Burn, Baby, Burn

by R. J. Blain

  “I’ll take care of it and have the details sent to your phone along with where you can pick up the prescription in Las Vegas. It’s so much fun when mortals tell the divine they’re doing their job wrong. I look forward to seeing Anubis’s face when I tell him a mortal has better sense than he does.”

  I bet he would. “Thank you for taking care of Bailey.”

  “Always, my little grandson. Always. And you should be proud of yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “It takes a lot of courage for a man like you to let your bride find her strength and truly fly. We’re proud of you both.”

  My grandfather hung up, and I stared at the display for a long time, my brows furrowing as I considered his words.

  “Everything okay, Sam?”

  I pocketed my phone and smiled, and some of the tightness in my chest eased. “Yeah, Perkins. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  We’d make everything fine one way or the other.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bailey

  Tiffany raided a gas station for several gallons of diesel, mixed it with neutralizer and a bunch of other ingredients she’d gotten at a grocery store and a hardware store, and stirred it together in a bucket while whistling a merry tune. After sealing the concoction in the bucket, she then drove me to the nearest FBI resident agency, located in Little Rock, Arkansas.

  “This is going to be a disaster,” I predicted. “Shouldn’t we have gone to the police station first? We have a sealed container of napalm in the trunk. We’re going to die from gas fumes.”

  “We’re not going to die from gas fumes. I used a practitioner trick to seal the bucket. It’ll be fine. Anyway, the FBI will confirm your rank and get any badges you need here. This is a major agency. I could’ve taken you to a closer agency, but this one will have the ability to give you a Federal badge until we can get your NYPD badge shipped in. And since they’re giving you a broad jurisdiction, running you with an FBI badge makes sense. Of course, they might just ask a cop to run a police badge over, but it’d be for the wrong state. If you’re really lucky, they’ll ask an angel or demon to teleport to New York to fetch your real badge.”

  I stared at the building while Perkette drove up to the gate. The guard watched us with interest while she leaned through the window to speak to him. “I’m Tiffany Perkins, and this is Police Chief Bailey Quinn of the NYPD. We need to see someone about a badge replacement and a jurisdiction issue. It’s about a missing police officer taken out of state.”

  I had to give Perkette credit; she sounded like she meant business, and her tone implied she wouldn’t be accepting no for an answer.

  “Any weapons in the vehicle?”

  “No, sir. We have two animals, a husky and an ocelot. Chief Quinn has a temporary permit issued through the CDC while waiting for an official card.”

  While I thought a bucket of napalm counted as a weapon, I kept my mouth shut. Technically, it wasn’t a weapon, and it wouldn’t even ignite without a lot of help. Then the reality of Perkette’s statement punched me in the gut.

  I doubted I’d ever get used to anyone calling me Chief Quinn. I fought the urge to twist in my seat to look for Quinn despite knowing he wasn’t with us.

  The guard pointed at a nearby lot. “Park there, go inside the building, and speak to the security desk.”

  Perkette saluted the guard, waited for the gate to lift, and parked where told. “See? It’s easy to get through when you know what to say and you have the right rank. And the FBI takes badge replacements seriously. Toss in a missing officer, and they’ll be dancing to your tune in minutes.”

  “More like dancing to your tune,” I muttered, gathering up Avalanche and making sure she was swaddled in her new blanket. The kitten yawned and resumed her nap. Perkette grabbed Blizzard’s leash, and while the puppy preferred me, he wagged his tail and heeled like I’d been trying to teach him whenever I got to take him on a walk. “Good boy!”

  He beat Perkette’s leg with his tail.

  The gate guard must have called security about us, as the two men behind the huge desk in the lobby watched us like hawks from the moment we stepped through the doors until we reached them. I set my kitten on the ledge, grabbed my wallet, and tossed my license onto the polished surface. “I’m Bailey Quinn, and I need to get a temporary badge issued. I also need to work with the FBI about a missing officer.”

  The older man, with gray streaking at his temples and a name tag that declared his name to be Eric, picked up my license. “Rank?”

