by R. J. Blain
Burn, Baby, Burn
A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)
RJ Blain
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
This one is for all of you lovers of fire-breathing unicorns.
Chapter One
Approximately four months following the events of Playing with Fire…
Bailey
I loved Quinn, but if I didn’t get a full night of sleep soon, someone would die. I gave it even odds on which one of us would bite the bullet. I’d either expire from his drive to prove he was the perfect man, or I’d snap, pop a few transformatives, and shove my horn so far up his ass it would take a surgeon to separate us.
Come hell or high water, I’d enjoy a full eight hours of sleep. No, I’d enjoy twelve, not my current three to four. Not only would I enjoy my rest, I’d have a great time securing it, too.
Quinn loved the chase. It made him feel important, feeding his ego and adding extra spring in his step. The smug incubus-in-disguise didn’t need any more damned spring in his step. He needed to be sedated, tucked into bed, and used as a quiet but sexy pillow.
Damn it. That was the entire issue.
Neither one of us had an off switch, and Quinn viewed it as his personal mission in life to fill my every craving. The months since our haphazard marriage had changed nothing.
When he walked into the room, my panties spontaneously combusted.
I checked out the bedroom window to make certain he’d taken his cruiser to work. He had.
Excellent.
The snow would screw with my plans for a while, but I’d make do. I wouldn’t use my stash of transformatives until I reached somewhere a lot warmer and dryer. I’d eliminate Las Vegas from my bucket list first. If my tall, dark, and handsome failed to find me there, I’d head to California.
All I needed to do was confirm my partner-in-crime still wanted to haul ass across the United States. Using the day-old phone I’d purchased with cash, I called Tiffany.
She answered on the second ring. “Your man’s cruising your block, and he’s got mine in the car with him. If we want to bust out of this joint sometime today, you need to encourage them to leave. Why does he insist on prowling your block for twenty minutes every damned morning?”
“The same reason there are transformatives stashed in every room in the house, Perkette. It’s also the same reason he ripped out a perfectly good fireplace and installed a new one. He’s insane.”
“Bailey, we’ve talked about this before. He’s not insane. He loves you. Now, go text him on your other phone and give him the list of things we picked for clues. After you’re done, we’ll wait for your chief to pull over, read your message, and head to work. If all goes to plan, he’ll be distracted by your requests and fail to notice anything amiss.”
However much it pained me to admit it, Tiffany was right. Whenever I asked for anything, Quinn went overboard catering to me. I sighed. “He’s worse than a puppy.”
“It’s so difficult handling a loving man. Mine needs some excitement in his life, too. That’s what we’re doing. We’re giving them some excitement for Christmas.”
“Or signing up for a divorce.”
“The cretins need the time off anyway. If it takes them two weeks to find us, they obviously need to brush up on their detective skills. Have you sent him the list yet?”
“Working on it, working on it,” I muttered, pulling up the note I’d meticulously typed out, copying it to a text message. “He’s going to think I’ve lost my mind. Who asks for an indoor rose plant, not for eating? I had to specify, Perkette. If I don’t, he gets too much. Last time, he bought three dozen roses, and he made certain they were food quality.”
“You specified the color, right? That’s important.”
“Yes, yes. I specified eleven orange roses, not for eating, and I indicated I’d like to plant them outside eventually. I also asked for a single red rose, too. Also not for eating.”
“You have to admit you have issues with his rose bushes, Bailey.”
“I have issues, period.”
“That, too.”
I sighed. “Do you think he’ll figure it out?”
“Maybe your man will need help, but mine is a mad scientist freak with a puzzle fetish. They’ll be fine. Just make sure you’re ready to roll and read from the script if he calls you on the house line.”
I texted that I had work to do and would have my phone off for a while before I killed the device and tossed it under the couch for safekeeping. “I told him I had work.”
His inability to reach me would drive him home right on time, which would begin the hunt, as he’d begin searching for me within five minutes of discovering I’d given him the slip.
I hoped he liked the effort I’d put into wrapping his first clue, an old Elvis vinyl and a record player for his enjoyment.
“Bailey?”
“Phone is off. I’m about to stage the box. Did Perky leave your car in the garage this morning?”
“I already parked it in the neighbor’s garage and gave her the keys. Your man’s baby will be safe. Don’t forget the card or your bag.”
“I won’t.”
“And definitely don’t forget the saddle, bridle, or transformatives.”
“I won’t. Have they left yet?”
“No, but Mr. Police Chief just pulled into a driveway around the corner from your house. If he heads to work, we’ll know he’s taken the bait.”
How had I let Perkette talk me into her special brand of insanity?
Oh, right. I missed sleep.
