I asked whether the High Fae came into the pub. Lulu gave me a crooked smile. “High Fae?” she asked. “You know. The gentry, elves, those posh gits with extradimensional castles, stone spears and unicorns.” “You mean them what step between worlds?” “Could be.” “Who walk on paths unseen and wax and wane with the moon?” “Them sort of people,” I said. “Yeah.” “Not in here, squire,” she said. “I run a respectable pub.
-Ben Aaronovitch
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