  “NYPD Police Chief,” I replied, wondering how the hell I’d become my husband’s equal.

  “I’ve heard of a Chief Quinn, but he’s a man,” the guard said, taking my license and looking it over. “No disrespect meant, ma’am, but you’re not a man.”

  “That Police Chief Quinn is my husband. I’m not offended. I’m the Police Chief Quinn who transforms into a fire-breathing unicorn.”

  Both guards stopped what they were doing to stare at me.

  “You’re the cindercorn from the 120 Wall Street incident,” Eric said.

  Damn it. Had everyone heard about that? I sighed. “That’s me.”

  “You weren’t a uniformed officer during that incident. Welcome to the force, Chief Quinn. Former CDC specialist?”

  I sighed. “Thank you, I think. And yes. I worked for the CDC, and the NYPD somehow hoodwinked them out of my contract.”

  “I’d say the NYPD made out like bandits to get someone like you batting for them. All right. You’re going to need some special handling; you have clearance flags most chiefs lack, so you need a special badge issued. There is one already made for you in New York, so we may be able to send a teleporter to retrieve it. Please come with me.” Eric stood and gestured towards the bank of elevators behind him. “Have you been evaluated before?”

  “Through the CDC.”

  “What’s your rating?”

  “I’m sure one day they’ll bother to tell me rather than filing shit on my behalf,” I muttered.

  Eric chuckled. “The FBI has a history of doing that to us, too. Sometimes, they don’t tell us we’re cleared because we don’t need to know. We find out when they think we need to know.”

  “If I need to know, I’m sure someone will tell me. I suspect I have whatever rating is the minimum for working as a chief. They haven’t removed my vanilla rating from my licenses yet.”

  “Vanilla? They called someone who can transform into a cindercorn vanilla?”

  “Cheaper labor that way.”

  “Ouch. And I thought the FBI could be ruthless at times. That’s just harsh.”

  I nodded my agreement. To my dismay, Eric swiped his security pass inside the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor before leaving Tiffany and I to fend for ourselves. “Someone will meet you in reception,” he said, and the doors closed before I had a chance to thank him.

  “I feel like I’ve been invited to dinner, and the host is a cat.” I sighed. “And I can’t transform because I’ll drop my kitten.”

  “You don’t need to be a unicorn for this, Bailey. You’ll be fine. They’re not arresting you. They’re helping you.”

  The elevator dinged, and the door opened. I stepped out, and flash of golden light startled me into spinning around. I sucked in a breath as I almost crashed right into Quinn’s grandfather. “Devil angel,” I hissed, clutching my kitten closer. “We meet again.”

  He hooked a finger into the blanket to reveal Avalanche. “When you get something into your pretty head, you go in all the way, I see. You found a lovely ocelot.” He stroked the kitten’s head, and she nuzzled the angel. “You’ve done well by her. A little malnourished still, but otherwise healthy. I thought you would like to know.”

  Relief washed through me. “Thank you, Sylvester. I got a cold rescuing her, too. What are you doing here?”

  “I am your pet sitter, and I’m also volunteering to teleport to fetch your badge, as you will need it, and getting a new
one made would cost you valuable hours.”

  “I would hug you, but I’m holding the kitten.” I bounced and nodded at Blizzard. “That’s Blizzard, and he’s Quinn’s puppy.”

  “Hello, Blizzard,” my angelic grandfather-in-law greeted.

  Blizzard sat and held out his paw to shake. The angel chuckled but obeyed the puppy’s wishes while Tiffany snapped pictures with her phone.

  “Excuse me,” the receptionist said. He was an older gentleman in a suit with a badge hanging from his neck proclaiming him to be a member of the FBI. “Which one of you is Chief Quinn?”

  As my grandfather-in-law had already been hired as a pet sitter, I handed him Avalanche. “Defend her with your immortal life,” I ordered before strolling to the desk, arming myself with my driver’s license. “I’m Bailey Quinn. Sorry to be a bother, sir.”

