"What were they wearing, Bittersweet?"
"Plastic," she said, at last.
"What do you mean, 'plastic'?" Lucy asked.
"Clear plastic like you wrap leftover food in."
"You mean they wore plastic wrap?"
She shook her head. "They had plastic over their hair and clothes, and their hands."
I watched Lucy and her partner both fight not to give away the fact that the news excited them. This bit of description must help explain something at the crime scene, which gave credence to Bittersweet's statement. "What color was the plastic?"
I sipped my tea and tried not to draw attention to myself. Frost, Doyle, and I were here because Bittersweet trusted us to keep her out of the clutches of the human police. She trusted as most of the lesser fey did that the nobles of her court would be noble. We would try. Lucy had insisted that Doyle sit on the couch with me rather than looming over them. So I sat on the couch between the two of them. Frost had even moved from the couch arm to the actual couch, so he wouldn't loom either.
"It had no color," Bittersweet said, and whispered something in Robert's ear. He reached carefully to bring the china teacup up so she could drink from it. It was large enough for her to bathe in.
"Do you mean," asked Lucy, "that it was colorless?"
"That is what I said," and she sounded a little more irritated. Was it glamour, which the demi-fey were very, very good at, that gave an edge of bee buzzing to her words?
"So you could see their clothes underneath the plastic?"
She seemed to think about that, then nodded.
"Can you describe the clothes?"
"Clothes, they were clothes, squished behind the plastic." She rose suddenly upward, her clear dragonfly wings buzzing around her like a moving rainbow halo. "They are big people. They are humans. They all look alike to me." The high angry buzzing was louder, like an undercurrent to her words.