It's okay, Ig." said Fang. "Just give it your best shot." Sometimes the Fangster is incredibly supportive, just not with me.

When my son, Jack, was four, I had to make a trip to Los Angeles. I asked him if he was going to miss me. 'Not so much,' Jack told me. 'You're not going to miss me?' I said. Jack shook his head, and he said, 'Love means you can never be apart.

An unbearable smug look came over his usually impassive face."Uh-huh. You just keep telling youself that. You looove me." I took a swing at him, but he jumped back nimbly, and all I did was jar my left arm, making it hurt. He laughed at me, then pointed at the woods ouside the window."Pick a tree. I'll go carve our initials in it.

Fang looked at the newest bird kid. Dylan was an inch or two taller than he was, and somewhat heavier built, though he still had the long, lean look of a human-avian hybrid-you couldn't make bricks fly.

Gazzy sniffed the air. "That's explosives. It smells like Christmas!" Okay, so we've had somewhat untraditional Christmases. With explosives.

Every once in a while, I'll have a 'Do you know who I am?' moment, at least in my head. I hate that.

So there you have it, the extent of my charms: brown hair and eyes like unbarfed chocolate. I'm a lucky girl." -Max