  “It’s no bother. It’s admirable you’re coming out of vacation to join the search for your missing officer. We need to do some paperwork for your badge retrieval, although I see we have already acquired an angel. That’ll simplify things.”

  “He’s an in-law, and I’m abusing my granddaughter-in-law privileges. I’m a wayfinder, so the sooner I can get the paperwork filed and jurisdiction issues settled, the faster I’m on the road.”

  “Yes, I have a note here I’m to have you fill out jurisdiction forms for the entirety of the United States excluding Hawaii, Alaska, and territories. If you need to go to Hawaii or Alaska, come to any FBI building to fill out the forms. I’ve a note I’m to issue you a firearm as well.”

  “Are all secretaries as badass as you are?” Had I missed a better calling? The FBI secretary seemed like he could probably kick my ass given any justification.

  Sylvester laughed, and as always, I relaxed despite knowing the angel found me and my thoughts amusing.

  “I’m actually in management, and since you were on the way, I let the actual secretary go take a break. She’ll be back in a few minutes. If you’d follow me, I’ll take you to the conference room, and we’ll get this show on the road. I’m Alfred, and no, I’m not a butler, nor do I have access to a cave full of special gadgets and crime-fighting tools.”

  “But is your last name Pennyworth?”

  “Much to my eternal shame, anguish, and dismay, yes.”

  Poor bastard. “Are you English?”

  “I was born here, but my father’s British. My mother’s American,” he replied, guiding us through a maze of hallways to a spacious conference room with a massive table. A tall stack of papers waited.

  “That’s a lot of paperwork.” If it was anything like the CDC’s forms, I’d be hard at work filling it out for hours.

  “You have to read it, you don’t have to fill it out. Someone is printing the real forms now. It’ll take a few minutes, but we’re digitally populating the fields from what we have in your file. You just need to know what your jurisdiction rights are for every state.”

  “I’m going to need a digital cheat sheet,” I muttered.

  “Conveniently for you, we have one of those. Still, it’s protocol, so bear with it. We’ll be done in no time. It looks like a lot, but we can churn through this in an hour. That’s about how long it’ll take to get your firearm issued.”

  Damn it. There was another secret about to fly right out of the window and strut its stuff for the world to see. I hadn’t told anyone I’d been practicing at the range at the start of most shifts. Perkette only knew about my bomb work because I’d needed her help with the schematics.

  Perkette grabbed a seat and raised her hand. “I’ll need a firearm and carry permits.”

  “You need tossed into the nearest jail, too,” Alfred muttered, taking a seat across the table from the stack of papers.

  “So you’ve seen my file.”

  “The first thing I did when security notified me was to check your files. You hold the record in the United States for most unique misdemeanors collected.”

  “Have I hit the world record for them yet? I have ambitions. What sort of interesting misdemeanors could I collect here?”

  “All crimes committed in an FBI building typically classify as a felony,” he replied.

  “You’re ruining my fun,” Perkette complained. “I’m going to need a firearm. Don’t give the fire-breathing unicorn one. She’s useless with a gun. Her husband is going to have fun sharpening her skills. She’s really not a chief because she’s handy with firearms. She’s great at demolition and explosives, though. If you have a bomb you need defused, she’s your woman. She’s also an excellent bodyguard for the other Chief Quinn.”

  I sighed and bowed my head. Once we were back in New York, I’d need to drag Perkette to the range and kick her ass in a marksmanship contest. She could shoot a gun; Perky had taught her. I’d been practicing for at least three days a week for an hour a session, and I’d come prepackaged with, according to my instructors, a freakish amount of natural talent with a firearm. “Please ignore everything she’s saying.”

  “You’ve probably never touched a gun in your life, Bailey. It’s okay to be useless with a gun, but they’re dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  I was not useless with a gun. I could hit the target every time on a full clip. I understood why she had the opinion she did, however. I tended to glare at Quinn’s gun when he came home because mine usually made my hands and ears hurt after an hour of practicing at the range.

