Playing with Fire: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)

by RJ Blain

  As though hearing my thoughts, the universe decided to remind me things could get worse. The man-made rain intensified to a deluge, washing away my blanket of ash.

  “Noooo,” I whined, uncurling to dig into the debris so I could steal its residual heat. The remnant chunks of concrete broke apart and washed away, leaving me with the more stubborn metal, which caught on my fur.

  Great. Not only was I inflicted with the worst headache I’d ever experienced, I was cold, I was soaked, and I was stuck. Why did the CDC have to go to extremes to make sure the dust was eradicated? I had no doubt the fires had gotten rid of every last speck of it. Then again, I couldn’t blame them. The real issue was me; had my flames purged the contamination from my body?

  I thought so. For one blissful moment, I had been one with the inferno. I already missed the wild and destructive freedom—and its warmth. The cold numbed me and smothered me until bone-deep lethargy pulled me into miserable darkness.

  The crackle of the shield shattering roused me and signaled the end of the cold rain. The respite didn’t last long, as someone had the bright idea to spray the ruins with a fire hose. Why? Why would they do that?

  If I could have gotten up, I would have hunted the culprit down and stabbed them with my horn before eating them. My fur plastered to me, and I wailed, “Noooo. Wat-ter bad.”

  The stream cut off, and someone in a white hazmat suit braved the rubble, picking their way towards me, a meter in one hand. I lifted my head and snorted a warning, baring my teeth as a promise of what I’d do to them and their protective gear if they messed with me.

  “Scan is clear. I seem to have located an aggressive, oversized drowned rat, sir.”

  Ah, good old Perky. He always knew the exact thing to say to piss me off. “Rat? Rat? Purr-key, I will eat you! Cold. Fire gone. Bring fire back.”

  Perky crouched in front of me and shoved the meter in my mouth. “Breathe on the sensor, Gardener. It’s on close-range, high-sensitivity. If you’ve got any dust in your system, it’ll detect it.”

  I clamped my teeth on the device hard enough to keep hold of it, snorting out my nose to remind him I couldn’t breathe out of my mouth. I gave it a few licks and spit it out. “No breathe through mouth, idiot Perky. Nose only.”

  “Ah, right.”

  I should have known he’d ram the sensor up a nostril. It hurt, and I snorted in my effort to dislodge the obnoxious device. It remained silent.

  “You’re clean.”

  “Yippee. No box for me. I’m cold, Purr-key. Cold. Make wat-ter go away. I’m wet.”

  After hanging the meter from his utility belt, Perky gave my shoulder a pat. “Sir, she’s clean. Body temp seems really low, but otherwise, she seems fine. There is one problem. She’s tangled in the debris, and I’m not sure I can get her out. Yes, I’m certain she’s clean, sir. The napalm must have gotten it all, and if she breathed any in, the high temperatures must have cooked it out of her.”

  I lifted my head enough I could use Perky’s foot as a pillow. “Lit napalm. Did good?”

  Perky scratched behind my ears. “You did great, Gardener. Sit tight. We’ll get you out of there. I’m not sure how, but we’ll figure something out.”

  It took a crane, a couple of blowtorches, and some elbow grease to extricate me from the rubble. Perky kept me company the entire time, and my whining bore fruit when someone finally took pity on me and brought over a high-powered lamp to help ward away the chill. Full darkness had fallen by the time I staggered onto the sidewalk in front of the destroyed building.

  I’d never seen Wall Street so deserted before, and I shivered at the disconcerting sight. Without a reason to delay asking, I mumbled, “Quinn safe?”

  While I’d burned the napalm for Perky, my worries for the police chief had driven me to ensure the whole place toppled in an inferno so intense I questioned if I had existed as anything other than flame while it had burned.

  Perky ditched the containment suit in a pile on the road before pointing at the nearest traffic barricade. “He’s over there. Last I heard he was screaming something about skinning a crazy, suicidal pyromaniac unicorn.”

  I spotted a stack of blankets off to the side, and I shuffled to them, lowering my head to grab one in my teeth, turning to hold it out to Perky. Around a mouthful of plush fabric, I said, “Still cold. Want blanket.”

