A Big Twisted Set

By Alyn Troy

Can a pixie girl with a bum leg and mismatched wings untangle the paranormal puzzles and solve the quirky mystery?

 

A town of wonky magic. A fencer stabbed by her own blade. Can Twizzie untangle the twisted mystery?

 

Twizzle Twist isn't your normal real estate pixie. Nor is St. Maurice your normal Southern California town. The magic in the valley belches at the worst time. Twizzle's mismatched wings and bum leg are the least of her worries.  Twiz is fortunate to have friends like the ancient Chinese wizard, the barista mermaid with the bent tail, a pixie cop, and two chili-cheese-dog obsessed mini-dragons to aid her.

 

And she'll need all the help they can muster when the town council leader has Twizzle's home on the St. Maurice amusement pier in the path of her wrecking ball.

 

When a cute new vampire arrives in town, and needs a handicapped accessible home due to his wheelchair, Twizzle has one pesky rule. Don't date your clients. So she needs to finish the home sale, before she can land a new boyfriend. But, when their first home showing comes with the homeowner stabbed in the back with her own sword, Twizzle gets tangled in a mystery not of her making. Can she untangle the knot of clues, parry the magical red herrings, and solve the mystery in time to sell the home, and stop the killer?

 

Twiz and her friends have to save their pier, catch the killers, and find time for Mortimer and Basil the mini-dragon to get their chili-cheese-dog fix.

 

Each story is a self-contained mystery, with an evolving backstory as Twiz and her friends fight to save their town's beloved amusement pier.

 

This omnibus includes the previously published tomes:

• A Twisted Riposte
• A Twisted Tune
• A Twisted Dive
• A Twisted Treasure
• A Twisted Inferno
• A Twisted Festival

If you love mysteries with a dash of quirky characters, a dose of warped magic, and snarky humor, you'll love Alyn Troy's  Paranormal Cozy Mysteries.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Brews Mysteries
• Release date: Apr 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201497477

Book preview

A Big Twisted Set

A BIG TWISTED SET

Pixie Twist Cozy Mystery Box Set 1-6

ALYN TROY

Mystic Brews Mysteries

Copyright © 2022 by Alyn Troy

Fort Wayne IN, USA

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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CONTENTS

A Twisted Riposte

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

A Twisted Tune

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

A Twisted Dive

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

A Twisted Treasure

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

A Twisted Inferno

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

A Twisted Festival

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Typo Pirates wanted!

Also by Alyn Troy

A TWISTED RIPOSTE

A CALIFORNIA FAE COZY MYSTERY #1

For all the beta readers and typo hunters

Thank you!

1

T wizzie Twist, the old Chinese man called my name. I looked up from the table outside of Beanzies, the pier’s coffee shop, with no clue what him calling my name was about to unleash on our little Californian fae town.

Hey, Hop. I waved at him to come sit with me. The wizard of St. Maurice’s pier shuffled my way. He wore Birkenstock sandals and rumpled khaki shorts with a faded aloha shirt that sported red Chinese dragons chasing each other through a mountainous landscape. An equally crumpled beige boonie hat, with the chin cord tight under his white goatee, covered his bald head like an ill-fitted lid on too small of a jar. The hat’s cloth flap covering the back of his neck fluttered in the afternoon ocean breeze.

You see my nephew today, right, little missy? He held his hand out, palm up. I ignored his wiggling callused fingers.

Yep. I pulled my phone out of my purse. It was small, but Hop helped me add the enchantment we fae liked to use for extra dimensional storage. Magic was a little wonky in St. Maurice, so I welcomed his help.

Not the phone! Hop bounced his wrinkled hand. Give me some twizzle-bits. I get dizzy after a teleport.

I laughed. He knew I kept a big bag of licorice nibbles in my tiny handbag. This was his price for helping me with the magic. I was his sweets supplier whenever he saw me—which was often.

You teleported down over three hours ago, I said. You’re not dizzy now.

Delayed effects. I need sweets. He wiggled his fingers again and gave me a toothy smile.

I laughed and dribbled several into his palm. He tossed one into his mouth.

Chastain texted two hours ago from LA, I confirmed with a glance at my phone. His plane landed, and he was catching a taxi up here.

Handicap, Hop grunted. Make sure his house is handicap accessible.

I had my own green-striped cane hanging from the table. I was young by fae standards, in my midfifties. With a bum leg. The left was shorter with a crooked foot. I wore a platform shoe, along with a leg brace, and I used the cane to help with balance. None of those helped with my gimpy wing when I popped down to pixie size. I always corkscrewed when I flew.

I understand how important the right home is. No worries, Hoppy.

You are the only one I let call me that name. Hop poked his index finger at me, then winked. He stood and tossed another sweet into his mouth. I like you, little missy. You do good for Number 87 nephew, please.

I’ve already lined up three homes for him to view. I tapped the folio next to my latte. Accessible homes are difficult, even in St. Maurice. We fae don’t move often.

Hop patted his pocket, then his hat. Where is my watch? What time you got?

I pointed at his left hand clutching my licorice nibbles. He flipped his arm to look at the digital Timex with the plastic band.

Oh, two o’clock. Gotta run. He turned and waved at several folks standing outside of the pier’s gift shop, next to the Tour the Pier poster.

Docent coming. Tour begin in one minute, Hop called, then turned back to me. You are my number one friend, Miss Twizzie. That why I have Number 87 nephew call you.

I grinned, watching the old man limp toward the tourists. Funny how his limp came out only when he was giving a tour. Same with his accent. He liked to play up the ancient immigrant persona. His arrangement with the pier office said he was a volunteer docent, but he could accept gratuities. Why he felt the need to add the limp was beyond me. His knowledge of the pier was second to none. He had more stories about the construction, the life, the laughs, and even the near destruction of the landmark structure than anyone around. His stories were magical and deserved a reward. Those folks had no idea what a treat they were in for.

Amanda, head barista and manager of Beanzies, the coffee shop on the rustic old amusement pier, sat at the service window reading the latest surf magazine. The shop did most of their business through the order window. This was Southern California. We rarely got rain, and the temps almost never got below forty degrees. Outside cafés are everywhere out here.