  She likely assumed my general dislike for guns meant I couldn’t use one.

  “I was unaware Chief Quinn needed a body guard.” Alfred checked his phone. “He has a very low number of incidents where it was deemed his life was at risk.”

  “His predecessor was murdered, and the NYPD is targeted at a higher rate than typical law enforcement,” Perkette replied. She pulled out her phone to tap at the screen, and a few moments later, she slid the device across the table. “Statistics from your own agency’s website.”

  “You’re an insufferable know-it-all, aren’t you?”

  Sylvester set Avalanche on the table and sat beside her. I didn’t blame him for sitting on the table, as I doubted he enjoyed cramming his wings against the back of a chair. The angel chuckled and gestured to Perkette’s phone. “She is a fountain of wisdom should you choose to listen to her. While she has opinions about Chief Quinn’s experience with a firearm, one should still be issued to her. Her officer might find it useful.”

  Sneaky, tricky angel. I admired how he said nothing but the truth but allowed Perkette to maintain her beliefs.

  “Noted. Can you handle the acquisition of her badge?”

  “I will handle the acquisition of the badge and attire for her missing officer. I will return shortly.” Sylvester vanished in a flash of golden light.

  “But I haven’t…” Alfred sighed. “Angels.”

  “Angels are assholes,” I agreed. “He’ll do what needs done, and then he’ll return and be annoyingly smug over it. That’s what angels do. Let’s get through this, shall we? What specific jurisdiction issues will I have to worry about?”

  “Due to your special circumstances, you’ll be considered a liaison between the FBI, police, and the CDC. Your CDC ranking and certifications qualify you, and considering the nature of your situation, it’s best if you have joint jurisdiction in case there’s any destruction of property. You, ma’am, are a master at destroying property. Your jurisdiction allowances will let us avoid liability issues.”

  I groaned. “Burn down a building just once, and no one forgets it. It was a sanctioned destruction!”

  “It was also exceptionally effective and minimized cleanup. Should we require a demolition due to gorgon dust or another toxin of its scale, we intend to repeat that method of demolition. The CDC has already begun attempts to negotiate with wild cindercorns. The plan is to offer suitable housing and environmental care for their species in exchange for igniting the highest grades of napalms. Phoenixes are far more inclined for mass destruction than cindercorns. It might even
save them from extinction.”

  “You mean they can’t fly and have to limit what they can reach by hoof,” I muttered. As I was well aware cindercorns were on a collision course with extinction, I kept my opinions on the downsides of bringing cindercorns among humans to myself.

  They likely viewed humans as dinner.

  “Precisely,” Alfred replied.

  I regarded the man with narrowed eyes. “Okay. I’ll bite. How do you know about this?”

  “I teleported in from Washington. This isn’t my agency building. I’m a visitor like you. Security called Washington, as is protocol on your file.”

  Well, shit.

  “If you’re in cahoots with Clemmends, I may be tempted to transform and light you on fire.”

  He chuckled. “It’s also mentioned in your file that you have a rather turbulent relationship with your supervisor.”

  “Which is why he sold my contract to the NYPD.”

  “Yes, I expect he will be unhappy about this decision soon enough. The CDC is displeased they lost a key resource. The FBI wishes to play nice with you in hopes you’ll consider an official liaison position.”

  I scowled. “For the first time in my life, I have a job with a salary and the same hours as my husband.”

  “Translate to mean she will transform and incinerate anyone who screws with her ability to work with her husband and have her salary,” Perkette announced.

  “How did you get here so quickly?” I considered how long we’d been at the security desk, which wouldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes.

  “We have a devil in our employ, and he will teleport staff between agencies as needed. He brought me here.”

  I sniffed for any signs of sulfur, the typical giveaway a devil had teleported into the area. “I don’t smell a devil.”

  “He cleaned up after himself. Some humans have allergies to brimstone. I see you have an education on devils.”

  If it could start a fire, I’d had information on it drilled into me. I shrugged. “The CDC invested in my education.”