  With a quiet chuckle, he took it from me, shook it out, and draped it over my back. “Poor thing. You’re still shivering. Baths are not good for crazy pyromaniac unicorns, are they?”

  “Wat-ter bad,” I agreed. “Go? Fire. Sleep. Meat. Not in that order.”

  “Just promise me you won’t pick a fight with Chief Quinn. We’ve all had a miserable day.”

  “Yes. Want fire. Cold. Hun-gree. Tired.”

  “I feel like I should yell at you for being so whiny, but you’ve earned it. Come on, let’s get to the barricade. The CDC promised to send over a trailer so you wouldn’t have to hoof it.”

  I surrendered with a sigh, and we made it half a block before a tall, dark, and handsome figure stormed in our direction.

  “Gardener!” Quinn stomped up, got in my face, and bellowed, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  The rage in his voice surprised me so much I recoiled, bumping into Perky and knocking him aside. I flattened my ears. A shiver ran through me, and a bone-deep tension warned me of trouble. Like some living elastic band stretched too tight, I snapped back into my human body, yelping at the blinding surge of pain. My legs buckled, and I pitched forward.

  Warm, strong arms wrapped around me, and my face collided with Quinn’s chest rather than the sidewalk.

  Perky spewed curses. A moment later, he draped the blanket over my shoulders. “Couldn’t you have done that an hour ago?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not my fault!” Go me. At the rate I was whining and wailing, they’d nickname me Manhattan’s Banshee.

  Worse, without Quinn’s hold on me, I would’ve oozed to the ground in a limp Bailey puddle. My body refused all my orders, leaving me slumped against the man, my nose pressed against his uniform, forcing me to breathe in his scent. He smelled of smoke and cologne. One moment, I struggled to stand without help. The next, Quinn held me cradled in his arms while Perky tucked the blanket around me.

  “Ambulance,” Quinn barked. It didn’t take Perky long to relay the order using the police chief’s radio.

  “Not again, damn it. I’m fine. I don’t need to go—”

  “You were in a burning building, exposed to gorgon dust again, and trapped in debris. Any one of those things warrants a trip to the hospital.” Quinn inhaled and launched into a tirade detailing every last one of my sins, beginning with my decision to remain in a condemned building instead of leaving with the two cops assigned to me.

  “That’s not fair. I was contaminated. I couldn’t risk public safety.”

  “Gardener,” he growled.

  I scowled and turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at his angry face, which would only serve to remind me I was naked under the blanket, how ridiculously handsome he was even when pissed off, and how I really wouldn’t mind if his clothes were incinerated so we were both naked and under a blanket—preferably together.

  Damn it, why couldn’t I do anything like a normal human being? Even with a skull-splitting headache and aching body, I wanted the man. It wasn’t fair.

  “You’re going to the hospital, and that’s final.”

  Infuriated Quinn was too hot to handle. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t embarrass myself any further.

  The EMTs agreed with Chief Quinn, ignored my protests, and took me to the hospital, where I spent the next five hours undergoing tests to confirm I wouldn’t fall over dead, turn to stone, or start petrifying people. To add insult to injury, Professor Yale arrived five minutes after I did and insisted on accompanying me through every single part of the examination.

  If the old man kept laughing at me, I really would kill him. “Would you pl
ease stop?”

  “You ate so much napalm you got drunk on it. Of course I’m going to laugh. Who wouldn’t?” While he managed to speak the words in his most solemn teaching voice, Professor Yale grinned at me. “Stop complaining and get dressed. I’ll even turn around to protect your modesty. You should be happy. Unlike the two cops who went into the building with you, you dodged a trip into a glass coffin. I thought you’d appreciate knowing they were in for six hours just to be cleared and are breezing through recovery. Neither were contaminated, but we weren’t about to take any chances.”

  Even sixty minutes in a glass coffin led to misery and revaccinations, but it beat the alternative. Maybe when my body didn’t ache so much, I’d even be happy about it—at least happy for Janet. The cadet could take a one-way trip to his grave for all I cared, and if I never saw the insufferable man again, I’d be content. Grimacing at the pull of sore, stiff muscles, I dug into the bag Professor Yale had brought with him.