Quinn
My phone beeped, and I glanced at the device. While Bailey often messaged me to reassure herself, she usually waited longer than ten minutes. Our morning routine hadn’t changed; she’d crawled out of bed with the same general liveliness of a half-dead slug while I’d kept a close eye on her until she finished her shower. Rewarding her with kisses for restoring her base ability to function had earned me a hefty dose of her contentment.
All in all, she’d been more energetic than usual.
“You may as well pull over, Sam. I know that’s Bailey’s text tone. If you don’t, you’ll fret.”
Some days, partnering with Perkins gave me a headache. “Why am I driving you to work again?”
“Tiffany wanted to move to Queens, I don’t have a cruiser today, and she wanted the car. As you’re so compassionate—and you didn’t want me to be late getting to work—you agreed to drive me in. Just pull over before she calls—or decides to take the convertible for a joy ride and tail you today.”
She would. She’d done it twice, and it amazed me that my car had survived. The third time, I’d endured her at her worst, running around a late fall Manhattan on four hooves, determined to make certain I stayed out of trouble. Cindercorns didn’t handle cold weather well, and she’d about scared the life out of me after reversing back to human. It had taken hours for her to warm back up, and she’d suffered from symptoms of hypothermia for several days before recovering.
Her ability to attract catastrophe sent me to work early to do a sweep of the neighborhood. I ne
ver found any trouble, but I felt better for putting in the effort. Once I checked to make certain I couldn’t see the house, I pulled into someone’s driveway to check my phone.
A ten item wish list waited for me, and every request puzzled me. “I love my wife, but she’s a little weird sometimes, Perkins.”
“A little? She turns into a fire-breathing unicorn with a meat fetish and views sunshine as a mode of transportation. She defines weird. What does she want? She’s usually too shy to ask you for anything, leaving you to make guesses. Outside of a photo of you shirtless and wearing a suit for her, has she asked for anything for Christmas?”
“I think she just did? Maybe?”
“Hit me with it. What does she want?”
“Eleven orange rose bushes and one red one. She’s made a note they’re not for her consumption.”
“Orange roses?” Perkins fetched his phone. “Well, symbolically, they might mean she either wants you in bed or she’s enthusiastic about something. Oh, that’s interesting. Eleven implies you’re her treasure. That’s surprisingly sweet coming from her. One red rose is easy. She loved you from the moment she saw you.”
“Perkins, don’t you have this backwards? She’s asking me to give them to her.”
“This is Bailey we’re talking about here. She’d probably choke on her tongue trying to admit any of this out loud. I kept the picture of when she blurted she loved you at the station. Remember what happened? She locked herself in the bathroom for two hours. Amanda’s positive she heard Bailey moaning about how her life was over and she’d made a mess of everything again.”
I sighed. I loved my wife, but Perkins was right. She defined weird. “You think she’s trying to tell me that this way?” I smiled, shook my head, and laughed. “All right. She would. We’ve only been married a few months. She’ll figure it out soon.”
I hoped. If she didn’t, I might go insane.
“What else is on the list?”
“A trip to a car dealership to look around.”
“Well, it’s about time on that front. She drives the convertible like a little old lady afraid of the speed limit.” Shaking his head, Perkins joined me in laughing. “Get her a big truck. She’ll feel safe in it.”
I checked her list, and the next item worried me. Sober, Bailey was a handful. When exposed to napalm, she turned into a building-wrecking menace. What would happen if I gave her alcohol? “The recipe for a rather large margarita is next on the list.”
“Does she even drink?”
“Not often. Last time she had anything to drink, she was out with your wife and came home traumatized.”
“My wife is very talented at traumatizing people and making them like it. I’m sorry Tiffany traumatized Bailey again. I’m impressed, though. She got Bailey to drink something?”
“Bailey said she needed the drink to take the edge off.”
“Tiffany was probably committing a misdemeanor again.”
“Probably. Maybe Bailey wants me to drink half of it with her?”
“Drinking half would be the gentlemanly thing to do and might save her from alcohol poisoning. What else is she after?”
“A new pillow, pajamas, a necklace as badass as she is—her words, for the record. I think she was running out of ideas, as the rest is new pieces of tack listed individually. She claims I feed her too much. As such, her old set is pinching.”
“The tack will be hard to get in time for Christmas, but the other stuff is feasible. Have you told her about the proposal yet?”
I grimaced. After I had married Bailey, the CDC had started looking into every option possible to unload my wife onto the NYPD, and the NYPD had taken to the idea with disturbing enthusiasm. “Not yet. I’m worried how she’ll take her reclassification. She’s convinced the CDC is going to poke her some more. The proposal to work for the NYPD might break her brain for a few weeks.”
“Everyone at work already knows.”