I leaned on my cane, with my purse strap over my shoulder. Two steps took me to the service window, and I passed my ceramic mug back in.

Client today? Amanda took the cup, leaning on her aluminum crutches with the wrist cuffs.

Hoppy’s Number 87 nephew. I rolled my eyes and leaned on my cane. Computer guy moving down here from the Bay Area.

How many nephews does he actually have? Amanda shook her head. Never mind. That number will change anytime he tells a story.

My phone chirped, and the smartwatch on my wrist vibrated. A glance at it showed a text from Nephew #87.

Gotta run! I waved. He’s almost here.

Fortunately, there was a small tenant and employee lot on the pier where I could park, right next to Hoppy’s slightly rusty beat-up old VW Microbus. Hoppy, leading four tourists, came the opposite way.

In 1920, this—he waved his arm to sweep the entire parking lot—was where the amusement rides were. He pulled a three-ring binder full of photos in plastic sleeves from inside his old canvas satchel, then flipped through the thick stack. The photo he settled on showed an old Ferris wheel next to an undulating set of wooden tracks.

See? Racing roller coaster. With two tracks, two cars go at once. Which one finish the race first? He shrugged. Now we have a new coaster. One track only. You always win the race that way.

Why did they move the rides to the other end? A blonde female tourist looked toward the far west end of the pier where the rides now sat. She had a glamour on her. Definitely fae. Nondescript, touristy in shorts and a thin bright-red top. She’d donned a light jacket to match. The guy she was with was tall and dark-haired with a thin mustache. His sunglasses perched low on his nose to look at Hop’s photos.

Thirty foot waves. Hoppy’s arm, bent at the elbow, stood straight up, then slammed down on his book. Crash! I’ll tell that story at the other end. Everyone wave to number one Realtor in St. Maurice. Say ‘Hi Miss Twizzie!’

The tourists glanced my way. My cheeks reddened, and I waved back. Enjoy your tour. I popped the handle on my Prius and slid in, tucking my purse on the floor under my knees. Cane slid in the gap between the driver’s seat and the door, I pressed the wake-up button and buckled in.

Traffic was light this early in the afternoon, so I made it to the office in under seven minutes. A black SUV stood idling in front of the tan stucco-and-brick building. The wooden sign next to the glass door read R. Gates and Associates Realty. I was one of the associates.

The driver stepped out and jogged to the sidewalk side of the SUV. He opened the rear door, and a metal lift platform unfolded. The man inside grasped the metal rims of his chair and rolled himself forward. He smiled and waited while the hydraulics lowered the chair to the sidewalk, then rolled into the shade made by the building.

I wasn’t sure what to make of Hoppy’s Number 87 nephew. He wore black jeans with a black mock neck long-sleeved shirt. His black hat looked like a newer version of the fedora type Indiana Jones might sport.

Mister Li, I said, stretching out my right hand, I’m Twizzle Twist, your property agent.

He took my hand with a firm grip. His brown eyes held mine. A smile tugged at his mouth. I sensed his magic. Fae magic but different.

Pleased. Let me take care of Javier.

The driver’s eyes were on the tablet, and his fingers tapped several times.

"Señor, your total."

My client slid the credit card through the reader slot, then tapped a spot on the screen. He scribbled his name with a finger, then passed a folded fifty-dollar bill to the driver.

"Gracias, Señor. Javier tipped his head. Anything else?"

Thank you, no. He nodded toward me. I am in Miss Twist’s capable hands today.

You forgot to take your churro. Javier passed a long paper sack to him. "My wife made these, por favor. She says to give one to all of my passengers. I have to eat any that are left." He patted his ample belly and smiled.

Thank her for me. I shall enjoy it this evening once my digestion settles.

"Sí, Señor. Flying unsettles my belly too."

Thanks for getting a ride up from Los Angeles. My Prius might be a bit small. I nodded toward his wheelchair. Would you like me to get the agency’s town car, Mister Li?

Chaz, please. His smile lit up his face, despite sitting in the shade of our building. A small rolling suitcase sat next to him, and a faded black messenger bag rested on his lap. Your car will be fine. The gnomes are still mining the faerock here?

Of course. They’ll be another century or two with that deposit. I popped the hatch and dropped the suitcase into my trunk. I love our town, but that faerock interferes with magic.

Uncle told me about your… limp. Chaz pointed at my cane. He tapped his own legs. Kindred spirits.

He pushed the rims of his wheels and glided toward my car. Before I could step around him, he had the door open and was sliding from his wheelchair into the passenger seat. He used his hands to pull his legs in. Two practiced flips with the levers and his chair collapsed.

I can pop that in the trunk, with your bags, I said.

If you would be so kind.

First up, I said once I had the chair stowed and had buckled myself in, the house on Rapier Place.

Interesting name for a street.

I suspect it’s one reason the owners built there. I pushed the accelerator with my good foot. My little Prius had enough oomph to climb the hills around our little valley. The couple is divorcing. She was an Olympic gold medal fencer. He’s an antique arms dealer.

Ah. Then Rapier does make sense. Chaz’s voice was firm, yet quiet. Quiet demon in the car. Or is this a real Prius?

It’s a fae version, with an Infernal engine. I flashed him a quick smile. Only a 1.5-level demon. You don’t have a demon for your chair?

Nope. Even during the day, I’ve got undead muscles. Not as good as when the sun goes down. I like to wheel myself around. And my chair doesn’t smell like brimstone if I speed up.

Well, like I said, my demon is only a 1.5. No big clouds of brimstone.

At least fae cars meet California’s smog standards. He chuckled. Brimstone is a magical gas, so it doesn’t register. He waved the paper-wrapped churro. May I interest you in a churro? Javier says his wife is a talented cook. My digestion won’t let me enjoy it.

Sure. Your uncle Hop didn’t mention his number eighty-seven nephew was a vamp. I let my eyes shift to him for a second. He was definitely on the cute side. But he was also my client. No dating clients, I told myself.

