"So I see." Skulduggery hadn't reacted to the hatwhap, although he was rubbing the back of his head now as he drove. "I feel like I'm turning into an inter-dimensional chauffeur."
Gabe whapping Skulduggery with his hat, several days ago, was nothing more than a minor startle. This one hurt. Whether that was because Rafe meant it to, or because Skulduggery's new skin was realistic in more ways than one, it left a sharp and external pang of pain that thankfully faded quickly. Skulduggery wasn't used to pain that transcended the deep bone kind.
"If you spill your coffee in my car," he added, "I don't care who you are, none of you are ever riding in it again."
Solomon was right. Skulduggery really needed to come up with a name for the Bentley. He'd considered it before, but held off for several reasons - one being that names had power, and another being that he wasn't one of those die-hard motor vehicle enthusiasts who named each individual tyre on their cars. But if the Bentley was as close to sentience as Solomon claimed it was... and Skulduggery could almost feel that, if he concentrated. Taking his hands lightly off the wheel didn't alter the car's perfect course by even a centimetre. Besides, it was starting to feel disrespectful to refer to the car as 'it.'
Skulduggery was silent for a few moments, tapping the wheel with a finger, and then he sighed. "No point in putting off the inevitable, I suppose. Where to, gentlemen? Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning?"
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Gabe whapping Skulduggery with his hat, several days ago, was nothing more than a minor startle. This one hurt. Whether that was because Rafe meant it to, or because Skulduggery's new skin was realistic in more ways than one, it left a sharp and external pang of pain that thankfully faded quickly. Skulduggery wasn't used to pain that transcended the deep bone kind.
"If you spill your coffee in my car," he added, "I don't care who you are, none of you are ever riding in it again."
Solomon was right. Skulduggery really needed to come up with a name for the Bentley. He'd considered it before, but held off for several reasons - one being that names had power, and another being that he wasn't one of those die-hard motor vehicle enthusiasts who named each individual tyre on their cars. But if the Bentley was as close to sentience as Solomon claimed it was... and Skulduggery could almost feel that, if he concentrated. Taking his hands lightly off the wheel didn't alter the car's perfect course by even a centimetre. Besides, it was starting to feel disrespectful to refer to the car as 'it.'
Skulduggery was silent for a few moments, tapping the wheel with a finger, and then he sighed. "No point in putting off the inevitable, I suppose. Where to, gentlemen? Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning?"