by R. J. Blain
Quinn chuckled. “Later,” he promised. “After we rescue Janet and get to the bottom of this once and for all.”
That sounded like the best plan I’d ever heard in my life, and I pointed my nose at the dome. “Janet in there.”
Quinn bobbed his head, and his ears twisted back. “If anyone even looks at you wrong, I look forward to tearing them into pieces.”
I considered my husband and struggled with my urge to whinny my laughter. “Just no eat them, how-ever tempt-ing. Eating sen-ti-ents is bad.”
“I wonder if I can petrify someone in this form.”
I snorted. “Let’s go find out.”
“Let’s.”
Quinn
I’d always wondered how Bailey moved so easily as a cindercorn, and I ultimately came to the conclusion some form of magic handled the basics. I should’ve had trouble coordinating four hooves, a horn, retractable claws, and my large mass around. In reality, I barely thought about it.
Instead, I contemplated the many ways I could warm up and light the building on fire. When I snorted, trails of flame escaped my nose.
“No fire yet,” Bailey scolded. “I know look well.”
I bet she did, as I was usually the one telling her not to light things on fire without a good reason. “In the future, I’m going to be more considerate about your interest in committing acts of arson.”
“Lies,” she muttered, and she bumped against me and rubbed her nose beneath my chin. “You still scold when I make fire.”
“But I’ll be much more understanding and considerate about your general compulsion to burn things. I really find this entire building offensive.”
“That be-cause Janet inside and your terr-i-tory vi-o-lated.”
As she spoke nothing but the truth, I didn’t argue with her. I eyed the central dome of the mine complex. “Can I burn it after we help Janet?”
“That is idea,” my wife replied, her tone amused. “How much nay-palm Devil give you?”
“A lot.”
“How much a lot?”
“Several bathtubs filled,” I confessed.
“You be so hung-over later. Me take mercy, get you or-ange pills. You feel drunk?”
“Not yet.”
“Yet key-word. Soon. Take time. Once you make fire, it fun! I jealous.”
Of course she was, and she would be until she remembered just how bad her hangovers got. “If I don’t burn too much I won’t get drunk or hungover?”
“No know. Not try? We try later?”
The CDC wouldn’t like that experiment at all, and for that reason alone, I’d see about finding some way to try it. Maybe the Devil would invite us to his house and let us hit up his napalm supply and go on a real rampage. What was a little more fire in hell? “I’ll think about it.”
“Today best day ever.”
I refrained from laughing, as I’d heard Bailey’s laughter as a cindercorn often enough to understand we’d inform everyone inside we were here if I whinnied in earnest. “So, Janet is in the dome?”
“Trail end at dome. Must be?” Bailey lifted a hoof, and I assumed she tried to point at the bag of neutralizer hanging around her neck. “Prob-ably pet-ri-fied. I fix that. You can fix, too. You gor-gon.”
If my newfound uncle was to be believed, Bailey would find her, go on a rampage, and trigger whatever magic destined to drive me insane, worry me, and require me to be a conduit so she could find her way home. The how of it worried me almost as much as the reality of it happening. Too many of my divine relatives all agreed.
It would happen.
I wanted to take her home to prevent it, but it wouldn’t work out. We needed to help Janet.
“It’s easier with neutralizer, but yes. I can help reverse the petrification,” I replied. I would need to be very careful until I transformed to a different shape. Fire and statues didn’t mix well. “When you snort, is it hot enough to melt stone?”
“No worry about Janet. Must do on purpose to hurt statue. Snort no hurt unless you snort too hard. It okay, Quinn. I show you how to be good uni-corn. You big, hand-some uni-corn. I play much with you later.”
I loved my wife, but she had a one-track mind at times, although I fully intended to indulge her at the earliest opportunity. I suspected the Devil had fiddled beyond his claims, as under any other situation, I would’ve been inclined to indulge before rescuing Janet. I needed to figure out the trick to that.
When Bailey was around, I often thought about indulging.
