by R. J. Blain
“Should I be worried he knows where Perky and Perkette live?”
“That sort of meddling and snooping is child’s play for a divine. When we buy a new house, we need to make sure we have enough garage spots for all of our vehicles. We’re going to need an SUV for the kids for certain.”
“Not a van?”
“We’ll probably have two SUVs, and one will be large enough to pull a small RV.”
“Or we could get a big truck for the RV.”
“Big trucks don’t have enough seats for the kids. We’re starting with four plus our fosters.”
“Fosters?”
My husband slapped his forehead. “Damn it!”
“Damn it? What did you do, Quinn?”
“I agreed to foster three gorgon whelps, a boy and two girls, over the summer. To be friends with Beauty and Sylvester. Fostering whelps is super easy; they want to prove to their father and mothers they’re old enough to be fostered, and so they do their best to behave, because if they don’t, they may not get fostered again. It’s a rite of passage for them.”
“And we get to host them?”
“While visiting my grandfather’s hive will be good for Beauty and Sylvester, having fosters around will better integrate them with other gorgons. You’ll be fairly heavily pregnant by then, so they’ll want to help you. They’re taught to always help the brides. I meant to talk to you about it, but I completely forgot with everything else going on.”
“Merry Christmas to me!” I wanted to rub my hands together to warm them, but I settled with bouncing in place. “It’s fucking cold, Quinn. Do the thingie to get into the garage.”
Chuckling, he retrieved his keys and pressed the button on one of the fobs, which opened the garage door, revealing his beloved red convertible. He pressed a second button on a different fob, which made something inside the house beep. “I’ll go do a walkthrough of their house and make sure everything is okay. Why don’t you get the car started so it can get warmed up?”
I stomped the snow off my new boots in the garage, set my box on the hood, and unlocked the car before placing my guns and ammunition in the trunk. Quinn entered the house through the garage door and disappeared inside. By the time the convertible blew hot air, he returned, closing the door behind him.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Everything’s fine. I checked the faucets just to be sure, too. I’ll text Arthur to let him know we stopped by.” Quinn got behind the wheel and smiled at his car, giving the steering wheel a fond pat. “It is getting to be about time to retire this, isn’t it?”
“How long have you had it?”
“I got it right after I got promoted. I figured I’d use the bonus they shoved at me to get something just for me. The engine is going to blow out sooner than later, and honestly? I’m impressed it has lasted this long. We’ll go shop for something sporty we can both drive when we have a babysitter to take the kids.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. The maintenance bill on this one is horrific, and I was planning on shooting it between the headlights when the engine blew anyway. Tell you what. When I’ve been really bad, we’ll take the car out somewhere, and it can have an accident involving two cindercorns.”
“Or we could keep it for one of the kids.”
“When the kids earn a car, we’ll get one for them they want, not an antique that’ll cost them a fortune to keep up.”
I eyed the convertible’s dash. “Does this car count as an antique?”
“Not particularly. I doubt it’ll be worth much of anything ten years down the road.”
“Why is it cold?” I complained, hunkering in my seat. “Mistakes were made, and we made them.”
“Silly cindercorn. You’re not going to freeze to death, I promise. I’ll warm you up at the house.” His phone rang before we had a chance to leave the garage, and sighing, he checked the display before answering, “Chief Quinn speaking.”
A moment later, his eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he spluttered.
I stole the phone out of his hand and said, “The other Chief Quinn speaking. What did you just tell my husband?”
“Hello, Chief Quinn. I’m Chief Barfield.”
“Oh! Peter? It’s Peter, right? You’re in charge of Queens.”
“I am. There was an attempted arson at your house.”
“A what at where?”
He repeated himself. I tapped my finger against my husband’s phone. “What’s the damage?”
“Surprisingly, there’s very little damage. Some of your rose bushes have seen better days, the brick and the door and window framing will need some repair, but the structure was otherwise undamaged. There’s one cracked window. One of your neighbors noticed the attempt and called it in and made a scene, which scared the arsonists off. They knew you weren’t home, but it seems the arsonists were unaware you were not back.”
“Give us five minutes. We’re basically right down the street. We just got in.”
“But you were just in Vegas? I was speaking to some of your officers earlier.”
“My father—the not sucky one—teleported us over to the Perkins residence so we could retrieve our car. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hung up and handed my stunned husband his phone. “If you can’t pull yourself together, I’ll drive, and there is nothing scarier on this planet than a cranky cindercorn who hates the cold driving through the snow.”
“Who is idiot enough to try to light a chief’s house on fire? The stupidity is just…” My husband grunted and ran his hands through his hair. “Remind me to send a gift to our neighbors.”
“Some asshole burned the roses!”
My husband sighed. “That death certificate is going to have some interesting notations when you find out who burned our roses. First, if the roses can’t be saved, we will replant them. Chances are, it just burned the covers for them and the plants are fine. I’ll just have to get new covers on them.”
“Some of the brick was trashed, a window needs to be replaced as it was cracked, but the house is otherwise fine. How did that happen?”
