Her hand rubbed my back. “I can promise that you’re safe here. Can you stay just long enough for me to get a quick X ray, and then we’ll leave right away?”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. My heart was pounding so hard it made a rushing sound in my ears.

“Please, Max.”

I forced myself to nod. Dr. Martinez checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing jewelry-as if-then carefully positioned me on a table. A machine hovered over me. I felt like my nerves were about to snap.

She stepped out of the room, I heard a tiny buzz, and it was all over.

Two minutes later she showed me a large dark sheet with my shoulder bones, arm, and part of my wing showing in shades of white. She stuck it up on a glass box on the wall and turned on its light. The picture jumped out brightly.

“Look,” she said, tracing my shoulder blade with her finger. “This bone is fine. It’s all muscle damage-you can see the torn tissue here and here.”

I nodded.

“And your wing bones,” she said, unconsciously lowering her voice, “all seem fine. Which is good. Unfortunately, muscle damage usually takes longer to heal than bones do. Though your rate of regeneration seems weirdly fast, I must say.”

She frowned at the X-ray, tapping it with her finger. “Your bones are so fine and light,” she murmured, as if talking to herself. “They’re beautiful. And then… huh. What’s this thing?”

She was pointing to a bright white square, maybe half an inch wide, that sat smack-dab in the middle of my forearm. “That’s not jewelry, is it?” She glanced down at me. “Is it the zipper of the windbreaker?”

“No-I took it off.”

Dr. Martinez leaned closer to the picture, squinting her eyes. “It’s a-it looks like a…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” I said, unnerved by the expression on her face.

“It’s a microchip,” she said hesitantly. “We put something similar into animals. To identify them in case they’re lost. Yours looks like a, like ones we use on really expensive pets, show dogs and such. They have a tracer in them in case they’re stolen. They can be tracked, wherever they are.”

The look of comprehending horror that rose in my face alarmed Dr. Martinez.

“I’m not saying that’s what it is,” she said quickly. “It’s just what it looks like.”

“Take it out,” I said hoarsely. I held out my arm and pushed up my sleeve. “Please. Take it out right now.”

She looked at the X-ray again, studying it for several minutes while I tried not to jump out of my skin.

“I’m sorry, Max,” she said at last. “I don’t think it can be surgically removed. It looks like it was implanted a long time ago, when your arm was much smaller. Now your muscles and nerves, blood vessels, have grown around it so completely that I think if we tried to take it out, you could possibly lose the use of your hand.”

You’d think I’d get used to the ongoing nightmare that was my life, but I was actually pathetically surprised that those demonoids from the School could continue to wreak havoc on me from so far away, so long ago.

But why was I surprised? I asked myself bitterly. They had done just that two days ago, when they’d kidnapped Angel. An image of her popped into my mind, her sweet, small face smiling up at me, love shining out. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

Right then, we became aware of voices in the waiting room, men’s voices, smooth and charming, asking questions.

I froze again, doing my deer-in-the-headlights imitation.

Dr. Martinez looked at me and listened to the voices. “I’m sure this is nothing, Max,” she said calmly. “But why don’t you step in here for a minute?”

In the hall was a small door that led to their medicine storage closet. Several long white coats hung inside, and I slid in behind them, flattening myself against the wall.

And yes, I get the irony, thanks.

Dr. Martinez turned off the light and closed the door. Barely twenty seconds later, I heard the voices in the examining room where I had been.

“What’s going on here?” Dr. Martinez said sharply, sounding outraged. “This is a doctor’s office!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” one voice said, sounding as if it were made of honey. My heart began to pound.

“Doctor!” she snapped.

“Sorry, Doctor,” another voice said. It was soothing, calming, placating. “Forgive us for interrupting. There’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re with local law enforcement.”

“We’re looking for anything unusual,” said the first voice. “Just a precaution. I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that.” Implying that it was all top-secret government stuff. Maybe I was.

There was a pause. Was Dr. Martinez being drawn in by their voices? She wouldn’t be the first one. Oh, God…

I suddenly remembered my X-ray up on the light box, and I clapped my hand over my mouth. My stomach tightened. In the next minute I could be fighting for my life. It was too dark to look for possible weapons. Think, think…

“Unusual like what?” Dr. Martinez said acidly. “A double rainbow? Gasoline for less than a buck fifty? Sugar-free soda that actually tastes good?”

I couldn’t help grinning. She was just so great. And she seemed immune to Erasers, which was really weird.

“No,” said the second voice after a moment. “Unusual people, for instance. Strangers in the neighborhood. Children or teenagers that you don’t know or who look suspicious. Or unusual animals, even.”

“I’m a veterinary surgeon,” said Dr. Martinez in a chilling voice. “To tell you the truth, I usually don’t look at my patients’ owners much. And I haven’t seen any strangers around. As for unusual animals, last week I treated a cow that had a bicornuate uterus. She had a healthy calf in each side. Does that help?”

Silence. I would hate to be on the receiving end of her anger.

“Um…” said the first voice.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a business to run.” Icicles dripped off her words. “The way out is through that door.”

“If you do see or hear of anything unusual, here’s a number for you to call. Thanks for your time. Sorry to disturb you.”

Heavy footsteps faded from my hearing. A minute later I felt the front door slam shut.

“If you see those two guys again, call the cops,” Dr. Martinez said to the receptionist.

She came and let me out of the closet, looking at my face solemnly.

“Those guys were bad news,” she said, “am I right?”

I nodded. “I better leave right now.”

She shook her head. “Tomorrow morning is soon enough. One more night of rest. Promise me.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but what came out was “Okay. I promise.”

“Nudge, for the last time, give this up. This is a bad idea,” said Fang. “A terrible idea.”

Privately, Nudge was surprised that Fang was still with her. Fang had threatened to leave her several times, but when he saw she really wouldn’t budge, he’d retreated into angry silence.

Now they were at the edge of a trailer home neighborhood. Nudge had remembered an address, and Tipisco was so small that it wasn’t hard to get around and find it. She didn’t know what she had expected, but somehow this wasn’t it.

The trailer park was divided into meandering rows, most marked by rickety wooden signs with names like Roadrunner Lane or Seguro Street on them.

“Come on,” Fang said softly. “I see Chaparral Court.”

They snaked their way through the chokecherry bushes, gnarled junipers, abandoned appliances, and car skeletons that surrounded the neighborhood. No white picket fences anywhere.

Nudge’s quick eyes spotted an address, 4625, on the last mobile home of the line. She swallowed. Her parents could be right there. She pushed aside some spray paint cans, and she and Fang crouched beside an abandoned, graffitied car.