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continues to run rampant as to the cause.” A blonde lacquered woman, one of CNN’s regulars, gave the camera a professional smile. The reporter stood in front of a sidewalk where crews of workmen were sweeping up mountains of broken glass.
    The barfly next to Pia said in a voice that sounded like tumbling rocks, “Hey, gorgeous. Weren’t you taking a week of vacation? What are you doing here on your time off?”
    She glanced at the hulking, squat half troll perched on a custom-made steel stool. On his feet, he slouched at eight feet tall with pale gray skin and a thatch of black hair that refused to lie down. “Hey, Preston,” she said. “Yeah, I’m still off. I just need to talk to Quentin for a minute.”
    Preston was one of Elfie’s regulars. He declared he lived life on his own terms. A freelance computer programmer, he worked from home during the day and warmed the bar stool at Elfie’s at nights. He drank like a fish and occasionally acted as volunteer bouncer when things got dicey. “You know it’s a bad sign when you can’t leave work at work, honey,” he grunted as he slurped down a tall Coke glass filled with scotch.
    “It’s a curse,” she agreed. Pulled by an invisible string, her gaze drifted back up to the overhead screen. She watched in equal parts fascination and horror.
    “Quentin went somewhere about twenty minutes ago,” the half-breed troll told her. “Said he’d be right back.”
    She nodded as the CNN reporter continued. “. . . Meanwhile public officials confirm that the origin of the event occurred some distance from Cuelebre Tower on Fifth Avenue, in a local park near Penn Station. Cuelebre Enterprises has released a press statement claiming responsibility for the unfortunate ‘research and development accident.’ We now go to Thistle Periwinkle, PR director for Cuelebre Enterprises and one of the more famous spokespersons from the Elder Races.” The scene cut to a small figure surrounded by reporters in front of Cuelebre Tower’s polished chrome and marble veneer.
    The crowd at the bar broke into two-fingered whistles, scattered stamping and applause. “ WOOT! ” “Faerie Barbie—yes!” “My GIRL !”
    The petite figure wore a pale pink business suit that accentuated an hourglass figure with a tiny waist. Standing close to five foot ten, Pia always felt like a galumphing horse when she saw the faerie on television. Cuelebre’s famous public mouthpiece wore her fluffy lavender hair in a chic flipped-up bob. She wrinkled her tilted nose with a sympathetic smile as a dozen microphones were thrust in her face.
    “God, she’s hot.” Preston heaved a sigh. “What I wouldn’t give for a chance at that.”
    Pia gave the huge craggy male a quick glance and scratched at the back of her head. The fact that the cutesy faerie was Cuelebre Enterprises’ PR spokesperson always seemed manipulative to her. Look at how nice and friendly and safe we are, oh my.
    The faerie held up a delicate hand. As soon as the shouting quieted, she began to speak. “This will be just a brief statement today. We’ll follow up later with more details as we better understand the situation. Cuelebre Enterprises regrets any inconvenience this incident has caused the good people of New York and promises a prompt resolution to any and all property damage claims.” The faerie’s gamine smile died. She looked dead-on into the lens of the camera, her normally merry expression grim. “Rest assured that Cuelebre is using every resource available to conduct a full investigation. He gives you his personal guarantee that what caused today’s incident will be taken care of swiftly and decisively. There will never be another occurrence.”
    So much for cutesy. The crowd of reporters around the faerie stilled. In the bar the constant burr of noise died. Even Rupert stopped serving drinks.
    Someone nearby said, “Damn. Did that twee little chick just pull off scary?”
    On the wide-screen the scene erupted