“I can explain that. I fireproofed the house, my beautiful. You’re a cindercorn. You snort fire. You watched me work with the fireproofers all fall to make sure it was suitable for you and your fiery ways. Some of the time, you were a unicorn, and you rolled around on your rug so nobody would take it from you. It’d take a lot more effort than some gasoline tossed against the side of the house to do much damage.”
Oh. Right. “You did it when you replaced the fireplace. And I was rolling around because you stole my fireplace!”
“For five whole days while a better one was installed.”
“Five days without a fireplace should be criminal.”
He laughed. “I’m fine. I was just stunned someone would really be that stupid. I have a few ideas who might try to burn our house down.”
“I have a lot of ideas.” I pointed at myself. “Not the most likable unicorn on the block.”
“But you are the best unicorn on the block.”
“I’m the only unicorn on the block, Queeny.”
“I’m sure you’ll learn to cope with your status as the best of unicorns.”
“Sample size of one, Queeny.”
“Doesn’t change anything for me. You’re the best of unicorns.”
“You are a biased and unreasonable man.”
He smiled. “For you, yes.”
How did he always win our discussions like this? I sighed and made shooing gestures with my hand. “We need to go check on the roses, and then I need to plot some fucker’s murder if they hurt the roses!”
“Just don’t tell the reasonable cops that, Bailey.”
“I’ll try to contain my runaway mouth for once in my life.”
“I feel I just asked for a miracle.”
What a jerk. Despite myself, I grinned. “You really did. Less talking, more driving.”
“But what if I like talking with you?
”
How dare he win again? “I raided one of the lingerie boxes when I got changed, but you can’t personally explore my secret clothing choices until we deal with the cops and the roses.”
Quinn eased the convertible out of the garage, parking long enough to close the garage door and rearm the alarm system. “I should protest how easy I am to manipulate under these circumstances, but I find I am highly motivated to deal with the cops at our house so I can explore your secret clothing choices.”
“Just don’t destroy them, else I’ll have to wear the little black set that went with the yellow dress,” I warned.
“That threat needs a lot of work, Bailey. Your secret clothing choice’s days are numbered, and its doomsday clock is ticking.”
“Such a tragedy.”
Seven
Does that really say cindercorn under species?
Cop cars filled our driveway and somewhat blocked my view of the house, but I could tell one important thing.
My favorite of the rose bushes, the one with beautiful big red blossoms, had been scorched to ash with a few straggler branches left.
I wanted to cry over its loss, and Quinn kissed my cheek. “It’ll be okay. Yeah, the bush isn’t going to recover from that, and some of the others don’t look good, either, but the house is okay, and we’re going to be moving anyway. We couldn’t realistically take the bush with us. I’ll get you new roses.”
“But that one was special.”
“I know. You looked like you wanted to eat every last blossom on it the first time you came home to me. I know what variant it is, and I even know who the grower is. I can probably get the same strain. It’ll just take some time to grow is all. I’ll ask my grandfather to come over and see if he can do anything for it. Maybe we can transplant what’s left of it in a pot and take it with us. If anyone can help a rose plant survive that, it’s an angel.”
Quinn parked in front of the cordon blocking part of our street to make sure the fire truck and cops had access without curious folks getting too close. Heaving a sigh, I got out of the car and strolled over to the blockade.
I didn’t recognize any of the cops barring the way to my house.
“Sorry, ma’am, nobody can come closer.”
I debated my options, grabbed my badge out of my pocket, and flipped it open, showing him my shiny new identification card. Then, as I could be a mature adult when I wanted, I waited.
The cop read my badge, and he raised a brow. “Does that really say cindercorn under species?”
I checked my card, and sure enough, I was listed as a cindercorn in addition to being human. “Oh, cool. Sam, Sam! Somebody put cindercorn on my badge.”
“Yes, Bailey. That’s because you’re a cindercorn.” My husband pulled the same trick I had with the badge.
“You’re both Chief Quinn?” the cop blurted.
I spotted Chief Barfield, stood on my toes, and waved at him. “Peter!”
He waved back. “Let them through, Benjamin. They’re the real deal. Mrs. Chief Quinn just joined the force. We nabbed her from the CDC, and she’s our new top bomb specialist.”
The cop held up the cordon tape. “Sorry about that, ma’am.”
“I have trouble believing it, too, so don’t worry about it.” I ducked beneath the tape and strolled to Chief Barfield, pocketing my badge before holding out my hand to shake with him. “See Quinn’s new jacket?”
“I do. It’s damned nice. I know because I helped buy it. I also contributed to your gift card.”
I laughed. “Bulletproof!”
“You get to be the guinea pigs on the leather jackets with the Kevlar and anti-theft stuff built in. Well, sort of. When we heard about them, we decided to check out what the civvies were getting. Those things are nigh indestructible, so it’s likely all of our undercover cops will be getting them. We’re in talks with the company to have special designs for law enforcement.”
“Did the commissioner put you up to that?”
“He really did.”
“Nice. I lost count of the number of them Quinn bought because once he realized they were bulletproof, I needed them all. I made him buy the same number for himself, hoping to deter him. That backfired. Thanks, though. It’s really nice.”
