I was driving the van, because my Rabbit didn’t have power steering. I had to pull over a few miles from home so I could use the cell phone. “Stefan,” I said. “Your parts are here. I’ve got a broken arm, so you’ll have to do all the work—but I can talk you through it.” “How did you break your arm, Mercy?” he asked. “A werewolf tossed me against a giant packing crate while I was trying to rescue a frightened young girl who’d been kidnapped by an evil witch and a drug lord.” “It sounds interesting,” Stefan said. “I’ll meet you at your garage.” See. Some people believe me.
