She shakes her head again, and flecks of golden glitter fall from her russet hair. But unlike real glitter that gets everywhere and is impossible to get rid of, hers simply evaporates in the air. Whatever just shimmered off of her was … organic. “Pixie dust?” I say out loud, lifting my fingers to her hair. The scientist in me wants to bottle it up and take it back to the university to give to some of the microbiologists to study. But then Polina turns to snatch my hand in hers. My heart catches in my throat as she stares at me with her dark, cold eyes. “Yes,” she says carefully, her voice low
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