ELLO,” PATRICK SAID as the people got nearer. As they got close, we could see that there was a tall man and a tall kid. They were only silhouettes until they were almost on top of the fire.

“Hello, good evening.” The man had a foreign accent and was ridiculously dapper in a crisp, clean seersucker suit.

“Can I help you?” asked Patrick.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I am Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen. One of my companies is conducting research here — I donated the supply of vaccines your group is using.”

Patrick stood and quickly wiped his hands on his shorts before holding one out to Dr. Gunther-Hagen. “Oh, thank you so much!” he said, beaming. “I can’t tell you what a difference it makes! We really appreciate your generosity.”

The doctor smiled at him. “It was my pleasure. It’s a blessing to be able to share my prosperity with others.”

Roger leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Huge billionaire. Owns a hundred companies, most in pharmaceuticals.”

Another huge billionaire, eh? I wondered if he knew Nino Pierpont, the richest guy in the world, who sometimes funded our little adventures. Like, did billionaires hang out with each other? Talk about the countries they want to buy, that kind of thing?

“I heard that you have the bird children here,” he said.

My eyebrows went up. Patrick looked nonplussed and deliberately didn’t glance at us. “Oh?” he managed.

“Yes,” the doctor said, sounding friendly and curious. “I’m most interested to meet them. They’ve gotten such tremendous publicity. I was hoping to ask the leader of the bird children to come have breakfast with me tomorrow morning in my tent.”

Seconds ticked by. Patrick and Roger said nothing.

I rose and stepped forward, saying, “That would be me.”

At the exact same time, Angel stood, saying, “Sure.”

My jaw clenched. On top of everything else, she was now starting one of her campaigns to lead the flock? Your timing sucks, I thought at her, and she flicked her eyes at me.

“Ah, fine,” said Dr. Gunther-Hagen, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Splendid! Both of you come, then. But first, I’d like to introduce my … protégé. This is Dylan.” He gestured, and the tall kid stepped into the fire’s circle of light.

I blinked, wondering what teen heartthrob magazine Dr. Häagen-Dazs had swiped Dylan from. He was as tall as Fang and Iggy, meaning over six feet. His thick, darkblond hair was shoved carelessly back from a tanned forehead. Expressive turquoise eyes looked at us with guarded curiosity. He was wearing worn jeans and scuffed, dusty boots. A beat-up suede jacket mostly covered his clean white T-shirt. He was ready for a photo shoot — like, for the top twenty-five hottest guys under the age of twenty.

Of course, Fang would also qualify.

“Hey,” I said raspily and nodded, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And for some reason, that actually bothered me.

“I was particularly hoping you could meet Dylan,” said the doctor. “He’s been putting up with my company, and I’m sure he would benefit from meeting young people like himself.”

I rolled my eyes mentally, thinking that of course we were in no way like Dylan.

“Show them, Dylan,” said the doctor.

Dylan looked self-conscious but slowly took off his jacket to reveal broad shoulders and muscled arms. He was heavier than Fang, bulkier — maybe he was older? Had more regular access to food?

I was thinking, Wha —? when Dylan sort of shrugged his shoulders and extended his wings. All fifteen feet of them.