by RJ Blain
“Good. Good.” I lifted my head and pranced in place. “Janet! Janet!”
Janet saluted me. “Go get that napalm lit so we can go home sometime this year.”
“You stay for wedding,” I declared. “There be one, even if have to take over Vay-gus.”
Janet laughed. “Just get me home sometime this year, please. Also, I’d like to see you take over Vegas. Sounds like fun.”
“Yes, can do. You have pets? Need pets watched? Home watched? Quinn? Did you take care of Janet’s home?”
“I don’t have any pets, and my house should be fine. The door was locked, and I have an alarm system. Don’t worry, Bailey. Really.”
I relaxed and nuzzled Quinn. “When we make fire?”
My husband chuckled and nipped my shoulder. “As soon as the containment field goes up. It won’t be much longer. Let’s go get into position so we can get to work as soon as they’re ready.”
I bolted for the dome, skidded to a halt in the napalm, and pranced while waiting for Quinn to catch up. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
He laughed and joined me, rewarding me with another nuzzle and a nip. “Patience, Bailey. You’ll get to play with napalm soon enough.”
Quinn
Bailey’s common sense and dignity dribbled out of her pretty equine ears, and she rolled in the napalm, kicked her hooves, and played like a child on a sugar high. What amused me most was that she didn’t eat more than a bite or two before she abandoned all pretenses of maturity to romp and play in the gel.
I took a nibble here and there to see what all the fuss was about, but beyond the napalm having a warm, peppery bite, I didn’t see the appeal.
I supposed her heritage played some part in it functioning somewhat like pixie dust for her. Her reaction did remind me a lot of how many reacted to the shimmering powder most used to improve their moods—if taken to the extremes.
Bailey flopped onto her back and wormed through the gel, and I stared in a mix of awe, amusement, and confusion at her antics. I hadn’t even known cindercorns could, with enough work, slither across the ground on their backs.
My life had become so strange since Bailey had stormed into it. I took another bite of napalm just in case I hadn’t consumed enough to turn me into a hyperactive menace.
Nothing happened beyond adding to the warmth in my belly. I expected that warmth would become stronger fire once the containment shield went up. I figured if I could survive hellfire, the ignited napalm wouldn’t bother me.
I just needed to make sure I stayed out of Bailey’s way while she freaked out. Unlike the incident at 120 Wall Street, I wasn’t concerned about the mine crushing her; most of the buildings only had one or two stories, and it would take a lot more than some steel to slow my wife down.
Just to be on the safe side, I’d stay out in the open and leave the building demolition to her.
She’d have fun, and I’d have fun watching her have fun.
Not long after Bailey had decided walking was too much effort and slithering was more up her alley, the containment shield snapped into place, and the barrier gleamed in the colors of the rainbow, illuminating the entirety of the mine complex.
“Showtime, Bailey.” I nudged her with a hoof. “We need to light the napalm now.”
“Napalm!” my wife purred, and she snuggled with the gel. “Yummy, delicious napalm.”
I wanted to be the one she snuggled with, damn it. “Bailey. We have to light it on fire.”
“Soon,” she replied, and I got the feeling she used soon in the same way my divine relatives used the word: if left to her own devices, she’d leave me waiting for a few years first.
Great. I’d have to figure out how to light it myself. “How did you light it in New York?”
For a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to answer me, as she started chowing down on her favorite treat. “Run fast, make fire.”
At the rate of her napalm consumption, the CDC would need to bring in a few extra tankers to make up for her gluttony.
My poor wife. She’d have a record-breaking hangover in the morning.
I had no idea if I could run fast and make sufficient fire to light up the napalm, but I’d give it a shot. If I couldn’t do it, I’d find some way to goad my drunk cindercorn wife into helping out. Shaking my head over the insanity, I pawed at the gel, snorted flame, and took off at a canter. Napalm splashed into my fur, and as soon as I hit full speed, my fur ignited.
