I smile wider and brush my thumb against her cheek, "I want to make you a demi-god. It's possible to do that...But hard. I wont do it without your permission." I say, sighing.
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
"Excuse me," I said, smoothly, walking towards the two. Children - those Vincent had spoken to me about - chased each other around two other people's legs. They looked at me, startled. In a dark suit with matching breifcase, sunglasses, white hair carefully combed, I must have looked like some creepy lawyer to them. "I'd hate to interrupt, but I've been waiting a while to speak to you. It's about the children."
"Excuse me," I apologized. "That must have been abrupt. Here." I handed the guy who had spoken a pristine white business card. "Azrael," he read. "An undertaker?" "Well, I'm also a lawyer," I said, adjusting my sunglasses. "I deal in that which concerns the gods. A prophecy was ordained about the children, and I bear the message.
“Such nonsense!" declared Dr Greysteel. "Whoever heard of cats doing anything useful!"
"Except for staring at one in a supercilious manner," said Strange. "That has a sort of moral usefulness, I suppose, in making one feel uncomfortable and encouraging sober reflection upon one's imperfections.” — Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
