YLAN,” BEGAN ANGEL, sounding firm.

“Dylan?” Jeb asked, walking over to him with an urgent look.

“… ‘Cause I can sing,” finished Dylan, standing up.

“Oh, lordy, spare me the karaoke!” Total muttered, trotting over to sit in the shade beneath a patio table.

“You were in the rain, I saw you there,” Dylan sang. Angel recognized the words of a song that had been playing incessantly on the radio. “I want to kiss the rain, and your sorrow, from your hair… .”

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Total murmured. “That kid can actually carry a tune.”

Angel sat back on her lounge chair and grinned. The reporters were eating this up, taking pictures, yelling questions. She was going to ask for more money.

Gazzy jumped up and stood behind Dylan, adding a beat box layer to the song. Iggy began drumming on a table with his hands. Nudge began singing backup and harmony, the way Angel had heard her do a million times, along with the radio.

“Give me your pain, I can take it.” Dylan jumped up on a bench by the pool and spread his wings. “Give me your heart, I won’t break it.”

“I won’t breeeaak it,” Nudge echoed, her voice sounding great with Dylan’s.

Total edged out from under the table and threw back his head to join in, but Angel tapped him with her foot. He glared at her. “Don’t overshadow the others,” Angel whispered. “Let them have this.” Total’s glare faded and he nodded magnanimously.

Problem averted, and they sounded dang good, Angel thought. What if … they became a family band? Like in The Sound of Music? Angel pictured them becoming rich and famous — famous for something other than being freaks. Maybe her plan to bring the flock into “a new era of peace and prosperity,” as her Voice had called it, was really going to work.

But if it was such a great idea, why was she feeling so sick?

She looked at the others. Their song was winding down, and they were smiling and bowing to the cheering crowd … but Nudge looked pale.

“Jeb? Could you get rid of the reporters? We need to rest before the concert tonight.” Being a leader was coming naturally, she had to admit. She knew how to delegate — unlike Max, who only knew how to give orders.

“Okay, that’s enough for now,” Jeb said, starting to wave the reporters away. He motioned to the security team to clear the area, and they went into action.

“I feel like crap,” complained Gazzy. “And it’s not my digestive system this time.”

“Tell me about it. I have the spins,” said Nudge, sinking onto her chair and closing her eyes.

“I feel like I ate some rotten escargot. So much for the joys of room service,” Total grumbled, lying down with his head next to Akila’s paws. His lady friend seemed fine. “Try not to yak in the pool,” Angel advised, even though she was having a hard time not doing it herself. “We need to make a good impression.”

Jeb felt their foreheads, the way he had a long time ago. “No fever. But you all feel bad? What did you have for lunch? Did you all eat the same thing?”

“Uh-oh,” said Gazzy, but Angel was so nauseated she didn’t have time to leap to a safe distance, or grab a gas mask.

Bbbbbrrrrrrrttthhhhhhttttttt.

“Mother of God, no!” Total cried, doing a fast belly-crawl to the pool and throwing himself in. “You said it wasn’t your digestive system!”

“What was that?” Dylan asked. He winced and threw an arm over his nose and mouth. “Another nerve gas bomb?” “Sorry,” Gazzy said miserably, but he couldn’t help a tiny grin.

Nudge was clawing at a stack of towels to cover her face.

“Nice one, Gaz,” said Iggy. “You know, I just thought of something: It’s only us who’re sick. Not the normal ones, like Jeb and Akila — only the recombined ones.”

“Wait — that was Gazzy? Is that why you call him … Oh, crap,” said Dylan weakly.

Angel stood up, but her balance was a little off. “I think we should all …,” she began, and then the world faded and went topsy-turvy, before everything went black.