This chapter's song is: Who Knew? By Pink

I shot up from my soaked pillow and lifted one shaking hand to my hot forehead. "Fang," I said in a garbled half-sigh, half-sob. I couldn't remember the dream—I never could. But I still had the gist, only from vivid flashes that still replayed in my head. Fang had returned… and he wanted me to take him back.

Never in a million years.

Seven years ago, on that dark night—the only time I cried over him—I promised myself that I would never ever let him back in again; that I would never again let him knock me down when I was weak.

And it wasn't his coming back, really that scared me, (in a way, I wanted him to come back, just so I could kick his ass) it was that I let him back in.

Slowly, I pulled myself from the bed and stood, stretching everything out—arms, legs, neck wings. They'd grown allot in the past few years—now a whole seventeen feet that brushed against each wall of my room.

"Max?" Iggy's voice called from through the door. "What?" I asked back, struggling to keep the sting from my voice. "Breakfast." His footsteps stomped down the stairs and I stood still for a moment, wondering if her knew I'd had the dream again.

With an inward shrug, I went down to the kitchen, where the flock was already gathered around the table. "Nice hair," Angel giggled, big blue eyes meeting mine. I scowled and ran my fingers through it. "Thanks," I said sourly. "Welcome!" she replied with another giggle.

I sat down heavly and shook my head. As plates were passed around, I asked the question that always seemed to get the conversation started. "So. What do we have going on today?" I winced, seeing everybody's mouths open at once.

"One at a time!" I added quickly. I pointed to Angel, and faded out as my schedule played out.

By the time everyone was done talking, I had the house to myself tonight. Nudge and Angel were going to Ella's birthday slumber party tonight. Dylan and Iggy were hitting the nightclubs. Gazzy was going to a sleepover with a little boy down the street.

And before all that? Dance lessons, play practice, soccer games, baseball games, voice lessons, and softball games. Ugh.

"Okay guys," I said, standing. "We've got a full schedule, and we're leaving and not coming back home all day in fifteen minutes. I want you dressed and ready in ten. With a symphony of scraping chairs, everyone stood and scrambled noisily in opposite directions.

I walked upstairs and pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank-top, then reached into the back of my sweatshirt. I t was only once it was over my head that I recognized it. The smell hit me first—like fresh air and apples. Then the size—extra large. Then the color—black. I stiffened for a moment, my breath shallowing. I wrapped my arms around myself and buried my face in the collar, my eyes squeezed tight. Then I forced them open, squared my shoulders, and went back downstairs.

Dylan looked up at me from the couch, his big turquoise eye flicking from my face, to the sweatshirt and back up again. "Don't say it," I murmured sullenly, holding up one hand.

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. "Okay, Max," he said pityingly, biting his lip. "Dylan," I said sharply. He flinched and lowered his head.

I turned around and yelled up the stairs, "If you aren't down here in thirty seconds, I'm leaving without you!" Almost immediately, I had five bird-kids standing in front of me. I counted heads, "And said, "Let's go." I turned on my heel and marched out to the car indignantly; in true Max style, am I right?

Dylan and Iggy crawled into the backseat of the truck, while the kids slithered into the bad. I know, I know, bad parenting skills. But no worries. It was just to drive down the road to mom's house.

Finally, after three years of dealing with Mr. Chu and Dr. Gunther-what's-his-nuts, we'd bought a huge property a few miles away from mom's old house, paid for by generous inheritance from dead acquaintances, if you catch my drift. We'd bought the property completely bare, and now, four years later, it had two houses (one for the flock, one for Mom and Ella), a barn, a guest house, an overlarge doghouse, and a heated swimming pool.

I reached into my bag in search of car keys, but instead, my hand wrapped around something flimsy and soft.

A feather. A solid black feather.

With a small gasp, I flung it away, but watched with a disgusting fascination as it fluttered downward and settled on the dash. My eyes flew past it and focused on the distant figure standing on the tree line that bordered the property. With raptor-vision, I could make out dark hair, skin and all-black clothes.

"Fang," I whispered hoarsely. I looked back at Dylan, whose eyes were round and scared-looking. "Is it…?" he paused, and let the question dangle tauntingly in the air between us. "Impossible." I replied.

My chest hurt, and I felt like sobbing. As we watched, the figure spread a pair of dark wings, and took to the skies.

"Impossible." I insisted, knowing very well that it was not.