“What are we going to steal this time?” Iggy whispered. “Can I have a turn driving?”
“Oh, ha ha,” I said drily, and he smothered a snicker.
“That one,” I whispered, pointing to a low, sleek, sporty number.
Which turned out to have no engine.
In fact, every one of these stupid cars had some huge problem with it: no steering wheel, or no wheels, or no dashboard, or no seats. An hour later I was ready to smack somet
hing in frustration.
“What now?” Fang asked in a low voice, crouching next to me. “Public transportation?”
I gave him a sour look.
“Max?” Nudge’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. She brushed some long curls out of her face. “I’ve been thinking.”
Oh, here we go, I thought tiredly.
“If we take the seats out of the Camry, and the wheels off the Bug, and the battery out of the Caddy, and then we get the steering wheel from the Accord, and we drop that engine back into the Echo and hook up a new air filter, we could just take the Echo and be good to go.” Her big brown eyes looked at me anxiously. “Don’tcha think?”
“Whoa,” said Total, sitting down.
“Uh,” I said.
“There’s its air filter right on that table,” she added helpfully.
“Since when do you know all this?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“I like cars. I always used to read Jeb’s annual car issue from Consumer Reports. Remember?”
“Huh. Well, I guess that sounds like a plan, then,” I said. “Everyone clear on what to do?”
Even the loser guard would have heard an engine starting, so we had to push the Frankenstein car out through the junkyard gate and a couple blocks away before we could even see if any of this worked.
When we were far enough away, Fang slid behind the steering wheel, and I applied my talent to hot-wiring the car.
The engine actually fired! True, it sounded rough, and the car backfired several times like rifle shots, but we were running, baby.
“Everybody in!” I said.
Which was when we discovered the final problem.
Little Echos aren’t designed to hold six, count them six, larger-than-average-sized children.
And their wings.
And a dog.
“This is like a clown car,” Total grumbled from my lap in the front seat.
“Why does the dog get to sit in your lap?” Gazzy asked plaintively, as we rattled and banged down the dark streets. “How about a kid?”
“Oh. ‘The dog.’ Very nice,” said Total.
“Because you’re not allowed to have people on your lap in the front seats,” I explained. “It’s not safe. If a cop saw us, we’d be stopped for sure. You want Total back there?”
Everyone in the back screamed no at the same time.