“Well… not in so many words.”
“So many words? How many words do you need to say ‘yes, I had wings’ or ‘no, I didn’t?'”
“That would be three to four,” he snarked, eyebrows line-dancing across a peaked forehead.
“‘Yes, I had wings’… four words,” his thin black fingers spider-walking up my arm. “‘No, I didn’t.’ Three words.”
I backed up two steps. “Did you or did you not have wings?”
Black fingertips tapped, tapped, tapped together. “I both have and don’t have.”
Reaching back, he did something and his left-wing, shimmering black and cold, separated from his shoulder-blade. He tucked the wing under one arm, reached back and divested himself of the right-wing also.
Why do I need this job? I waved him and his fellow winged-or-non-winged Aos Si inside, glad to see the back sides of those particular Sidhe.
Another long night. Another long line out side The Haunted Onion.