On second thought, I needed to figure out how we’d be able to work together without our breaks involving inappropriate behavior while at work.
Hmm.
“Where do you think we should look first?” I asked, careful to keep my voice quiet so we wouldn’t draw attention early.
“Into dome. If we find someone, try to petrify?”
I nodded. I could petrify someone while human, but it was harder; I hoped the same applied as a cindercorn. Then again, if push came to shove, I could transform and join Bailey’s rampage as her personal gorgon-incubus doohickey.
The thought made me unreasonably happy, and I nipped her shoulder. “Lead the way,” I ordered. “Sooner we done, sooner I take you.” I flicked an ear and eyed her. “Home.”
“You can take me any-where, thank you,” she replied in her most solemn voice. Lifting her head high, she eased into a ground-eating trot, heading for the dimly illuminated done. “Try not fall behind, Quinn. No be slow.”
Bailey
A steel door barred me from entering the dome, and I glared at the obstruction. “Doors dumb.”
Quinn backed away from the door, eyed one of the nearby windows, and continued to back up, his ears turning back.
“Too small,” I warned him, as his beautiful but large body would have trouble enough getting even through the door. While cindercorns were remarkably durable, he’d have to contort and pancake himself to fit through the window. I might make it through if I jumped just right—or waited until dawn.
I had no intentions of waiting until dawn to rescue Janet.
Quinn ignored me, snorted flame, and charged towards the building. He jumped and plowed through the window, taking out a large chunk of the wall with him. The hole smoked, and I expected the building would catch fire without my husband having to breathe flame. Inside, I heard a rather loud thump, likely from my husband smacking into another wall and the wall winning.
That would hurt later.
Without much other choice, I followed him in, careful to pick my target and jump with much greater accuracy and less force.
Inside, I discovered my husband had rammed his head directly into a wall, resulting in his horn becoming stuck.
“I love you, but you idiot,” I informed him. “You drunk idiot.”
“Maybe,” my husband conceded. He lifted a hoof, pressed it to the wall, and yanked. After several tries, he popped free and fell over. “Okay, definitely.”
As he credited me when I did something right for a rare change, I nuzzled his neck. “But we inside. You good but cray-zee, Quinn. You just drunk. Would say go home, but two is bet-ter than one, and Janet need help. Cray-zee, drunk Quinn.”
“Says the woman who went on a napalm bender and torched a skyscraper. I’m just following your example.”
As I’d done my fair share of ramming my head through doors, walls, and windows, I couldn’t judge him too harshly. “Don’t think you ate enough nay-palm for good bender. Sor-ree. Need much more, and need the infused stuff. It go where it want. It extra tasty. More punch. But stuff we have make hyper, yes? Hyper!”
Quinn got to his feet, shook his head, and sighed. “Bailey, darling. Have you ever seen me hyper?”
“Maaaaayyy-be,” I replied, refusing to look him in the eyes. “At night. In bed. Hyper there!”
He sighed, and I loved the patience-worn sound. “You’re incredible.”
I was. “I uni-corn. I in-cred-uh-ble by de-fault. Still not fair you talk good.”
“No map or ink or stuff. Sor-ree.”
“Then let’s get moving before someone checks out why the window broke.”
“They see Quinn-sized hole and know you do it. You make very big hole. I del-i-cate flower, no make very big hole.”
While soft, he whinnied his laughter. “Right. Nobody is going to expect fire-breathing unicorns, Bailey.”
“They expect me. I like Janet. They not stupid. Well, they stupid for taking Janet. Why else take Janet?”
“I don’t think they’re expecting you. I think they’re expecting a gorgon hive to kidnap you. Again. Because the person I think might be responsible for Janet’s disappearance has been trying to sell you to gorgon hives.” Quinn’s ears flattened, and he snorted flame. “I will enjoy tearing him to pieces.”
I assumed a napalm bender resulted in Quinn indulging in the more violent tendencies of his heritage. “Wait to fight until Janet safe. Then you fight. Not before.”