Unlike hellfire, the napalm tickled more than it hurt. With a little experimentation, I discovered the faster I ran, the faster the napalm ignited. The thick gel resisted my efforts, but once patches of it burned without my interference, it began to spread.
Snorting flame helped, too.
The first time I passed my wife, she didn’t even notice I’d turned her lake of napalm into flame. When she finally figured out I would take her treat away through burning it off, she surged to her hooves, charged a few paces in my direction, and snorted her displeasure.
“Bad Quinn! No burn!”
I skidded to a halt and snorted fire at her. “Yes, burn.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She closed the distance between us, reared, and stomped her hooves into the napalm. “Can’t eat if you burn.”
I longed to smack my forehead at the insanity. “Bailey.”
“Not my napalm,” she whined, and as I’d married a cindercorn with the general maturity level of a toddler given copious amounts of sugar, she rolled into the flaming gel. “Mine!”
If I loved her much more, my heart really would burst in my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
She wormed her way to me and somehow managed to wrap herself around my forelegs. “You mine, too.”
That was something. “Yes, I am. But I still have to light the napalm on fire.”
“Mean!”
I regarded the gel, which had begun to burn merrily and spread. “I’m so cruel and mean. You’ll just have to punish me after we get to our hotel.”
“Promise?”
“The faster you ignite all this napalm, the faster we get to the hotel so you can properly punish me.”
Bailey lurched to her hooves and galloped away, and the few times she slowed, probably long enough to catch her breath, she bucked and whinnied. I couldn’t tell if the napalm had short-circuited her brain, or if she was that excited to take me to a hotel.
Either worked for me, and bemused, I watched my wife turn into a fiery psychopath hellbent on destruction.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bailey
Napalm did wonderful but terrible things to me, but unlike 120 Wall Street, I didn’t become tangled in any debris. Unfortunately, to keep me somewhat contained, Quinn sat on me. He sat on me with his fat unicorn ass, and he refused to budge. Biting, clawing, and even poking him with my horn won me exactly nothing. If anything, my attempts to escape amused him.
Evil, evil Quinn.
“You devil,” I hissed, snapping my teeth at him. “Eat flesh from bones!”
“If you want a steak, I hear there are some really good steakhouses in Vegas, but you’ll have to wait until lunch.” Quinn chuckled and bumped his nose against mine with no fear of me or my sharp, pointy teeth. “Bite me again. It tickles nicely.”
Jerk husband. I struggled beneath him, and since he’d asked so nicely, I chomped on his shoulder. “Up! Up! You fat.”
“If I let you up, you will go rampage some more. The napalm is burned out, and they’re about to soak the place down. If I let you up, you’ll dig under the nearest pile of debris trying to avoid the water.”
“No water. Water bad.”
“We need to be detoxed, Bailey.”
“No. No. We die if we get wet.”
“We’re not going to die. We’re just going to be cold and miserable for twenty minutes. Then we can shift back to human, get dressed, and go to our hotel. You can punish me extra for making you get wet.”
“You just want to be pun-ished. It’s not a pu
n-ish-ment if you like.” I sighed. “No fair.”
“Yes,” he replied, and he nuzzled my neck. “And if you’re cold and tired when we get in, I’ll tuck you in and take care of you. I’ll enjoy it immensely.”
“You just enjoy not having to work for a few weeks.”
“That, too. I was going to plan a wedding ceremony, but I think my relatives may have gone overboard, mutinied, and taken over.”
“More time for us in hotel. Get good baby-sitter. We get children during day. Then we evict with relatives for night and have in morning,” I suggested. “We need plenty of time at night. We spend Christmas here?”
“Christmas here is the plan. We’ll have to sort our hotel situation out—assuming it wasn’t sorted out for us.”
“Your family nuts.”
“Your family might be even nuttier than my family,” he replied.
“Anubis wouldn’t tell me who! He try make me play twenty questions. I suck at game. He suck. Stupid.”
“It’ll be all right. If you don’t figure it out on your own, you’ll find out soon enough. Do you think you’re going to be scandalized when you see the showgirls?”
