by Devon Monk
Fine. Turnip first.
I snapped my fingers three times.
The turnip shivered and sprang out of my grip, landing squarely in the middle of the demon-go-round. There was a “pop,” and the merry-go-round disappeared. Klex, the blob, wobbled in place, stunned on the singed dirt. The turnip bounced around it like a bobber in a stream.
That week-old root vegetable spun on its nubby end and danced a circle around the blob. As it did so, a wind began to blow.
The wind didn’t feel all that strong to me, but Klex was not faring well. The blob looked like a weather reporter bracing against a hurricane. The breeze didn’t even ruffle my hair, but it drove Klex end-over-blobby-end back to the edge of the vortex.
Klex teetered there on the edge, stretching and straining, before it plopped into the vortex and was sucked down on top of all the other blobs.
The turnip tumbled like it had also been caught by the wind, but it stopped right at the edge of the vortex. Then it dug itself down, turning and turning like a drill, rooting deep into the earth.
With each crank of the turnip, the vortex shrank smaller. A pond, a puddle, a cup of moonlight. When the turnip had drilled into the soil so only the tiny top of it, where a sprig of new green growth poked up, could be seen, the vortex sizzled like rain on a hot sidewalk…and was gone, leaving nothing but a circle of scorched dirt around the newly planted turnip.
The vortex was closed. The demon spawn was gone, yet the root vegetable remained, a plug between Ordinary and the Underworld.
Wow. That was easier than I thought.
“A turnip,” the unicorn said from near my elbow. “Huh.”
“People used to carve them on Halloween,” Bathin said. “To ward off spirits from the other side.”
“A pumpkin would have been cuter,” Xtelle said. “And more modern.”
“Wouldn’t have worked,” I told her.
The unicorn sniffed. “And how do you know this, Myra Reed?”
“I know the difference between gourd magic and good, old-fashioned root vegetable magic.”
The babble of young voices grew louder, peppered with shouts and squeals.
“Brace yourself,” Bathin said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Not you.”
“What—?” But the miniature horse didn’t have a chance.
A swarm of second-graders whooped as they ran up the hill and completely bypassed the play equipment. The tumble of messy hair, gap-tooth smiles, and untied shoes headed for one goal.
The miniature horse.
They descended upon her, sticky hands patting, short arms hugging, while they asked a million questions a minute.
Xtelle looked up in absolute terror and shock. Bathin cleared his throat and then laughed his head off.
The miniature horse narrowed her eyes and mouthed, “Hoove you,” as the children clung to her in delight.
“That’s, uh, maybe you kids should step back,” Ryder said, as he and Delaney arrived with the children’s teacher and several parents.
“Step away from the dog,” Ms. Hen said. “Oh, sorry. Is that a pony?”
“C’mon, kids,” Mrs. Ingrath, their teacher, instructed. “Everyone needs to take a giant step backward.”
“Mother may I?” a billion little voices asked.
“Yes, you may,” Mrs. Ingrath said.
All the kids took one largish step backward. Xtelle stood shivering in the hole they had made, surrounded by little people.
“Nicely done,” Bathin murmured.
Mrs. Ingrath smiled and blushed just a little. He really was the thing dreams were made of. I mean, who wouldn’t fall into that big ole pit of handsome and charming Bathin was projecting?
Me. That’s who.
“We all know we’re supposed to ask before we touch an animal,” she parroted for the class. “Is the pony tame? Is it a pet?”
“Yep,” he said.
Xtelle stomped her foot and neighed, except it sounded a lot like “kill you,” instead of whatever a miniature horse was supposed to sound like.
“It’s not a pet,” I said. “But it won’t hurt the children.”
“It loves children.” Bathin’s eyes glittered with joy.
The mothers all looked up through their lashes at the demon like he was the first skinny-double-shot-extra-hot latte they’d seen in a year.
“Is it yours?” one of them asked.
I felt…well, not jealous that they wanted his attention. He was a demon after all, a trickster, and gorgeous.
But he was also someone who took things away from people for his own benefit, someone who delighted in doing harm.
I guess I was annoyed they couldn’t see past his beauty to his inner scoundrel.
“It’s mine,” I said.
Bathin’s eyebrows shot up, and his half smile spread into something wicked.
“It’s not very tame or child-friendly,” I added. “It would be best if the children gave it some room.”
A collective “Awwww…” broke out, but that was it. That was enough to pull their attention away from the demon and the pony, and back to the park around them.
“You want me”, Bathin mouthed as some of the children scattered to the play equipment and sand box.
I mouthed, “Never,” and held my hand out for the miniature horse.
“She’s skittish around too many people,” I apologized to the kids and moms who lingered.
As if on cue, Xtelle lowered her head, snorted, and pawed at the ground, trying to look intimidating.
“Then we should give her some space,” Mrs. Ingrath said. “Let’s go, class. Time to play.”
Most of the kids took off at a run, but a few dragged their feet in a pouty shuffle. Even so, Xtelle was finally free. She walked stiff-legged to stand next to me, her wide eyes trying to track all the kids at once like she’d never seen anything like them before.