Oh, I’m up to number eighty-seven? Chaz chuckled. Must be because I’m moving to his town.

How… I bit my lip. Sorry. I should know better than to pry.

He chuckled. You’re not used to seeing the undead in a wheelchair? Bike accident. Took a tumble and slammed my back into a tree. I was mortal then, so the injury is permanent. The vamp I was dating at the time made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

My stomach flipped. He was dating. Figures. All the cute and nice guys were already dating.

So you…?

I took her gift of immortal undead life. Chaz stared out the window. I get my legs back when the sun goes down. The only problem is…

Daytime? No walking? That wasn’t hard to figure out from the wheelchair. His body lost the extra abilities being undead gave him when the sun was up.

That, and… well, Sabine only dated fae mortals. I knew that when I took her gift. She helped me adapt to the being undead, then went to find another blood donor.

Oh, she didn’t go for synthetics? Blood farms were all the rage for vamps. Most vamps found the synthetics tastier than just sucking on a donor’s neck.

She likes the zing and the intimacy.

I felt his eyes on me. I fought the urge to look at him. Eyes on the road, Twiz. No dating clients.

Here we are. I turned into the drive. It was fairly steep, but not bad. I punched the code into the pad and watched the metal gate roll to the side. A moment later, I pulled up to the front door on the circular drive.

Home of Nancy Miller-Lloyd, owner of the Grape Riposte dinner club and lounge. Husband, Chester Lloyd, antique arms dealer. Did you look at the listing?

Of course. Chaz held up his phone. This is the one I’m most interested in. That’s why I asked to schedule it first. If I like what I see, we’ll make an immediate offer.

Let me get your chair.

He again popped the chair open and moved into it with practiced east.

Mr. Lloyd’s son from a previous marriage uses a chair. I pointed toward the front entrance. Even though he mostly lives with his mother downtown, they had the home extensively modified to make it accessible. Pity their marriage didn’t last.

I pressed the button on the intercom next to the main door. No one answered.

She’s supposed to be away this week, I said. Mr. Lloyd has already moved to a home near Los Angeles. The listing agent said no staff is on site. Cleaning and cooking only when she’s in town. I pulled my Realtor ID card out of my purse and shoved it into the lockbox on the door handle. The box popped open, and I used the key inside to unlock the door.

Hello! I always called whenever I entered a listing. One too many times of disturbing a resident or two. This was California, after all. Realtor. Here to show the listing. Hello?

No one answered, so I swung the door open. Posh yet stark décor greeted us. White-marble tile lined the floor of the entryway. The open-concept home was built into the side of the hill. We were on the upper level here.

Interesting. Chaz wheeled himself in and took a deep breath.

This floor was an entertaining space. A two-story tall bank of windows looked out over the valley where St. Maurice nestled in the low mountains. The pier where Hoppy was probably finishing his tour jutted out into the crescent-shaped bay. The view was stunning. A wheelchair lift stood next to a chrome circular staircase leading down to the lower level.

Chaz didn’t seem interested in the view of the town and harbor. Instead, he rolled past the white-marble-topped wet bar and toward the door, into what should be an office or study.

I leaned on my cane and followed along. Chaz waved his hand in front of a well-concealed sensor. The door swung open.

I thought I smelled blood. He turned toward me. Call the police. She’s dead.

2

Y our first time finding a dead person? Chaz waved toward the room where Nancy Miller-Lloyd lay dead. Her study was more a memorial to her time as an Olympic fencer and sword aficionado.

We try to avoid that in real estate, I said. My phone was already up to my ear, ringing. I knew the detective who answered. I had his cell number and had dialed it instead of the emergency number. No sense in calling for an ambulance. The woman was definitely dead. After I told the police detective what we had found, he paused.

Don’t touch anything, Dom Sanchez told me. Go wait outside. I’ll get a patrol car there in a few minutes.

The room was listed as twelve by twenty feet. Enough room for a sword fight, if you removed the furniture. But Nancy looked as though she had been standing with her back to the open window. And someone managed to get behind her and run a sword through her. Challenging, since the room was a good twenty feet above the drive on the side of the house. I hadn’t noticed any holes in the window screen, but then again, I wasn’t exactly looking.

Chaz and I waited just inside the main entrance. The fun butterfly in my belly from being around a cute guy had been replaced by its uglier and bigger cousin: the one that made me want to go lie down and forget about what was in the study.

How could you tell it was my first? I hugged my arms to my chest. Dom said not to touch anything, and that he’d have a patrolman here in a few minutes.

That meant not exploring the house as a Realtor with a client. We had to stay at the front door. And not see if there were more dead people in the house. That was what we paid our police officers for.

St. Maurice doesn’t seem like a town with many patrolmen. Chaz had his wheelchair backed out of the sunlight, but he could still see the drive up the hill. He let his eyes climb the cliff along the driveway. Atop it was a small park accessible by a winding trail. I’d been up there a few times, but without a powered wheelchair, even Chaz might have difficulty rolling up the path in the daylight.

It’s not a big town at all. The amusement pier and our shops are the only reasons we get tourists. Too many other beach towns along the coast have what we have and are easier to get to. Besides, we want fae tourists most of the year. With that faerock quarry, they like the fun of wonky spells.

PCH is a ways inland. Chaz waved toward the east, where the Pacific Coast Highway ran in this section of the state. No wonder the humans miss the valley.

I nodded. Human tourists drive right on by, and they don’t stop. Part of that is by design. The billboards advertising St. Maurice are active now. Their spells will fade in a few weeks.

I stared out at the driveway where the sunlight baked the front step. Another hour and it would come in the front door. That triggered a question I was going to ask earlier. Why are you up during the day? I thought vamps slept during the day?

Sunlight saps our energy. He shrugged and tapped his useless legs. I’m almost human when the sun is up and have little to no strength when I’m directly in the light.

But after sunset?

Am I your first vamp? Chaz flashed a smile that almost drove away the sick green butterfly in my belly, the one that came with seeing and smelling all of Nancy Miller’s blood on her desk. Almost, but not quite. I still felt green. Enough that I didn’t want to munch on my licorice candy.

