We're famous" iggy whispered so low that Fang could barely hear him. "So's Swine Flu" Fang whispered back.

The writing in Mission to Paris, sentence after sentence, page after page, is dazzling. If you are a John le Carr fan, this is definitely a novel for you.

I remembered something my first partner had told me. Never wrestle with a pig, Lindsay. You both get dirty. The pig likes it.

Besides my great fashion sense? I play a mean harmonica.

Fang," I said, my voice breaking. "Just live, okay? Live and be okay." With no warning, I leaned down and kissed his mouth, just like that. "Ow," he said, touching his split lip, then he and I stared at each other in shock.

"Yeah sure, why not?" i said, making a mental note to get a good look at his wings. For all I knew, they were remote-controlled and duct taped to his back.

I flipped down the visor so I could check myself in the mirror, and something small and heavy dropped into my lap. I froze, my breath stuck in my throat. What—? Gingerly, I looked down. It wasn’t a grenade. It was a key ring. One key was for this van. I looked at it blankly. “Well, that’ll simplify things,” Fang said.