Maybe she hadn’t. Unicorns were highly reclusive.
“Thank you, um…Officer,” the mom, a beautiful redhead who I knew had just broken up with her last boyfriend, said to me.
She stepped right up into Bathin’s space. “And thank you too…”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, even though he had done nothing but stand there and smile at her.
She liked him looking at her. Liked it a lot. And he was not looking away.
Fine. Maybe he’d kiss her and that would be enough to do the final step of closing the vortex. Then I wouldn’t have to. I’d prefer it, actually.
“All right,” I said loud enough everyone started and stared at me. Delaney’s eyebrows ticked down. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, amusement shone through.
I’d gotten that look from her a lot over the years. Usually when she thought I was being too stubborn.
She was always wrong, though, because I prided myself in being exactly as stubborn as the situation required.
“Have a nice day,” I barked. “C’mon, Xtelle, let’s go home.”
I spun away from them all, ignoring Delaney’s amusement, ignoring Bathin’s heated gaze, ignoring the lovely redhead swaying closer to Bathin as if she were in a blizzard and he was a bonfire burning.
I tromped down the hill to my car. Let the demon kiss someone else. Then I wouldn’t have to date him three times, either.
The tiny horse trotting along beside me nickered, something that sounded a lot like a laugh.
I strode to the cruiser. Stupid. This was all stupid. And what was up with my reaction to that woman flirting with Bathin?
I’d made it clear not only did I not want to be with him, I didn’t want him to be anywhere near Ordinary. But it didn’t stop my stupid heart from wanting what it wanted.
I groaned and leaned back on the trunk of the car, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. “What is wrong with me?”
The tiny horse clopped around my cruiser as if getting a feel for the thing. She stopped next to me, leaning one hip on
the side of the bumper. “Well, you’re human.”
“You’re not supposed to be talking.”
“No one is close enough to hear me.”
“That doesn’t matter. Horses don’t talk in Ordinary.”
“Well, I’m not a horse. I’m a unicorn. And unless you put the gag order on the other supernaturals who live in this town, I refuse to be silent.”
I held her gaze, but I could tell from the stubborn thrust of her lip, that she was not backing down.
She had a point. We never told any man, woman, creature, or deity to remain silent. We just told them they couldn’t reveal their true nature to the mortals in the town.
And yes, we’d had it backfire more than once. But we had enough powerful supernaturals in town to take care of anything that might cause an actual panic.
Ordinary was, for most people living here and for those coming here to vacation, a quiet, normal, possibly even boring, town.
If it weren’t for the chronically kidnapped penguin and all of Bertie’s community events, Ordinary wouldn’t even be on the map.
“Ground rules.” I held up my finger. “You live with me, you follow my rules.”
“Harsh.”
“You can pick a different host, but you’ll have to follow the rules they set.”
She glanced at Delaney, Ryder, and Bathin. “Fine. Rather you than any of those. What are your rules? Bear in mind unicorns are not known for liking rules. At best I’ll try to follow your top three.”
“Top twenty.”
“Two.”
“Ten.”
“One. Really, Myra, it’s just not in my nature to behave. Two is stretching my limits.”
“Three,” I said since she’d offered that to begin with.
“Fine.” The pout was back. “What are your rules?”
“If I ask you to do something, even if you don’t understand why, you will do it. Without complaining.”
“I—that’s very presumptuous of you.” Her eyes narrowed and little sparks of red flickered there. “To think you can order me around like a dog.”
There was something more to her voice. Something deep and old and powerful. This thing was what had put so much fear into Bathin. This thing, this power churning behind that little horsey face, that little horsey mind, was something dangerous.
“I’m not ordering. I’m explaining that when I ask you to do something, I want you to do it. These things will involve your safety or the safety of others.”
She held very still, and I waited for the dangerous crackle I felt, like heat over my skin, to subside.
“Understood.”
“You agree?”
“I agree.”
I’d never seen a horse snarl through clenched teeth. Her ears flicked back and she swished her tail hard enough it made a little whip crack sound. But the heat crackle was gone.
“Rule two, you do not reveal your true nature to anyone in Ordinary unless you clear it with me.”
“Fine.” Still ground out between clenched teeth. “And the third rule?”
“No magic of any kind.” Bathin’s voice startled me, and I jerked. He’d somehow come up behind me silently.
The unicorn scoffed. “It’s amusing how you think I’d follow even one rule you set.”
“You agreed to three rules,” he went on like I wasn’t even there, like I wasn’t standing so close to him, I could feel the warm puff of his breath on the back of my neck. “That’s the third.”
“It’s not Myra’s rule.”
“It should be.” He brushed his fingers across my bent elbow. I knew he was a demon. I knew he liked to manipulate me and my sisters more than most people. But there was something to the tone of his voice.
It sounded like he was warning me.
“Mind your own,” the unicorn growled. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Oh, Xtelle, we both know that’s not true at all. Everything about you is concerning.”