I’ve seen a few vamps. You’re the first I’ve had as a client.

Chaz slid his messenger bag around from the back and pulled a travel tumbler from inside. I sensed the magic of him activating our fae extradimensional storage.

Apologies. He tilted his head toward the door. The sun and the smell of blood are raising my thirst.

I repressed a small shiver and stepped out into the sun on the front sidewalk. A patrol car pulled up to the gate. A well-tanned arm slid a special cops-only key in the control panel, then punched in a special cops-only number, the gate lumbered aside. His car pulled in behind mine on the circular drive.

Twizzie! Funny meeting you here, Roman Sanchez stepped from his blue-and-white patrol car. He was one of the dozen patrolmen on our local police force.

Until I met Chaz, the only guy in St. Maurice that could make my tummy butterfly wake up was Officer Roman Sanchez. He was still young. I was nearing my sixth decade, young for a pixie, but that was the age many pixie girls started marrying. My mother was pushing me to find a guy and settle down so she’d have grandpixies. But guys like Roman and Chaz weren’t the kind Mom wanted me to date. No grandchildren if I married a tall fae. I cast the thoughts of dating away and tried to concentrate on the reason for Roman’s visit.

You and your father working the same shifts?

Dad works all shifts. He’s the detective. I’m just the patrolman on rotating shifts.

My client is inside. We stayed in the front room.

Probably best, he said. Let me check the deceased. You’re sure they’re dead?

Definitely dead. Chaz rolled up to the edge of the sunlight and held out his hand. Chaz Li, Officer. A handshake was a good way to sense magic in each other and recognize the other fae we ran into.

Roman took the hand. His eyebrow arched at Chaz’s chill touch.

Normally, I’d ask you both to step outside, but I see the need for you to stay out of the sun.

Very thoughtful, thank you. Chaz rolled back, away from the door.

We get a few undead through here every winter. If you’re Twizzie’s client, then you’ll be the first to actually reside in St. Maurice. Now, where is the stiff?

She has a name. I wasn’t fond of Nancy Miller-Lloyd, but calling her a stiff wasn’t respectful of the dead.

Apologies, Twiz. Roman nodded toward me. We don’t get many murder victims in our little town. But after seeing a few, the gallows humor becomes a coping mechanism.

I gave him a small smile. He had to deal with crooks, accidents, drunk tourists, and all manner of stuff so the rest of us in the public didn’t have to.

She’s back in the office. Chaz motioned to the door off the bar area. Roman used his nightstick to push the door open, careful not to touch anything.

Yep. She’s dead. That sword sticking out of her back is a dead giveaway. Not to mention all the blood under her. He used the L of his stick to swing the door shut again. You two touch anything?

Just the lockbox outside. And the door handles. I shrugged.

There’s a sensor pad hidden in the wall next to the study. That patch of white marble. Just wave your hand near it. Chaz pointed. My guess is that all the doors in the house have them. That’s how I opened the door. So you won’t find my prints on it.

Roman nodded toward the drive. Dad and the coroner are here.

Whereas Officer Sanchez had pulled his squad car behind my Prius on the circular drive, his father drove a nondescript sedan that screamed Unmarked Cop Car! past the loop in front of the door. Beyond that, the drive dipped to the lower level, where the four-car garage waited. Dr. Harlow Stevens, the medical examiner, backed his dark SUV into the drive and stopped near the loop. Unfortunately, Nancy Miller-Lloyd would make one last trip out of her home and into the SUV.

Chaz and I waited in the main room after I introduced him to the new arrivals.

No Bobbies in St. Maurice? Chaz tilted his head toward the murder scene where the two cops and the coroner were doing their investigation thing.

No. The orcs have a very difficult time with the interference from the faerock vein. They can actually go mad if they’re in the area for more than a day. The Bobbies, or the orcs who served as police in most fae communities, were called that because all orcs were named Robert, with a number. Robert 123-456 and such. In the UK, they had the uniforms of the British bobbies and kept their glamour spells active to appear human to mundanes.

That faerock quarry can’t be mined fast enough. Uncle warned me it disrupts magic and sticks to minor enchantments. Chaz pointed toward my phone, still in hand. Do you need to postpone our other two visits? I want to see them. This place may not be as high on my list as I suspected.

My brain is a little flighty. I should do that. I tapped out a couple of texts to the other agents. I told them we’d reschedule for tomorrow, if convenient. Do you have a place to stay?

Uncle Hop’s. Where else? Did you actually believe he’d let me get a hotel?

Oh, good luck. Have you ever been in his apartment?

It’s in the merry-go-round building, isn’t it? Chaz shook his head as he asked. He said there is a teleport crystal in the restroom on the main level I can use to avoid the stairs.

The building is too old for an elevator. He got lazy two years ago and had a teleport gem installed. He doesn’t like to walk the stairs anymore. I pointed to his wheelchair. Hope you’re good at levitating. ‘Pack rat’ is the nicest term I can think of for his place. You may need to move a ton of stuff to get around.

You just fly over his detritus? Chaz grinned.

I shrugged and bit my lip. Everyone in town knew I had a faerock wing. He’d learn soon enough. I don’t fly very straight when I’m in pixie form.

Sorry. Chaz’s tone wasn’t one of pity, like so many other people had. His was one of understanding, even though he didn’t know exactly what I meant.

I glanced at my cane. The gem set into the bottom of the curved handle flashed green when I sent a tinge of magic into it. No mundanes about, so I went pixie. Hovering was mostly easy for the three-inch-tall version of me.

Very cool. Chaz grinned, watching me. First time I’ve seen a pixie poof this close up.

I’m not very steady in this form. May I borrow your arm?

He kept his smile and raised his left arm under me. I landed and grabbed the fabric of his sleeve.

Your leg doesn’t look bad. His arm moved slow and steady. Ah, your wing. One is smaller than the other.

Yeah, I corkscrew when I fly. That was actually an understatement—and why I walked or drove most places.