“After brassault, no. Show-girl boobs covered. Not covered at strip place. Not want see naked boobs. Seen too many naked boobs. Covered boobs okay.”
“I’ll only take you to a strip club if you ask me to really nicely.”
“But why? Why go? We go hotel and do strip there. Better time.”
Quinn laughed so hard he rolled off me. Before I could do more than stand, the shield overhead thrummed and a cold rain fell. I sighed, bowing my head as my coat steamed and began to cool. “This no fair. Now wet.”
“It’ll be okay,” Quinn promised. “You’ll see.”
Quinn
According to my wife, if she spent five more minutes as a sopping wet unicorn, she would surely die, the world might end, and there would never be fire anywhere on Earth ever again. The more absurd her claims became, the harder I laughed. I didn’t enjoy taking a neutralizer bath, but I dealt with it. As soon as the deluge came to an end and the shield dropped, I trotted to the fence, where Tiffany offered me a change of clothes.
“Your grandfather brought your suitcase and my husband over.”
Poor Perkins. “And how is your husband?”
“He threw up on your grandfather. And then he threw up on your uncle. Were you aware the Devil is your uncle? Your grandfather and your uncle are bickering. I expected that, but they’re bickering in a surprisingly friendly fashion. I’m not sure how one can be your grandfather and the other can be your uncle, though.”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m aware. The Devil is technically my great uncle, but he prefers uncle. I’m wise enough to give the Devil what he wants without a fight. Is Arthur all right?” Perkins throwing up on my relatives hadn’t been part of any plan, but it would keep the bickering divine busybodies occupied while I got changed and coaxed Bailey into shapeshifting back to human.
“He’ll be all right. It’ll be an hour or two until his stomach settles, so expect some whining.”
Whining I could handle. I could even handle vomit, but I’d much rather let my relatives handle any vomiting. Taking my clothes in my teeth, I trotted over to the tankers, and squeezed between them so I wouldn’t give the crews a show.
Bailey would appreciate my jeans and t-shirt, as she loved when I dressed down almost as much as when I was in my uniform.
Stretching to work out the kinks from transforming, I strolled back to Tiffany. “That’s much better. Thank you. So, how is Arthur really? Please tell me the vomiting has stopped.”
“Stop being a worrywart. He’ll be fine. One of the CDC reps is taking care of him, and the Devil and your grandfather are arguing over who could teleport him better. I think Arthur’s allergic to teleportation magic.”
“Wouldn’t he break out in hives if he’s allergic?”
“Maybe intolerant. Who knows? Honestly, I may have upset your relatives.”
I stared at her. “How?”
“I asked why couldn’t they teleport my husband without getting him sick. Bailey can. I mean, he still turns green, but he can handle her catching a sunbeam fairly okay now. He doesn’t throw up. Not like this.”
“Poor Arthur.” I caught Tiffany in a hug and patted her back. “Thank you for taking care of Bailey.”
While embracing her, I concentrated, searching for the markers of a fertile woman. To my amusement, I could sense that a few of my pesky relatives had taken a turn ensuring she was no longer barren.
I couldn’t wait until she figured out she’d been played by my entire family.
Tiffany hugged me back. “Any time. You do need to make sure you let her get some more rest, but it’ll be better now that you’re on the same shift with her. You’ve both been stressed thanks to not being able to see each other enough.”
“Quinn,” my wife whined, and she wormed her way across the torched ground.
Tiffany covered her mouth with her hands. “She’s not even trying to walk, Sam. She’s slithering. On her back while waving her hooves in the air.”
“I noticed. She was doing that in the napalm, too. She didn’t want me to light it up, either. And I had to goad her into doing her share of the work.”
“I’m cold, Quinn,” Bailey complained, wiggling her way over until she wrapped her impressive bulk around my legs. “I’m wet.”
“Well, if you shift back to human, you’ll only be wet, and you’ll only be wet because you’re making me wet.” I bent over and scratched under her chin. “I can’t take you to the hotel if you’re still a unicorn.”
