It was heaven, almost as wonderful as the most luxurious shower she’d ever taken. It took an effort to cut off the flow of water, to make sure she had enough to cleanse her wound. It looked puffy, red-tinged. She patted it gently with a towel, cleaning it as best and as stoically as she could, slathered it with powder from the first-aid kit, and as a final precaution jabbed herself with a syringe that contained a wide-spectrum antibiotic, and taped it over. She looked up to see that Tinker was following her every movement with interest.

“How’s your first-aid skills?” she asked.

“Nonexistent,” Tinker replied.

“I’d better get this done by myself. God knows I’ve watched Billy do it enough times.” At the thought of Billy she frowned, gritted her teeth, and slammed her shoulder back into its socket with the palm of her left hand. There was a flash of white-hot pain that nearly brought her to her knees, and then, suddenly, it felt a lot better. Not perfect, for sure, but better. She went back into the duffel bag and removed a large ACE bandage and roll of tape.

“Wrap the bandage,” she told Tinker. “Like this.” She held one end of the bandage against her skin under her arm and showed him how to unwrap the roll under, over, and around her shoulder. “Tightly,” she ordered.

Once he pulled it too hard, and the Angel sucked in her breath and winced.

“Sorry,” he said automatically.

“That’s all right.” She took the end of the bandage from him and hooked it fast. “Now the tape.”

Tinker nodded, bent down for the tape the Angel had set in the mouth of the duffel bag.

“Thanks,” she said, flexing her shoulder experimentally, then gingerly reached into her duffel bag with her injured arm, found a shirt, and put it on, carefully.

“You gonna be all right?”

“After I get some food,” she said. “Some rest.”

He nodded judiciously. “You do that. I’ll take the watch.”

“We can pull shifts—”

Tinker shook his head. “You’re a tough Sheila and game as Ned Kelly, but I got the feeling that the shit is just gonna get hotter. I’ve done nothing today, but play with the radio. Maybe I can fix it, somehow, anyway. You eat and rest.”

The Angel nodded.

“And get ready for tomorrow,” she said softly.

He had once again been sent on an errand. “Go bring us a cassette player, boy.” The dismissive order from Baba Yaga.

“Give me the money to buy it, bitch,” had slipped out before he thought better.

Fortunately Baba Yaga seemed more amused than inclined to turn him into a Barcalounger. She had nodded and one of the goons had casually peeled off a hundred-dollar bill from a roll he had pulled from his pocket.