It would be easy to shrug it off. Or stick with anger and tell Bathin to butt out of my business. I didn’t want a demon around the unicorn anyway. They were fire and napalm and getting in the middle of whatever rivalry they had would only leave me burned.
Bathin tightened his fingertips on my elbow. Asking me to trust him. Asking me to do what he said.
The tug in my chest was warm, solid. This was where I should be. This was what I should be doing.
His rule was that she couldn’t use magic. It wasn’t really all that unusual of a request.
Compromise seemed the best option.
“Rule three,” I said, drawing the full attention of the little horse, “don’t use magic unless you have cleared it with me first.”
The horse stomped. “Not fair.”
“Ordinary isn’t fair, Xtelle,” Bathin crooned behind me. “It’s safe. For it to remain that way, we have all made exceptions. Do you understand now?”
“No.” Xtelle shimmered a little, and I wondered if her hold on the horse illusion was about to fail.
“Not being able to use magic is cruel,” she said. It looked like even the thought of it hurt her. “I’m made of magic,” she whined. “I must be allowed to use it.”
Bathin snorted, and it sounded callous and cruel. “You could go back to your meadow.”
The horse gasped like he’d just clobbered her with a baby seal. “Who made you so mean?”
“My mother.”
The heat behind that was a slap.
Xtelle snapped her head back. “Not everything is meant to fall in your favor, Black Heart.”
“That’s abundantly clear.”
“What does your mother have to do with—”
“Okay,” I broke in. “We’re done. Agree with the last rule. No magic unless it’s approved by me.”
“I don’t trust you, Myra.” The unicorn was still glaring at Bathin.
“You don’t have to trust me. You have to follow the rules. If you want another host, tell me now.”
She tossed her head and her mane shimmered with just a little too much sunlight. “Very well. Agreed. For the time that you are my host here in Ordinary, I will follow your silly rules. Now may we leave this park? I do not care for the damp. Or the children.”
I opened the back door for her. “Hop in.”
“I do not hop.” She planted her front hooves onto the floor and sort of shimmied up into the car.
It was totally a hop. I shut the door behind her and headed to the driver’s side.
Bathin put his hand on the passenger side and opened the door.
“No,” I said.
“Hmmm?” He was already bent to duck into the vehicle.
“You ride home with Delaney.”
“But I came with you.”
“So?”
“You do remember the conditions of closing the vortex, don’t you? The kiss?”
How could I forget it? It was all I’d been trying to ignore.
“And?” I was glad it came out cool, because I was burning up inside.
“There was a ring, a turnip, and a kiss involved,” he went on patiently, as if he were trying to remember the details. “If I recall, we used the ring, and I remember using the turnip, but the kiss? No, I’m sure I would have remembered if that happened.”
“Does it even matter now? That vortex has been closed all this time without anything happening.”
“It matters. Life and death. Serve and protect. You wouldn’t turn your back on Ordinary over a kiss, would you?”
“Fine.” I shut the door and marched over to him. “Kiss me.”
Kiss me, my heart said, softer, longingly.
Not that way. I couldn’t let myself feel this kiss, want this kiss. The kiss he was only getting because he’d used a threat to manipulate his way into it.
I squared off to him, feet spread in a stance that would make it easy for me to sweep his feet. Not that it would do much since he was a demon and basically made out of granite.
His eyes didn�
�t twinkle, they glittered like a river in sunlight, and his mouth curved up into a small, tolerant smile.
I wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me.
But what my heart wanted always led to disaster.
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t wimp out on me now, Bathin. You wanted this. Come get it.”
He half closed the door and sort of leaned on it. He looked amused. Maybe even intrigued. But he did not look like he was going to take the bait.
“Did we put a time limit on it?” he asked. “No, I’m sure that wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Don’t push me, demon.”
“Go out to coffee with me.”
“No.”
“Go out to tea with me.”
“No.”
“Go to Roy’s retirement bonfire with me.”
“No.”
“You’ve agreed to three dates, I’ll remind you.”
“Not those three dates.”
“All right.” He didn’t look one bit put off by my rejection. “We’ll table it for later. Just so we’re clear, this is a kiss which will hold that vortex closed.”
“The turnip is doing fine.”
He inhaled, exhaled. “I know you don’t always trust me…”
“Ever. Don’t ever trust you.”
“…but sealing a vortex to Hell actually works toward my goals.”
“Does it?”
“Do you think I want other demons here in this untouchable town, messing with souls?”
“I have no idea. Do you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I care…” He seemed to catch himself and change tacks. “I care to be the only one who has that particular honor. You have no idea what kind of cred that gives me in the demon world.”
“I thought you were hiding out here, not sending back postcards.”
“You know the kiss doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s a simple requirement to seal the vortex. Very analytical. Very impersonal. You like those sorts of things, don’t you, Myra? Logic, order. Nothing messy. Nothing with feelings attached.”
“This is harassment.”
He seemed proud of making me point that out. “Yes, I suppose it could be. Or you’re going back on a deal you made because you don’t want to face your feelings.”