He sighed.
I suspected I was getting a taste of what he felt like when I ran around on four hooves. “Go be-fore we found,” I ordered, poking him in the rump with my horn. “Go, go!”
Quinn picked his way along the hallway, which curved along the dome’s façade. Glass doors led into abandoned offices. Once upon a time, some of the offices had been converted into bedrooms, but those too had grown dusty from disuse. All remained quiet, but something on the other side of the building creaked.
“Think that some-one?” I whispered.
Quinn focused on the nearest office, which had been converted to a bedroom. “I think this dive is about to crumble around their damned ears. We’ll be doing them a favor torching the damned thing.”
Yep. Quinn cruised on a napalm high. “Later.” I bumped his shoulder with mine and pointed my nose at the office. “Gor-gon?”
“A female’s solitary nest—or had been.” Quinn pushed his nose to the door, and it opened. He pawed at the bedding crammed into the corner. “Most females share rooms or suites but have personal spaces for privacy. This would’ve been one of the women’s personal spaces.” He narrowed his eyes. “I had no idea you could see so well in the dark, Bailey.”
“See good. Uni-corns best.”
Quinn explored the office. “Her things are still here. Jewelry, and so on.” Quinn lifted his hoof and snagged a necklace off the desk shoved up against the wall with a claw. “See? She probably died, and the hive male left her quarters intact. It’s part of how gorgons grieve. At first, they don’t touch anything that belonged to their lost wife. Then, over time, they begin taking items away, donating them, or giving them to other wives or sisters in the hive as they accept her death.”
“That sweet. Sad but sweet.”
“Gorgons are often misunderstood. Their capacity for ruin comes second only to their capacity for love. Most only see how good they are at death and destruction.” Quinn’s ears turned back, and he returned the necklace to the desk. “I wonder if the hive was also infected with rabies.”
“And left only male?” I asked, sighing at the reminder of how Quinn and I had somehow become candidates for parenthood.
“A very desperate male. Perhaps Winfield sold Janet to this hive to get his revenge on you both. That would make sense. The male—or males—were likely vaccinated for rabies but his females weren’t. Most gorgons won’t get vaccinations without a good reason, and you know how expensive treatments for rabies can get.”
“Ver-ry ex-pen-sive,” I conceded. “I spend all your money on rabies cure.”
Quinn nuzzled my shoulder. “If they tried to use Janet as a surrogate, we’ll take care of her—and we’ll give her the option of co-parenting with us. She likes children.”
“Janet good person. That why. But this trauma.”
“Janet’s tough. We’ll take care of her no matter what her circumstances. But this is concerning. Are the gorgons participating victims, too?”
“Even if victim, they take cop. You know law,” I reminded Quinn. “If let gor-gons break law be-cause threat-ened, they make dust, make more gor-gons, make more problems. Can’t let slide, Quinn.”
He heaved a sigh. “I think I understand why you like fire so much. It’s so much simpler just to burn it all down, isn’t it?”
“That the nay-palm talking. It talk loud and like fire. You be okay.”
“Why do I have a feeling this is going to be an unmitigated disaster?”
“I in-volv-ed, you smart. That why.”
The look Quinn shot at me made me laugh.
Chapter Eighteen
Quinn
The exterior circuit of the dome revealed bedrooms enough for twenty females, which made it a strong enough hive to worry even me—or a collaboration of several hives. While males were often territorial, family units would stick together.
Had my father been born a gorgon rather than a human, he would’ve shared territory with my grandfather. Had I been born a gorgon rather than human, I would’ve shared territory with both of them.
It would’ve been glorious chaos.
My grandfather, at last check, had one bride, sixteen wives, and more children than I could readily count or remember. While my father wasn’t a gorgon, he competed with the rest of the family in terms of number of children.
My mother refused to share my father, and not even gorgons were willing to cross her.
