"I know. I know I have to do it. But..."
He didn't have to say any more. Fourteen years ago, his parents had lost a perfect little baby. Now Iggy was almost six feet tall and blind, and "genetic hybrid" was the kind description.
He shook his head and put his shoulders back. "Let's do this thing."
The six of us crossed the street. It had clouded over a bit, and the wind was cold. I pulled Angel's coat tighter around her chin and tucked in her scarf. She looked up at me solemnly, her blue eyes expressing the same hopes and fears we were all feeling.
I rang the doorbell. We were wound so tight it sounded like an enormous gong. A few moments later, the door opened, and the same woman as before looked out at me. Her brow furrowed slightly, as if she remembered my face but not from where.
"Uh, hello... ma'am," I began, in that smooth handle-everything manner I have. "I saw you on TV, where you said you'd lost your son?"
A look of sadness crossed her face. "Yes?"
I stepped back so she could see Iggy. "I think this is him."
Okay, so I'm not known for subtlety.
For a second the woman frowned, about to get angry at me for yanking her chain, but then she looked at Iggy and her frown changed to a look of puzzlement.
Now that I saw them both together, the similarities were even more obvious. They had the same coloring, same body type, same cheekbones and chin. The woman blinked. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She put her hand to her chest and stared at Iggy. I gave Iggy's hand another squeeze-he had no idea what was going on and just had to wait in painful suspense.
Then a man appeared. The woman stepped back and motioned silently to Iggy. Though Iggy looked very much like the woman, he did share some features with the man as well. They had the same nose, the same shape mouth. The man stared at Iggy, then looked around at all of us.
"Wha...," he said, looking stunned.
"We saw you on TV," I explained again. "We think this might be the son you lost, fourteen years ago." I put my arm through Iggy's and pulled him forward a little bit. "We call him Iggy. But I think his last name is really Griffiths, like yours."
Iggy's fair face flushed, and he lowered his head. I could practically feel the pounding of his heart.
"James?" the woman whispered, starting to reach out to Iggy. She stopped and looked at her husband. "Tom-is this James?" she asked wonderingly.
The man swallowed visibly. He stepped back from the door. "Please, come in, all of you."
I started to refuse-we never went into strange places where we might get trapped or caught. But I realized that this was where Iggy might stay, forever, and if I thought it was a trap, then we better get the heck out of here.
So I swallowed hard and said, "Okay."
As the others filed into the house, I shot a glance at Angel to see if she looked at all concerned or suspicious. But she just walked right in, so, with a tight feeling in my chest, I followed her.
The inside of the house was nice, but not as fancy or big as Anne's. I looked around, thinking, This might be where Iggy will live from now on. He might eat dinner at that table and listen to that TV. It was starting to seem as if we'd fallen down the rabbit hole, you know? Weird, half-wolf mutants chasing us? Totally believable. The idea that Iggy might be moving into a normal existence? Totally mind-blowing.
"Um, sit down," the woman said, watching Iggy.
He hesitated until he felt me sit down, then he sat next to me.
"I don't know where to begin," said the woman. She sat on Iggy's other side, and she finally seemed to get it that he wasn't looking around, wasn't meeting her eyes.
"Um, I'm blind," said Iggy, his fingers plucking nervously at the hem of his sweatshirt. "They, uh-well, I can't see anymore."
"Oh, dear," said the woman, looking distressed. The man sat across from us, and I saw a look of pain on his face.
"We don't know what happened," he said, leaning forward. "You-our son was taken out of this house fourteen years ago. You were-he was only four months old. There was no trace. I hired detectives. We-" He stopped, as if the memory was too painful for him to go on.
"It's a long, weird story," I said. "And we're not one hundred percent positive. But it really does look like Iggy's the baby you lost."
The woman nodded and then took Iggy's hand. "I feel he is. You might not be positive, but I feel it. I can tell. This is my son."
I couldn't believe it. How many times had we had this fantasy? Now it was all coming true for Iggy.
"I have to say-I think you're right." The man cleared his throat. "He-it sounds funny, but he really looks just the same as he did when he was a baby."
Any other time, Gazzy and Fang would have been all over that, riding Iggy and teasing him mercilessly. But they sat there stone-faced. It was starting to sink in, what was happening, what was about to happen.
"I know!" Mrs. Griffiths sat up suddenly. "James had a small red birthmark on his side, toward the back. I asked the doctor about it, but he said it was fine."
"Iggy has a birthmark," I said slowly. I'd seen it a hundred times.
Iggy wordlessly pulled up his shirt on the left side. Mrs. Griffiths immediately saw the birthmark. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
"Oh, my God!" she said, tears starting to run down her cheeks. "Oh, God. James! It's James!" In the next moment, she had leaned over and pulled Iggy into a tight hug. One hand stroked his strawberry-blond hair. Her eyes were closed, and her tears left a wet spot on Iggy's shoulder. "James, James," she whispered. "My baby."
My own throat was closing up. I glanced over and saw that Angel and Nudge were both fighting tears. Jeez. It was turning into a real weep-fest.
I cleared my throat. "So, well, you think this is James, the son you lost?"
The man, tears in his own eyes, nodded. "That's my son," he said, his voice breaking.
I hate stuff like this, where everyone's overwhelmed and weeping with joy and emotions are splashing all over the place. Ugh.
"Wh-who are you?" Mr. Griffiths asked me, as his wife pulled back to look at Iggy's face. He gestured at all of us.
"We're-friends," I said. "We-were taken too. But you're the first parents we've found." I hadn't meant to say that. What was wrong with me? Usually I was much stealthier and more secretive.
Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths looked even more surprised and concerned.
"So, uh, what now?" I asked briskly, rubbing my palms on my jeans.
The two grown-ups shot quick glances at each other. Mr. Griffiths gave his wife a subtle nod, and she turned to me. "James belongs with us," she said firmly. "I thought I'd lost him forever. Now that we have him back, I'm never letting him go. Do you hear me?" She looked positively fierce, and I held up my hands in the universal "Whoa, Nelly" gesture.
"No one's going to try to stop you. I think he's James too. But you know he's blind."
"I don't care," said Mrs. Griffiths, looking at Iggy with love. "I don't care if there are a million problems. We can handle anything, if we have him back."
Okay, that might cover the whole wing wrinkle...
"Iggy? Do you want to stay?" I asked.
His face flushed again, but underneath his reserve I saw the hint of an unbelieving happiness. My heart squeezed painfully, and I thought, I'm losing him.
Slowly Iggy nodded. "I guess this is where I belong."
I patted his arm. "Yeah," I said softly.
"Do you have-things?" asked Mrs. Griffiths. "We'll move a bigger bed into what used to be your room. I haven't changed anything in there-just in case you came back to us someday." She touched his face gently. "It's a miracle. I can't believe it. If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up."
Iggy smiled faintly. "I don't have much of anything, actually," he said. He held up the small backpack that we'd filled with a few crucial supplies from Anne's house.
"Fine," said Mrs. Griffiths. "We can get you anything you need."