Chapter Eleven
The two adjourned to the kitchen, just in time to catch the kettle whistling on the stove, next to a tray with porcelain mugs and a dainty teapot.
“Please, sit,” Fickle said as he poured the boiling water and brought the steaming mugs to the table. “Sit and tell me what I can help you with, Miss Rain.”
“Right.” She dug a small notebook from her pocket and flicked it open to the set of questions she’d jotted down earlier that day. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly.”
“You’re a Pixie, correct?”
Fickle plucked a pocket watch from his breast pocket and hummed. “According to my registration with the CRoWs.”
“Hmm. And you can create glitter?”
“Glitter?”
She held out a small bag with some of the collected dust from the corpse. “Glitter.”