Mr. Li? Dominic Sanchez called and walked up behind us. Oh, showing off, Twiz?

I kicked off Chaz’s arm and fluttered aloft, only going upside down, unplanned, once. When I was a pace out from my client and Dom, I popped tall again.

We were comparing handicaps. Chaz rotated his chair to face the detective. Dom Sanchez looked like a more mature version of his son. The only difference was that behind his glasses—which Roman didn’t need—Dom’s left eye was yellow instead of brown.

"I assume your legs aren’t caused by the faerock veins like our enhancements are?" Dom put an extra emphasis on enhancements to make it sound polite. What he meant was: For those of us lucky enough to have been born here in St. Mo, faerock caused alterations to what should have been our normal forms.

That’s a nice term, enhancements. Chaz tapped the frame of his chair. It gave a soft thunk, not an aluminum clank. Carbon fiber and rubber enhancement until the sun goes down.

If you wouldn’t mind, I need to get a statement from each of you, privately. Dom waved toward the sitting area. Protocol. I need to make sure your stories match and you didn’t sneak in here and stab Ms. Miller-Lloyd in the back.

Want me to wait outside? I took a step out the door.

Dom nodded. If you don’t mind, Twiz. I’d send Roman out to take your statement, but he’s finishing up the photos and print-gathering spells.

No problem. I held my phone up. I need to reschedule our other two showings. I’ll do that while you talk with Chaz.

Five minutes later, I had confirmed with both of the listing agents for the same time windows tomorrow. I leaned against the back fender of my Prius and kept an eye on the front door. Dom would be out soon. And Chaz. He was definitely cute. I realized that I wanted him to purchase quickly, mostly so he could stop being my client.

Don’t date your clients, I told myself, mostly muttering under my breath. It’s no wonder I didn’t hear the footsteps coming up the drive.

What did you do to get the police here, Twiz? Find a dead body?

3

F aerocks! Billie Quinn! I took a deep breath to calm myself. You should announce yourself instead of sneaking up on me.

You didn’t hear my car door slam? Billie laughed. Her voice was still feminine, despite her entire wardrobe coming from the men’s section. Billie sported more than a few tattoos and had inch-wide gauges in her earlobes. A blonde crew cut sported a row of short purple spikes cut into her hair. I was going to see if you wanted to go for a romantic stroll tonight. But you look like you’ve got a date with Officer Roman. That’s his patrol car.

Did you and Suzie break up? I shook my head. Billie Quinn went through girlfriends like teens changed shoe sizes.

Hey, we made it six months. That’s a record for me. She raised an eyebrow. How about it? Walk on the beach? Mai tai at the Double Clam?

Let me check. I scrunched my lips sideways like I was in deep thought. Then I scratched at the top of my head, and looked at both sides of my right hand, like I always did whenever Billie asked me out. No. Not tonight. I still prefer guys.

If you change your mind… Billie winked and smiled.

You’ll be the first to know, I promised. She liked to tease me. Overall, I liked her. Just had to be careful around her. She was the only reporter on the local paper. Never mind that she wrote under six different pen names. The worst was Millie McGillicuddle, the nom de plume for the gossip columnist.

No sweat, Twiz. I’ve got a lead on a new girl. Didn’t know she was bi. Billie did the double bounce of raised eyebrows to show her enthusiasm, then pointed toward the front door. Going to tell me what you found inside? I’ll get it from Dom’s report in the morning, if not before.

Not until he says I can.

Roman backed out of the door, pulling on a gurney, while Dr. Harlow Stevens, the medical examiner, pushed the other end. A sheet hung over an odd shape.

In a body bag, and under a sheet? Billie shook her head and pulled out her phone. She held it sideways and snapped pics.

Do you have to, Miss Quinn?

That’s Ms. Quinn to you, Officer Sanchez. Billie’s voice hit the stern level.

Roman dropped his left eyebrow and put on his disapproving cop face.

You two behave, I growled, trying to impersonate Dom. He was the one who broke these two apart whenever they got into close proximity.

Yes, ma’am! Roman said in mock compliance. He and the coroner slid the gurney into the rear of the SUV. Doc Stevens looked like he should have been a gnome. Short and balding, with a ring of white hair around his dark dome of a head. He had come to America in the early 1900s from Australia. He had the flat nose of the Aboriginal tribesmen.

You didn’t bring a demon for me, did you, Doc? Billie teased. She was tapping away on her phone. The local interfaewebz would be buzzing with the photos she was posting. So much for waiting on Dom’s official report.

No demons this time, Ms. Quinn, Doc said with a wink. You should visit Oz and see the portal for yourself. It only burps once a week now. Mostly grade five or less come through. They are always hungry, though, so be careful. Also, watch out for snakes.

And spiders, and anything else that moves in the Outback. Billie smiled at him. They’d had this conversation many times.

Everything in the Outback is venomous and wants to eat you, Doc responded. He’d been in the US for more than a century, and his accent had mostly faded, but it came back strong whenever he talked about the Outback. You must be careful there.

No thank you. Billie laughed. We have enough snakes here in SoCal. Don’t need to go where they grow even nastier dispositions.

Doc looked my way. Any new conditions, Ms. Twist?

I shook my head. Been five years since the last time my wing shrank. Faerock was always pinging on those of us who were unlucky enough to get marked by the magic twists. Changes happened. Like my leg going askew and my left wing shrinking.

Please call me if you have any changes or symptoms. He slammed the back doors shut on his vehicle. Ladies. Officer.

So, Roman, Billie said, any official statement about who that was?

You’ll have to speak to the detective, Ms. Quinn. Roman spun on his heel but paused long enough to flash me a smile. He seemed to know that I had a bit of an interest in him. He just needed to age another half century before I’d consider him for a potential long-term relationship. Just don’t tell my mother. A marriage to Roman Sanchez wouldn’t give Mom any grandpixies. But then again, having fun between the sheets with Chaz Li, hot eligible vamp nephew, wouldn’t either.