“Can, too. Drag behind truck. No care. Too tired.”
“I promise it took a lot more energy to slither over here than it would’ve taken you to walk.”
“No logic. Bad. Logic bad.”
“I’m going to make my grandfather help you shift if you don’t do it on your own.”
“But it hurts,” my wife complained. “No want more hurty.”
Poor Bailey. I smiled at her, crouched, and scratched behind her ears. “Hungover already?”
“No fair.”
“I can get you the hangover medication once we’re in Vegas, and I’ll pamper you all you want. It’ll be easier on you if you shift yourself.”
“Can grandfather cure hangovers?”
“He probably won’t. He’s the kind to let us suffer for our indulgences.”
“Indulged much. Deserve hangover.”
“Do you have Bailey’s clothes, Tiffany?”
“And a nice, warm blanket so she won’t put on a show shifting for everyone.” Tiffany left long enough to bring a silvery thermal blanket and a pile of folded clothes. “Janet’s out like a light in the ambulance, by the way. She’s fine, but she must have been pretty tired before she got petrified. They were doing a check, and she decided to fall asleep on them. Since she’s your cop, they want you to decide if she’s going to the hospital.”
“She is, and she’s getting a rabies treatment.”
Tiffany set Bailey’s clothes down and handed me the blanket. “I’ll let them know while you get her to shift.”
I waited for Tiffany to get out of earshot before draping the blanket over my shivering wife. “Time to shift, Bailey. I’ll warm you up properly at the hotel. I will go make my grandfather force you to shift if you won’t do it on your own. I don’t want you getting sick.”
She whined about my terrible, cruel ways, but a shiver ran through her body as she cooperated. I held the blanket ready while her unicorn form dissolved, and she reversed back to human. I covered her up with the thermal blanket, tucking it in around her before gathering her clothes and helping her get changed.
The sneezes warned me the neutralizer bath hadn’t done her any favors, but with my grandfather nearby and CDC reps underfoot, I figured if she got sick, someone would be able to deal with it. Once she finished dressing, I scooped her up, ignoring her tired protests.
Tiffany met me halfway to the tankers, and she snickered. “She’s not a doll, Sam. She can probably walk.”
“I’m walking for her.” The complaining I expected didn’t come, and when I checked on my wife, I discovered she’d taken a page out of Janet’s book. “Do you think someone asleep can walk? I’m not sure I should put this to the test, Tiffany.”
Tiffany peeked at my wife, laughed, and shook her head. “Okay. I’m an idiot. She did run across half the damned country looking for Janet. I’d say she’s earned a nap.” She pointed near the tankers. “Your family is over there with Arthur. Someone is bringing a vehicle for us. They’re taking Janet to the hospital now.”
“Good. I’ll get Bailey settled at our hotel and then go see her and take care of the paperwork.”
“Someone from the FBI is taking care of the paperwork.”
My brows rose at that. “Really?”
“You’ll be questioned at the hotel.”
“Did they saddle you with coordination work?”
“I got tired of the various offices bickering. It was less of a saddling and more of a hostile takeover.” Tiffany grinned and waved for me to follow her. “Arthur’s over here. He’ll be happy to see you’re intact. He was worried he would have to try to figure out how to get two drunk unicorns under control while feeling like he might die.”
“Why would he think I’d be drunk?”
“You were a unicorn with ready access to napalm. Why else?”
“Well, it’s safe to say I don’t react the same way to napalm as Bailey does.”
“That’s a shame. You would’ve had the time of your life if you did.”
I snorted. “And the worst hangover of my life, too.”
“That’s true. Bailey’s okay?”
I considered my wife, who slept quietly in my arms. “I’m assuming so.”
“Maybe you should ask those pesky divines just to be sure. She had one hell of a run today and a lot of excitement.” To make it clear she wasn’t accepting a no from me, Tiffany placed her hands on my back and pushed. “That way, Sam.”