The plot: Just wait. It’s coming.

“I hate this. Get me outta here,” I said to Fang, keeping a smile stuck to my face. We were waving to the crowd, so many camera flashes going off that I was sure I’d be blind in a minute.

“This is not a good setup,” Fang agreed, looking around constantly.

Total, Iggy, Gazzy, and Nudge were working the crowd like old hands, bowing and soaking up the applause. Gazzy was spreading his wings and doing little six-foot hops into the air, and each time the crowd roared even louder.

Finally, one of the assembled officials tapped on a microphone located at the center of the stadium. Brigid Dwyer stood next to them, ready to give a speech about the CSM and what it was trying to accomplish worldwide.

The official said something in Spanish, and the crowd cheered and clapped, chanting quotes from Fang’s blog. Then Brigid took the microphone and waited for relative quiet.

“Buenos días, señors y señoras,” Brigid said, and people cheered. “Hoy nosotros -”

Right then, a piercing scream soared above the crowd’s murmur and stopped Brigid cold. Gazzy saw them first: ninja-type thingies leaping over the upper ledge of the stadium and rappelling down to the field.

“Heads up!” Fang shouted. We had a second to exchange glances, thinking the same thing: We hadn’t seen them on the roof, just minutes before. Where had they come from?

“Up and away!” I yelled to the flock, then saw the problem: Brigid couldn’t fly out with us. We couldn’t leave her to the ninjas’ mercy, or lack thereof. We couldn’t abandon her and the rest of the people who had hosted us.

The officials, Brigid, and the TV crew gazed openmouthed as at least sixty slim, dark figures hit the ground and headed for us. I sized up the situation in an instant: a hundred thousand people who might be injured or killed in crossfire; innocent people right here on the field who would only get in our way; the seven of us up against about sixty of whatever this new threat was.