Oh, wow! Billie elbowed me as Chaz rolled into the doorway just at the edge of the sunlight. I see why I’m not on your radar, Twiz. Yowza!

I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

She extended her hand toward Chaz. "Billie Quinn, journalist with the Chronicle. You are?"

Number 87. Chaz took her hand and gave a bemused smile.

Billie cocked her head in puzzlement.

I laughed. Chaz Li. Be careful of Billie. She is also the gossip columnist for the local paper.

Am not. Mrs. McGillicuddle would be outraged to hear you blab a falsehood like that.

She’s also the sports reporter, the crime reporter…

The everything reporter, Billie cut in. I’ll be publisher someday. Just waiting on G’Knuckles to pass in his sleep. How old do gnomes get?

Billie, like the rest of us, was careful to pronounce the G sound in both Mr. Ga-Knuckles’s name and in Ga-nomes. They were finicky about their ga sounds. The G wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t important, G’Nick G’Knuckles would say whenever he gave a tour of the Chronicle’s printing facility to young students.

Dom glanced toward the road. Another car had pulled along the curb. The driver of the high-end midnight-blue Italian sports coup with chrome accents revved the demon under the hood.

Smell that? Dom shook his head. Fancy Italian 4.5-grade demon brimstone. Smells better than our average demon brimstone. She’s got to feed that demon a lot of faerock every month.

A tall woman with stark-white hair, dressed in a dark-blue pantsuit to match her car, walked up the drive.

Detective Dom’s phone chirped. He glanced at it.

The mayor wants answers, he said.

And the wannabe mayor is coming to get them directly. Billie laughed. You’re in between two faerock boulders.

Councilwoman Sinclair. Dom inclined his head, though only slightly.

I need answers, Detective. Star Sinclair crossed her arms and drummed her manicured fingers on her suit jacket. Her nails were painted dark blue with a star field scattered across them. She glanced around, noting me, Chaz, and Billie.

Dom raised his eyebrow. For him, that was a warning shot across the bow on his otherwise placid cop face. This is still an active investigation. I’ve been on site less than an hour.

Yet you let the press in, and these bystanders! Star Sinclair’s tone told us exactly what she thought of the bystander level of onlookers.

Miss Twist was showing the home to her client, Dom’s voice dropped into the no-nonsense cop tone. They discovered the victim. Why are you here, and how did you find out about this?

The press, obviously. Star rolled her eyes and tilted her head toward Billie, who scribbled in her notepad. The image of the body being loaded hit the interfaeweb. My phone started ringing immediately. Fortunately, I only live a few blocks away. What have you discovered?

That you only live a few blocks away. Dom pulled his notepad out and jotted that down. Which one of your many rentals would that be?

Rentals. Don’t trifle with me, Detective. Star Sinclair took a step forward. She was almost as tall as Dom, even with her sneakers. Nancy and I are partners in her new venture as well as her restaurant. If she’s passed, then I need to know. Staff to manage. Lots of contracts to go over with my attorney. It’s a good thing I ran home from the restaurant to pick up papers. I never would have known about this.

I suppressed a chuckle. Sinclair, considering her other business ventures, owned perhaps the largest group of vacation rentals in St. Mo. I’d been the listing agent on several of the homes she purchased. Unfortunately, she was more a vulture that swooped in when a seller needed to move quickly. She offered the lowest amount possible. Sinclair then made a nice profit for most of the year renting to fae families for a week or so at a time, at three times what the mortgage might cost for the same month.

Dom kept his hard cop face directed at the councilwoman. He raised an arm to block her from heading inside. I’m going to close this crime scene to anyone who is not a member of the St. Maurice police force. Roman, get me two more squads here. Now.

Sinclair turned her gaze on us.

It was Nancy, wasn’t it? Although she made it sound like a question, her eyes told me she had already figured that out. She just purchased a condo downtown overlooking the bay. Why was she here?

I shrugged. The Baystreet Arms was one of the taller buildings along the waterfront. A true four stories tall. One of the two penthouse condos in the building was still listed at 1.5 million bucks. Nancy had just closed on the other for a few thousand dollars less, a couple of weeks before.

Miss Twist. I’ll come down this evening to get your statement. Dom still held his arms out. He took a step forward. All of you need to vacate the property so we can continue our investigation.

When I win the election this fall—Sinclair parked her hands on her hips and let Dom get right up to her—I will need to nominate a new chief of police. I’ll remember those who stood behind me. And those who earned my displeasure.

Considering Dom was standing in front of her, trying to make her leave, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was implying.

The election is still six months off, Councilwoman Sinclair. I have an active investigation that you are intruding on.

Fine. Do your job, Detective. She glared daggers at Dom. "I need to get to the restaurant. If what I suspect has happened did occur, I’m the sole partner capable of working tonight."

Two other squad cars pulled up at the bottom of the drive, lights flashing.

I better not see this in the paper! Sinclair stared at Billie. She spun and let her sneakers, also in dark blue with star fields speckled across them, squeak down the asphalt drive. One officer was tapping in a code on the gate, but it didn’t budge.

Harold can never remember to use his key, then enter the master gate code, Roman said.

Sinclair slapped the officer’s hand away and punched in a code. The gate rolled back, and Harold charged through once it cleared the space in front of her.

That woman! Dom shook his head. Business partners with Nancy Miller-Lloyd, leader of the Stellar Blues, on the council, and an enormous pain in my backside. He looked at me. Weren’t you on your way to show another house?

Rescheduled for tomorrow, I said, but Dom gave me his cop glare. OK, we’re going.

4

Ireleased the brake and let my little demon push the car to coast down the drive. By now, Roman had run down and used his set of cop keys to manually open the gate. He kept it open long enough for us to get through. By then, Billie Quinn was in her older model Ford compact. Even our two combined demons couldn’t produce enough brimstone to match what Star Sinclair’s car belched when she goosed the throttle and let her demon squeal her tires.

Interesting start to my life in St. Maurice. Chaz laughed, then held up his wand. Do you mind if I add a window tint spell to cut down on the sunlight?