“You’re welcome. So, here’s what we know. A white male, a little taller than you, dark hair and eyes, parked in your driveway, got out, and looked to knock at the door. We aren’t sure if he actually knocked or if he was doing a ruse. He splashed gasoline over the front of the house and the bushes, returned to his vehicle, and did the same with three more cans of gasoline. Your neighbor noticed because she was coming home from grocery shopping. She spotted him right as he lit a match and tossed it on. He ran for it, and she blew through three fire extinguishers in the time it took the fire department to arrive.”
I scowled, got out my phone, and hit the internet to pull out a picture of my human father. “Was it Valorie?”
I could see Valorie, a ripe seventy going on sixteen in her mind, diving right into trouble and handling the problem herself. Of all our neighbors, I liked her the most.
She always came over with a rose and an apple when she spotted me out and about as a cindercorn.
“Yes, it was Valorie.” Chief Barfield took my phone and whistled for one of his cops, who came over. “Run this over to Mrs. Valorie and ask if this is the man she spotted lighting the fire.”
The cop took my phone and headed for my neighbor’s house.
“When did the fire start?”
“Two hours ago. I opted to wait to notify you until I couldn’t push it off, as I knew you were enjoying your honeymoon.”
“Appreciated. Can we go into the house through the back door to retrieve some things while you check the front as a crime scene?”
“We’ve done all our evidence gathering, so you can use your front door if you’d like.”
My husband regarded the charring on the brick and the melted frame around the door, and he sighed. “I wonder if it’ll open like that.”
“Dowry brought the spare key over and disabled the alarm for us so it’d stop squealing, so yes. It still opens. He left an hour ago.”
“The commissioner has a copy of our house key?” I asked.
“He has a copy of all the police chiefs’ keys. We’re targets, and it lets him investigate if something goes wrong.” Quinn wrinkled his nose, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and dialed a number. “Hey, Grandfather. Some asshole torched Bailey’s favorite roses. Are you willing to check if the bush can be saved? I’d rather my wife not start crying because her favorite rose bush can’t be saved today. Yes, we’re at our house, and yes, somebody really did try to torch it. The roses are the only real casualties.” Quinn hung up and returned his phone to his pocket.
A moment later, Sariel appeared, and for a headless being, he did an excellent job of clucking his tongue. “That was quite rude.”
“I know.” As the archangel might be able to save my precious roses, I trampled through the snow covering the yard, discovered the gasoline and fire had turned the sidewalk to ice, and landed on my ass. “Fuck.”
Quinn followed at a safer pace, kept his feet where it hadn’t been turned to ice, and hauled me to my feet, waiting until I caught my balance before brushing the snow off my clothes. “You all right?”
“If I had any pride, it would be destroyed and in need of CPR, but as I seem to embarrass myself daily, I appear to have emerged intact.”
“God, I love you so damned much.”
I stared at him with wide eyes.
“Try not to wrap your head around his adoration today, little granddaughter. You will give yourself a headache to go along with your chill.” Without any sign of there being ice on the sidewalk, the archangel crouched beside the roses, brushing away the charred ruins of the fabric Quinn had covered them with. “I can save these, my little grandson. Do go get some pots. You have some in your basement for your project, do you not?”
“P
ots? What pots?” I asked. “What project?”
“I was hiding pots in the basement so I could plant some new roses for you. I’ll be right back. How many do I need to bring?”
“Hmm. Six,” the archangel replied. He pointed at one of the bushes, which hadn’t taken much damage. “That one should be covered, but it will recover without other intervention. The others will have to be put into pots for the winter and brought inside to be cared for. It could be transplanted as well, if you wish to keep all of your front rose bushes.”
“I’ll bring ten pots,” Quinn replied before skating to our front door. I giggled at the dance he did to stay on his feet while fighting with the keys, but unlike me, he made it inside without falling.
I counted bushes, frowning. “But there are sixteen bushes.”
“Six of those were planted when he was married to that other woman,” the archangel replied. “The ten were planted before his marriage to her, and the one you like best is among those. He wants to take those bushes with him because they’re special to him. The other six will look nice along the walkway as they are.”
“Okay. That’s fair. The bushes will be okay?”
“I will help them heal from the damage. I will face the scolding for inappropriately using my magic, I am certain.”
I reached for my phone, sighing when I realized I’d given it to a cop to see if my asshole father had tried to burn my house down. “I’d call my uncle and start shit because I can if I hadn’t given my phone to a cop.”
The archangel held out his hand, and a cell phone appeared. “Here. I would be burdened with guilt if I were to bar you from starting trouble.”
I accepted the phone, scrolled through the contacts until I found Lucifer’s number, and tapped on the screen.
“Stealing from Sariel now, are you?” the Devil answered.
“I am. Some asshole burned our rose bushes trying to burn down our house, and I wish to stir some shit. Who is better at making sure my precious roses don’t die? An archangel or the Devil?” Because hanging up tended to light fires under asses, especially under egotistical asses like the Devil’s, I did so and returned the phone to Sariel. “I’m a very bad niece. And granddaughter. I’m sorry.”