Iggy nodded. “I’m bummed we couldn’t use Big Boy,” he said. “But I don’t want to waste it. We have to actually see them first. I mean, you do.” “Maybe tomorrow,” the Gasman said encouragingly. “We’ll go see what havoc we’ve wreaked.” “Wrought.

In case you guys didn't catch last week's episode, I'm out of the flock," I informed them. "Angel has no allegiance to me. She's wanted me gone for a long time. And in case you didn't catch all the episodes from the past year, Angel is... unbalanced." "Untrustworthy," Fang seconded. "Unpredictable," Jeb added. "Dangerous," Dylan chimed in.

Tears were dripping onto my dress, but I wasn't making any sound. There was no sound to express thid kind of pain. I didn't want to move, didn't want to do anything. Fang was not waiting for me out in the living room. Tomorrow morning, when I woke up, Fang would still be gone.

I am not a great prose stylist. I'm a storyteller. There are thousands of people who don't like what I do. Fortunately, there are millions who do.

Cats are like Baptists. You know they raise hell, but you can never catch them at it.

I'm very emotional. I do feel stuff, for better or worse.

If Fang is in any way harmed while I'm gone-if he gets a hangnail-you won't see another morning. Are we clear on that?