I needed to introduce Bailey to my sisters. All fourteen of them. I also needed to warn Bailey that my mother didn’t seem ready to slow down having kids quite yet despite her age. I blamed my grandparents for that.
The children of triads found some way to break the rules, and my mother seemed to view aging as optional.
With the outer ring of the dome explored, that left us with four hallways leading deeper into the complex. After not-so-careful consideration, I picked the hallway farthest from where we’d broken into the place. While tempted to torch the bedding in the offices to smoke anyone out, I couldn’t afford to light any fires until we made certain Janet was safe.
If the situation allowed, I would also make sure Bailey didn’t fulfill any damned prophecies involving her taking a trip to another plane because she went loco without the benefit of a napalm bender. I couldn’t figure out what might cause her to lose control of her magic, but if I could avoid it, I would.
Even with the Devil’s precautions and magic, I prayed I wouldn’t have to serve as a conduit. As was often the nature of prayer, it would be futile, but I did it anyway. He worked in mysterious ways, and I didn’t ask for much.
Though, when I thought about it, I found myself praying a hell of a lot more than normal when Bailey was involved. Could anyone blame me?
My beautiful Bailey was a force of nature.
And the daughter of the divine.
I didn’t look forward to that conversation.
“Oh! Big mine room,” Bailey whispered, trotting ahead to peer over a railing, which was illuminated with a dim overhead light, barely enough to see by. “Ew. That gross.”
When Bailey found something to be gross, I worried. I trotted to her and peered over the steel railing.
When gorgons died, most hives petrified their lost loved ones and buried them in stone walls to make sure their bodies weren’t used to create gorgon dust or other potent substances. Either the males had died, too, or they’d lost their bloody minds.
They’d left the deceased gorgon females to rot on the concrete floor.
“That awful,” Bailey said, and her coat steamed.
Shit. Bailey wouldn’t need napalm or anything spurring her on to start the kind of fire that would rival the one she’d ignited at 120 Wall Street
Her temper already burned hot enough to light her fur on fire.
“Yes,” I agreed, sighing at the inevitable work I’d have to do to help lay the women to rest and prevent their bodies from being used to manufacture gorgon du
st.
Bailey lifted a hoof. “A young one. Child. Whelp.” Bailey’s fur blazed, and a golden glow filled the central part of the dome. “They killed a child.”
Yep. Bailey was t-minus five seconds from a meltdown, and I’d be very appreciative of the Devil making certain she wouldn’t incinerate me by the time she finished rampaging.
Snakes hissed, drawing my attention to the curved wall below. A male with black snakes stood, looking up at us. Not far away, I spotted the gray stone of a petrified human.
Janet.
“You’re not supposed to be here!” John Winfield announced, stepping out of the shadows. I remembered his voice from 120 Wall Street. “You bitch.”
I dug my claws into the tiles, and they broke.
In the months we’d been married, Bailey had made so much progress, but some things never changed. The instant the word ‘bitch’ left Winfield’s mouth, she snapped. With no care we were on the second story, Bailey jumped, and the entire building shook from the force of her landing on the floor below.
I recognized her pawing at the floor as her preparing for a charge, the kind that would end Winfield’s life the instant her flaming bulk crashed into him. She’d probably crush a hole through the wall behind him while she was at it. Then she’d light the whole building on fire.
I needed to get the neutralizer away from her before she took her temper out on Winfield. I followed, landing with a pained grunt. I grabbed the leather band securing the neutralizer bag and tugged. I gave up after the second tug and gnawed through the material.
John Winfield pulled out a dart gun, and I recognized the glowing golden fluid inside the clear shaft as ambrosia. “See this, bitch? This is what revenge looks like.”
I tensed, and my eyes widened. Most people wisely believed ambrosia was a good way to die with a bang—a very destructive bang. In my case—and Bailey’s case—things could go wrong in entirely different ways.
I found it ironic the Devil had made me into a conduit for Bailey and that ambrosia could turn us into conduits for any divine with an interest in paying the mortal coil a visit.