Not at all. I waved him on with one hand. That spell doesn’t get out beyond the gnomes very often. They want the window tint business. And all the other car enhancement business.

I have reason to learn it. Chaz grinned. I called Uncle Hop to teach me after I got the bill for the windows in my condo.

I won’t complain if you make it permanent.

That’s a tad more involved than this version.

Well, hopefully we can get you into a house so you don’t have to rely on me for travel during the day. Did you want to go back to see your uncle Hop?

That would be best. I’ll see what I can do about the window spell tonight. Chaz tapped his wand on his window, then moved it in a semi-circle. The windows darkened as the wand slowly rotated. He was careful to not include the windshield in the spell. Good?

I flashed him a smile. I’ll have to check with Roman about what the local ordinance allows. Don’t need him pulling me over for too dark of a window tint.

You and he seemed to share some eye contact at the murder scene.

Just friends. I shrugged. He’s got a pleasant personality, but he’s young. My Mom wants grandpixies, and me dating a tall fae won’t give her any.

Oh.

Faerocks! I swore under my breath. Don’t mention babies to a potential date, especially not to an undead one who can’t really help with that area.

I mean, I date who I want. Babies aren’t my thing. Doc Stevens is tracking how often those of us with the faerock curse pass it on to our offspring. I don’t want that for any children.

So, you have no children. Not even pets? Or a familiar?

No pets. No familiars. I laughed. If I did have children, Mom wouldn’t let me out of the tree. I was her first, and my curse scared her so much she wouldn’t try for another.

But she wants you to try? Chaz shook his head. "What do you want?"

For Mom to stop bugging me. I gripped the steering wheel tighter but made the turn onto Pier Street. It was nice to be asked that. What did I want? I forced my grip to ease and flashed him a smile. Thanks. That was nice. Mom never asks whether I want babies. She just assumes. Want me to drop you off right at the door to the Hippodrome?

The what-o-which?

The merry-go-round building? Where we live.

Ahh… hippo for horse, drome for racetrack. Horses racing in a circle. He chuckled. Interesting name. Door is fine. Are you coming up?

Only if you need me to, I said. The restroom with the teleport pad is to the right, behind the gift shop. It’s a single use, so lock the door behind you. The spell unlocks it once you are upstairs.

Don’t the tourists get suspicious? One person enters, then disappears?

There’s a door to the gift shop inside the restroom. They’ve actually got a second restroom all to themselves, but the door is the excuse we use if a mundane notices.

I parked in front of the pier’s Hippodrome and pulled Chaz’s chair out from the trunk. While he pulled himself out of the car, I got his bags out of the back.

You sure you don’t want me to help you run these up?

Handi-capable, not handicapped, remember? He grinned and pointed at my cane. His smile drove the last of the grumps about my mother away, and my butterflies about a cute guy came rushing back. He backed his chair toward me. If you can sling the messenger bag over the handles behind, I’ll get the rolling bag. The suitcase was already on his lap, so I looped the satchel over the chair handles.

You said you live here too? he asked.

I have a small place between Mort’s and your uncle’s place.

Mort?

You’ll see when you get up there. He’s the one running the model railway that loops around the inside of the building.

I should text Uncle to let him know I’m here.

I pointed at a group of tourists heading around the building. No need.

Number 87 nephew and number one friend! Hoppy called. Be back soon. Giving tour to nice people. Everyone wave at computer nerd nephew and St. Mo’s number one Realtor!

They did as instructed, so we waved at the half a dozen tourists.

He does that to me all the time. I shook my head.

Chaz chuckled. You going to be around after sunset?

On the pier? Yep. Usually stay at the coffee shop until about six, then head down to the Double Clam for a drink and dinner.

The Double Clam?

Double Clam Shells, actually. Like a mermaid bra. Our favorite local watering hole. I shrugged. It’s under the pier. Take the ramp on the backside of the Hippodrome down to the beach level. You can’t miss it. The owner is a bit strange, but the merfolk he hires to cook are great with seafood. It’s a fae-only place, so he’ll have vamp drinks behind the bar.

Sundown’s after six tonight, Chaz said. I’ll be down, then, unless Uncle makes me stay upstairs with one of his stories.

I laughed. Hoppy likes the Double Clam. He’ll probably drag you down there.

Chaz held his hand out. I took it. His grip was firm but chilled. Vamps didn’t have normal body-warming circulation like us living folks.

Thank you. He smiled, and my butterflies started to dance again. Today wasn’t as productive as I hoped, but you’ve been a great help, Twizzle.

So… Amanda slid my caramel macchiato through the window. Was that the hot nephew? Did he ask you out?

I tapped the order screen with the end of my cane handle. Since it was actually my wand, that was how I paid for the coffee. The order pad was tied in through the interfaeweb to the local leprechaun bank. Some of my money tinkled over into the coffee shop’s account.

Noooo… My cheeks warmed. The awning over the front of the shop blocked the sun and gave me a nice shaded spot. A few tall barstools sat here, ostensibly for clients to sit at the narrow ledge if the tables were filled. But it was usually just me leaning on the bar to gossip with Amanda. I don’t date clients.

Well, hurry and sell him a house so he’s not your client any longer. She chuckled, then shook her head. Just not the one with the dead body. Wasn’t that weird, finding Ms. Miller-Lloyd like that?

You know about that, huh?

"Yep. Sally and Mal from the Double Clam stopped in for their tornados before their shift. They told me to check out what the Chronicle had posted."

Billie Quinn showed up. Took photos of Roman and Doc Stevens loading the body bag. I gave a little shiver. How’d you know it was her? They don’t release names until next of kin are notified.

Oh, that’s not the only pic she posted.

I rolled my eyes and pulled my phone out. Wait, did you just call the macchiato a tornado?

That’s what the other pixies are calling them. Said mine were good, but they want to try one from your cousin’s shop over in Wales.

I sighed. That’s Nia, she’s always been excitable. And she’s assistant manager of the shop. Only Her Grace would know why the shop owner would let her rename a caramel macchiato as a caramel tornado.

