I love urban fantasy because it makes anything possible right here, right now. I realized this as my husband and I walked home from my cousin's house. We paused to speak to a gorgeous woman who could have been Eshu (harkening back to my White Wolf days [and look, totally sauced, I still found yahs a link]--think African storytelling fae) and sidhe/shee by the look of her, or Eshu and pooka, by my desire to have at least one good pooka showing up at any time. The dark woods nearby most certainly held sluagh (or an urban gang of young werewolves for those not following me and my love for fae). Near the bottom of my hill is a house that can't decide if it's a Cape or a Tudor, and there is most certainly something magical going on within. Two houses up from that is a brick Victorian that has definite opinions about its new occupants, though it hasn't shared them with me.
Considering all this I thought, "And any black car that passes might be a horse in its natural form." Sure enough, a black car slowly rolled down the street.
There was a world of mythic possibility just avoiding ice patches a few blocks on the way home from a party. I like to see that world reflected in what I read.