He grinned. “That’s because pixies are ever-after. We’re magic, baby. Just ask Matalina.

Do you have a sleeping bag?” I stared at him. “No. I lost it in the great salt-dip of ’06.

[Jenks]"I think you're all screwy in the head," he said when Bis nodded his encouragement. "But go ahead. I've got Quen's number in my phone. I'll call him if you both explode in a flash of black underwear and money so I won't have to fly all the way home.

He grinned. “That’s because pixies are ever-after. We’re magic, baby. Just ask Matalina.

The gentle sound of her words became the shushing of my blood in my head, and I listened, hovering on the edge of consciousness, bathed in the oblivion of whatever drug they had given me.

I think she suspects something, though. We’ve had cherry pie for dessert five nights in a row.” His voice drawled, and my smile deepened.

Like the end of a picnic, all the weenies will be roasted.