Amanda shrugged. As long as my staff and I know what they mean, they can call it whatever they want. Rent here is high enough. I need the business to keep this place in the black.

I sipped the macchiato and flicked screens on my phone to get to the Chronicle’s page. The lead headline blared Local Resident Murdered. The subhead went even further, Coven Leader Among First on the Scene. I clicked the link, and the story opened with a photo of Detective Dom confronting Star Sinclair. To one side of Dom sat Chaz, with me on the other. The house was recognizable. Everyone who paid attention would know where it occurred. And since she was the only current resident at the address, it was easy to deduce. But I didn’t remember her taking that photo.

Oh, peppermint twists! I shook my head. That Billie Quinn had her phone under her notepad, snapping pictures while none of us noticed.

Amanda leaned forward to see what was on my screen. She chuckled. Looks like Mr. Dark and Mysterious hiding in the background. You sure you want to date him?

What makes you think I want to date him?

The way your eyes lit up, and how big your smile grew when I mentioned Hoppy’s nephew. You giving up Roman for Mr. Mysterious?

What makes you think I’m interested in either?

Girl, I’ve been your friend for over ten years. Amanda shook her head. You’ve been flirting with Officer Sanchez for the last five at least.

The thunk of pier deck boards shifting interrupted our talk. I turned to see Roman Sanchez leaning out of his squad car’s window.

You’ll dive off the pier if you keep going. I waved a hand toward the ocean end of the pier. Fortunately, we didn’t have many tourists out this week, so a squad car driving onto the wooden planks wasn’t displacing many pier patrons.

Dad wanted me to come get your statement, Roman called. Got a few minutes?

I nodded and pointed at a table in front of the coffee shop.

Roman turned off his cruiser, then dropped onto the bench on the other side of the metal mesh table. A dark-blue umbrella with tan fringe along the edge shaded the part that wasn’t covered by the shop’s awning.

Thanks, Twiz. The mayor is breathing down Dad’s neck on this investigation. We want to get the basics wrapped up today. Roman pulled a leather sheath from his breast pocket. He set two crystals on the table between us, then laid a notepad in front of him.

First crystal is a recorder. He pointed with a pen. Second is a special version of a quiet gem. It hides our conversation and gives the impression we’re chatting about something else.

Those are new. I hadn’t heard of the latter type.

The chief requested some from the magic wonks at MI-13. We’re the beta testers for them. That, and MI-13 is trying to figure out what kind of magic is most likely to get twisted by the faerock. Roman tapped his pen on my cup. You got enough coffee to get through the interview?

I nodded and watched his face. Amanda was right. I had been flirting with Roman for the last few years. Most girls did. Unlike other fae, pixies were a race that courted quickly when we got serious. And by quick, I mean we might take three or four years to decide if someone was worth marrying. Tall fae, or the more human appearing, could take up to a century. I didn’t really want to wait that long to find someone special.

Twiz?

Oh, sorry. I was thinking back to finding Ms. Miller-Lloyd. Stop daydreaming and listen. Silly girl.

What time did you and Mr. Li arrive at the murder scene?

I forced myself to concentrate and answer his questions as best I could. The interview didn’t really take that long, and Roman flipped his pad shut, then tapped both crystals and slid them back into the leather case.

You going to interview her? Amanda called. All you did was talk sports.

Crystal worked. Roman winked at me, then turned back to Amanda. Can I get an iced coffee for the road?

She tapped in his order, then spun away to fill it.

Roman tapped my hand to get my attention.

So this Chastain fellow, you want me to run his background for you? Dad probably already has, just as a routine thing because you two found the deceased. I could take a peek. Make sure he’s not into anything shady.

What? No! Why?

I saw how you smiled every time he glanced your way. Roman kept his voice quiet but friendly. You’re like the big sis I never had, Twiz. I want you to be happy. And if this Chaz fellow does that for you, great. Dad and I, we look out for you.

Buck up and accept that you’re nuts over Chaz, I told myself. Admit it.

Thanks. Umm… No, you don’t have… umm… Okay… how about if you just tell me if there’s something bad? He’s Hoppy’s nephew. And I doubted they’d find anything out of the ordinary for fae. Hoppy was a good resident, and my friend. I expected his nephew to be of the same character.

Li Hop is nuts, but in a good way. Roman smiled, then rose and tapped the order tablet with his wand to pay and grab his drink. Once he was back in his squad car, he rolled the window back down and leaned out.

Just make sure I get an invitation to the wedding, okay, Twiz?

Amanda snickered, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Oh, faerocks! Both of you!

5

H ey, Mort. I dropped into the chair along the railing next to the gray cat. I looked beyond him, under the pier and out at the harbor. The sky was well into its deep-crimson sunset. Did you smack any kids today?

Mort turned his face to me and blinked. He raised a paw to wipe the sauce from his whiskers. Children. How droll. They care not for the hours I spend modeling the rail line. Fifteen hours just last week to reflock and lay static grass along the Yosemite border. Bah! His stuffy accent sounded more like a British butler than any American. Do they not see the fine little bits of scenery and detail scattered throughout the model?

You’ve been watching British shows again. I waved at Mal, the pixie server working my side of the U-shaped dining area. The bottom side of the U was the shoreward side. Each arm of the dining area faced a central lagoon in the water under the pier.

British dramas are superior to the tripe that Americans consume. Mort used a claw to spear a French fry next to the pile of breaded whitefish on his plate. He dipped the end of the French fry into the paper cup of red ketchup, then practically inhaled it.

You’ll get sick eating so fast. I shook my head as a belch erupted from him. Scaly blue wings popped out from his back. I waved my hand and tried to clear the charcoal smell from the air. Do big dragons eat that fast?

They’re all asleep, he said, pulling his paw up to wipe his whiskers again. He turned his head to either side. Are my whiskers clean?

You’re good. Hide your wings.

It’s a fae-only establishment. Mort wiggled and shivered until the mini-dragon wings half disappeared under his gray fur.

Hide your wings, silly cat. Mal zipped over and fluttered in front of me, hovering in three-inch pixie form above