“I know.” I sighed at her final message, which informed me she’d have her phone off for the rest of the day. “It looks like her asshole boss has her scheduled in for today, too.”
“Do you think she’ll make a good chief?”
I knew she would—if I could convince her to give the job a shot. “We’re going to find out, and when she freaks out, I’m going to tell her it’s her fault for tailing me at work while wearing her fur coat. I should be grateful she’s figured out how to reverse the transformation on her own.”
It had taken me tripping over my own feet and spraining my ankle to do it, but once her panic had worn off, something had clicked in her head, and with a little effort, she could force herself to change back to human. She still needed a transformative to become a full unicorn, but I’d caught her with a pair of horse ears once trying to gain full control over her shapeshifting abilities.
I, rather wisely in my opinion, hadn’t told anyone she might be able to transform into a cindercorn without the help of transformatives.
Perkins sighed. “You have to give the commissioner credit; if she’s partnered with you, it’ll take an army to get near you. Say what you will about the Calamity Queen, but when it comes to you, she’ll set the world on fire to keep you safe.”
“Or a chunk of Wall Street.”
“No one in Manhattan is stupid enough to piss her off after that.”
I snorted, fighting my smile over my wife’s antics. “She braided my grandfather’s snakes last week because he wouldn’t let us participate in an adoption match.”
“As prospective parents?”
“Temporary foster, but she’s got a soft heart for the kids. My grandfather thought Bailey would be too vicious, and if I join a match, everyone will back out because of my rank. It’s unfair. Bailey also thinks it’s unfair as she’s eager and able to beat anyone who even thinks about hurting a kid. She hasn’t said anything yet about wanting kids, but she’s been eyeing her birth control in the morning. As far as I can tell, she’s debating between lighting it on fire or tossing it in the trash can. I’m not even sure if she’s using it right now at all. I try not to pry.”
“She’s something else. She really hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask you about kids? She doesn’t even need birth control with you. You can control your own fertility—and hers.”
“She feels better about herself when she’s responsible about when we become parents. She has so many self-esteem problems I can’t undermine the work she’s doing—and she’s gaining confidence in that department, at least.”
“Still. I’m worried about her. Maybe you need to make the first move?”
I shook my head. “It took her months to work up the nerve to ask for presents, Perkins. I’ve already gotten things for her, but she’s mortified even asking me to pick up groceries. She’ll get there. She’s already improving, but it takes time for someone to get over what she’s been through.”
I suspected most of her hesitation involved old, buried trauma involving her asshole parents.
She’d spent her entire life believing nobody wanted her in the world, and she struggled to come to terms with how she was my everything.
Perkins snorted. “We need to work on her self-esteem issues.”
“We?”
“You have met your wife, right? You’re going to need all the help you can get. Did she include the measurements for her new tack?”
“She did.”
“Since when has Bailey ever made things easy on you?”
“I’m definitely worried about that,” I admitted, praying she hadn’t found some new way to scare the life out of me.
Bailey
I had time to second, triple, and quadruple guess our plan to escape life for a while before Perkette confirmed our husbands had abandoned their morning sweep to go to work.
“They talked for longer than I expected,” Perky’s wife muttered. “It’s likely Arthur’s fault. He’s a thinker, and when he’s done thinking, he starts talking.”
“He has a name other than
Perky?”
“When he’s been bad or has to sign legal papers. Some people even call him Officer Perkins so they lower their chances of being arrested.”
“I’m still trying to figure out how a doctor became a cop,” I admitted.
“The same way you married one of the hottest men in Manhattan. He sucked at being a doctor but makes one hell of a good cop.”
“I don’t see how him sucking at being a doctor relates to Quinn marrying me. I was a good barista, damn it!”
“You’d make a better cop, and no matter what people tell you, you’re a shitty CDC contractor because you hate being a living janitor. You want something more, and we both know it. My man’s a much better cop because he feels like he makes more of a difference.”
Understanding stabbed me deep in the chest. “He lost patients.”
Cops lost battles all the time. Sometimes, they arrived too late to the scene of the crime, stuck with solving a murder when they’d wanted nothing more than to prevent the death. Sometimes, there was just nothing they could do to change circumstances, but I respected their drive to make a real difference.
Doctors waged a daily battle, and they lost as often as they won. Doctors faced death far more frequently than cops did.
“The first time he lost a kid in the ER, I knew he wouldn’t last long as a doctor. Part of his soul died that day. I saw an ad for forensics work, so I left it on his desk. He is who he is, so he went all in and became a cop. He didn’t want to solve the mystery in a lab. He wanted to get his hands dirty trying to save the world. He’s doing work he takes pride in now. That’s what you need, too. After you get some sleep and we force our men to join us on an adventure, of course.”