“Stratosphere,” Mae whispered.
Tori laughed loudly. “How can you possibly live on the thirty-sixth floor and have an issue with heights?”
“Because I’m Fae. Buildings are different. I can be up high if it’s enclosed and solid. My balcony is fine because my witchy-bitches made sure that nobody is going to go careening over the edge. The Stratosphere, however, has no such guarantee. And it fucking sways.”
“Don’t give her shit,” Ryn chided, poking Tori in the side. “You hate heights too. How many times have you demanded that we move to the bat cave, as you put it? And you hate flying.”
“Damn right, I hate flying,” Tori barked.
“All Fae do,” Mae added. “If I were meant to fly, I’d be an Angel or a pelican, or if I were super-old, a pterodactyl. I would not be a giant metal cigar with unflappable wings. Because, I promise you, if shit goes wrong, this bitch will be flapping.”
Faetal Illusion (late 2013)