Like I said, buckle up those seat belts!
Anyway, that was why Max had done what she’d been forbidden to do. She had escaped from the School. Amazingly, we succeeded. We even got to live with the kids for a few months at a magical place we all called the Lake House .
Kit and I listened to what Max had to tell us, then we went with her to try to rescue the children still trapped at the School.
When the smoke cleared (literally), the six surviving children, including Max and her brother, were sent to live with their biological parents—people they’d never known a day in their lives.
That should have been fine, I guess, but this real-life fairy tale didn’t have a happy ending.
The kids, who ranged from twelve years old down to about four, phoned Kit and me constantly, every single day. They told us they were horribly depressed, bored, scared, miserable, suicidal—and I knew why. As a vet, I understood what no one else seemed to.
The children had done a bird thing: they had imprinted on Kit and me.
We were the only parents they knew and could love.
OUTSIDE MY BATTLE-SCARRED Suburban, the crowd was flowing like lava down Bannock Street. I read somewhere that Denver has the fittest population of any major city in America. I’d always loved it here—until now. I was about to force a joke when Kit said, “Brace yourself, Frannie. The kids are here.”
He pointed to a black Town Car slowly parting the crowd and finally coming to a stop in a no-parking zone right outside the courthouse. The hair on my neck stood even before the crowd started chanting her name. My heart was in my throat.
“Max! Max! Max! We want Max!” somebody screamed.
“The freak show has arrived!” Another country heard from.
Car doors flew open and somber-looking gray-suited bodyguards and lawyers scrambled out onto the sidewalk. Then a second car braked behind the first.
A bullnecked man in a tight-fitting black jacket opened the passenger-side door for a petite, blond woman about my age. She opened the rear door of the sedan, then reached into the backseat.
Max emerged from the Town Car. There was a sudden hush over the crowd. Even I caught my breath. She was stunning in every way. An amazing girl with extraordinary intelligence and strength—and wings that spanned close to ten feet now. They were feathered in pure white, with glints of blue and silver shining through.
“God, she’s beautiful,” I whispered. “I miss her, Kit. I miss all of the babies. This just breaks my heart.”
I remembered how stunned I had been when I saw her for the first time, and the crowd was having the same reaction now.
“Max! Max! Max!” people started to chant.
Cameras flashed. “Here, Max, look over here!” “Max, here!” “Max, smile!” “Max, fly for us!”
Four people burst through the police line, holding a banner aloft that read ONLY GOD CAN MAKE A TREE. THAT GOES FOR CHILDREN TOO.
Other signs read CELL NO ! and SAY NO TO CLONING ! Another banner had birds stenciled on it and read BAKE THEM IN A PIE .
Then the news choppers came in, and it got really loud and unruly. Max swung her head around to take in the astonishing scene. My heart lurched.
We grabbed up our papers for court, and as Kit locked the car doors, he said softly, “She’s looking for us, Frannie.”
“She’s scared. I can see it in her eyes.”
Max has the ultrakeen senses of a raptor. She can hear a caterpillar wriggle from a hundred yards away. She can see the caterpillar from half a mile overhead.
She called out now, her voice shrill with fear, “Frannie. Kit. I need you. Ple-e-e-e-e-ase. Where are you guys?”
Her piercing cry was still hanging in the air as more cars pulled up to the courthouse.
Burly men with buzz cuts leaped out onto the street. Several cars began discharging the other kids. They were so hesitant, so young and vulnerable. They shied away from the cameras, hid their darling little faces.
“Spawn of the devil!” someone screeched. “These children are demons!”
COURTROOM 19 was on the sixth floor. It was the largest room in the complex by far and would have to be, to hold so many inquiring minds. As Kit and I approached with our attorney, we were besieged by a throng of reporters. “Put your head down,” our lawyer advised, “and just keep walking.”
“Agent Brennan, look over here. Dr. O’Neill. Hey, Frannie! What makes you think you’re a competent mother?” one of the press vultures shouted.
“What makes either of you think you can be good parents to these children?”
Kit finally looked up at the reporter. “Because we love the little creeps,” he said, and winked. “And because they love us. Life’s simple like that.”