Three found himself dragged, thoroughly against his will, to some obscure destination.
“It had better not be an animal shelter,” he grumbled once they were in the car and Angel was navigating them down Seward Highway. “Or an orphanage. Or a damned old timer in a rickety rocking chair.”
Angel’s gentle, “No, nothing like this,” did not soothe Three’s mind. Neither did the bumping and whinnying of the car the ex-angel drove. Some ancient piece of automobile history that belonged in a museum not on the Highway.
“What’s with this piece of junk, anyway? Ice cream parlour maids don’t make enough to afford a decent means of transportation?”
He glanced to his left just in time to see Angel give a curt nod. With a put-on sigh, Three flicked his wrist. The whinnying and the bumping stopped instan
