“Refreshments!” The
Angel declares, “We must have refreshments. As my honoured guest,
what would the good lady like to drink?”
“I could kill for a
large scotch,” Fiona replies.
“You should be
careful how you phrase such things. Untoward events tend to follow
the loose tongues of wake walkers, especially one with your kind of
power.”
“I'm sorry,” Fiona
says, frowning in confusion, “I don't understand.” Somewhere in
the distance she can hear a phone begin to ring.
“Well,” the Angel
tells her, “It would be a tragedy if somebody really did die just
so you could drink.”
The Angel clicks his
fingers high above his head and a genteel looking waiter appears at
Fiona's side, serving her whisky.
“But wait,” the
Angel says before she can taste a drop, “Our company is incomplete.
Where are the threefold man and that wretched, confused bear?”
