The Last Donut Shop of the Apocalypse (Kelly Driscoll Book 2) by Post Nina

Author:Post, Nina [Post, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781620070963
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Published: 2012-07-19T04:00:00+00:00

The train let them out by a vestibule similar to the one at hell lodge number six, Don’s place. It had similar fortune-telling machine to the 10-Baht Buddha in the other vestibule, but Pothole City Donuts-branded, a small automata that read Donut Holes and Fortunes Told. Kelly smirked and tried to put in a coin. However, it required a special hell lodge number three coin.

“Really? Where am I supposed to get that?”

Firiel blew air out of his mouth in a raspberry. She looked around and noticed something waiting for the train, a snail with a glistening body and a shell advertising The Club at Hell Lodge Number Three―Stay, Dine, Play.

“Excuse me,” Kelly said to the snail, “but do you have two lodge coins on you that I can use in this machine?”

The snail’s eye stalk antenna quivered and leaned toward her. She kind of hoped he (she?) didn’t have two coins on him, because where would he be keeping it? The snail spit out two coins from… where was that? Its cloaca? A pocket? She accepted them and nodded her thanks.

The train pulled up and the snail sped forward, leaving a slimy trail behind it. She waited until the train pulled away, snail at the window, to wipe the coins off on her shirt so she wouldn’t give offense.

She inserted one of the coins into the Pothole City Donuts automata and received a hot donut hole with a paper fortune sticking out of it. You already have what you seek.

She rolled her eyes and crumpled the fortune in her hand. “The usual b.s., Firiel. But the donut hole was good. Cluck Snack P’nut Butt’r Koffee flavor.”

She inserted a second coin and handed the donut hole to Firiel. He was about to put the whole thing in his mouth until she stayed his arm and took the fortune out first.

“Cluck,” she read from the fortune. “Of course. OK, let’s go.”

Hell lodge three had completely different topography from Murray’s dry and desert-like office. The sand was light purple and sprouted mushrooms and fuzzy, globular, and sticky-hairy yellow flowers.

About fifty yards away sat a large cabin in the same style as Murray’s, only less rustic. Smaller cabin properties encircled the main house at varying distances, like feudal houses.

Firiel had to stop at every snow-capped mushroom on the ground.

“I know you have to stop at each one, Fee, but this is more important. We have to hurry.”

When they reached the main house, she pulled open one of the wooden doors by the iron latch, fashioned in the shape of a ferret head. “Look, Stringfellow―a ferret door knocker.”

The ferret looked. Blinked sleepily. Texted, sneezed. Groaned.

Her phone buzzed. that’s not a ferret. it’s a polecat! Within seconds, he was sleeping again.

She spotted a bar at the opposite end of the room and headed over to get a seat while Firiel communicated with a potted fern in the corner.

A fight broke out at the end of the bar between a beach flea-like monster that coated his foe―a salamander with a small anemone head―with a viscous gold spit.

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