step. One step. I blinked.

  I stopped where I was and looked down, where my feet were taking one step at a time on this long, bizarre journey.

  Then I noticed a stunted, depressed tree set into a hole in the sidewalk. A metal grate protected its roots from being trampled. Barely visible between the bars of the grate was a plastic card. I picked it up, hoping I wouldn’t see a burning fuse attached to it.

  It wa
s a bank card, the kind you can use at an ATM. It had my name on it: Maximum Ride. I tugged on Fang’s sleeve, wordlessly showed him the card. His eyes widened a tiny bit, so I knew he was astonished.

  And voilà, my ol’ pal the Voice popped up just then: You can use it if you can figure out the password.

  I looked up, but the mystic taxi was long gone.

  “I can use it if I can figure out the password,” I told Fang.

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  Swallowing, I tucked the card into my pocket.

  “Let’s just get into the park,” I said. “Nice, safe Central Park.”

  95

  “How can the Voice know where I am and what I can see?” I whispered to Fang. All six of us had settled onto the wide, welcoming branches of an enormous oak tree in Central Park. Almost forty feet in the air, we could talk softly with no one hearing us.

  Unless the tree was wired.

  Believe me, I had lost my ability to be surprised by stuff like that.

  “It’s inside you,” Fang answered, settling back against the tree’s trunk. “It’s wherever you are. If it’s tapped into any of your senses, it knows where you are and what you’re doing.”

  Oh, no, I thought, my spirits sinking. I hadn’t considered that. Did that mean nothing I did was ever private anymore?

  “Even in the bathroom?” The Gasman’s eyes widened with surprise and amusement. Nudge suppressed a grin as I gave Gazzy a narrow-eyed glare. Angel was smoothing Celeste’s gown and neatening the bear’s fur.

  I took out the bank card and examined it. I still had the one we’d stolen from the jerk in California, and I compared them. The new one seemed just as legit as the old one. I stuck the old one into a deep fissure in the tree’s bark—couldn’t use it again anyway.

  “So we need to figure out the password,” I muttered, turning the new card over and over in my hands. Great. That should only take about a thousand years or so.

  I was beyond tired. I also had an impressive knot on my head from whacking the sidewalk. Because, you know, I didn’t have enough head problems lately.