  Why, exactly, was I holding a pair of black lace panties and matching bra in my hand? I selected my bras for function over form. Could little scraps of cloth held together with lace actually keep my breasts contained? I wasn’t even sure what the point of the dainty panties were, but I wore them anyway.

  The bra fit a little too well, and no amount of tugging prevented it from giving me the Grand Canyon of cleavage even though my breasts weren’t all that large to begin with. Muttering curses, I hoped the lace would actually keep them supported and somewhat contained.

  Instead of normal clothes, someone had decided a yellow dress with dinky little straps and barely enough fabric to keep everything covered classified as appropriate attire. I pulled it over my head and discovered it barely fell mid thigh. If I bent over, I’d give everyone a show.

  “What the hell is this thing?”

  Professor Yale turned around and arched an eyebrow. “I do believe that’s called a dress, Bailey. It’s a form of attire members of your gender wear. It was also the easiest thing to acquire on short notice with the sizes we had on file in the CDC database.”

  Right. The CDC kept measurements of all certified employees in case of emergencies, allowing the organization to clothe anyone caught handling situations without being able to pack a bag first. Dresses were easier, as fashion designers hadn’t quite figured out how to standardize jean sizes.

  “I feel indecent, Professor Yale.”

  “Stop complaining. Just be happy the CDC is footing the bill again. Can you please stop trying to get yourself killed? You’re going to give me an ulcer.”

  “So, did they actually call you for the secondary authorization?”

  “Yes.”

  At least protocols had been followed. It probably wouldn’t save me from a lengthy interrogation, but maybe I’d survive without losing my certification. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

  “No.”

  “Wait. What? Why not? I ordered an entire skyscraper to be napalmed. This isn’t like torching a single apartment or something. It was an entire building. I reduced it to rubble.” My voice had gone up a full octave, and I cringed. “Sorry.”

  Professor Yale chuckled. “We have full video evidence of everything that went on in the building. The camera Officer Downing provided was uploading directly to the CDC as well as to her portable monitor. You checked the meter per protocol, reset the meter when you weren’t sure if the reading was correct, and took every single precaution to ensure the public’s safety. You then did a full examination of the site. While you pulled the trigger quickly on giving a napalming order, there is zero reason for anyone at the CDC to question your judgment.”

  I pinched myself. It hurt. “Did hell freeze over?”

  Shaking his head, Professor Yale grabbed the empty bag, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the garbage can. “No. After the difficulty neutralizing the gorgon dust in your apartment, we decided to go with high-intensity napalm—a new blend, infused with magic to reach higher temperatures. The bomb techs forgot to account for the higher ignition point. We’re very impressed—we weren’t sure how the hell we were going to get the napalm lit, and you went and did our job for us. That said, was it really necessary to roll around in it while on fire? After the building had collapsed, the reporters captured a few clips of you playing in the debris. They really love the clip of you belching white-hot fire near the end of your drunken rampage. The giggling and chanting of ‘napalm’ over and over is coming in as a close second favorite. The CDC issued a statement you were chosen for your breed’s ability to ensure the new blend of napalm worked. You should be grateful; we kept your name out of the news.”

  I groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Me? Joke?”

  “I was on the news? As a unicorn?”

  “Just be grateful the photograph of Chief Quinn carrying you to the ambulance hasn’t reached the media. Expect blackmail.”

  I sucked in a breath and widened my eyes. “Oh, no. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Very. At least you won’t have much paperwork to do. I thought you’d appreciate if I handled it for you. All you need to do is review and sign. Even better, I have a check with your name on it. The bad news? There’s an official lifetime ban on you eating magically infused napalm without authorization. There will be no drunken revelries without it being cleared by the CDC first.”

  I sighed. “It’s not like I went on a drunken rampage on purpose.”

  Professor Yale thumped my shoulder. “Ready to get out of here? Chief Quinn is expecting you. At least this time you’ll be able to enjoy a more traditional stay. I’m sure you want to sleep off your hangover.”

  “At Chief Quinn’s house.”

  “Yes.”

  My life had somehow become very strange. Instead of complaining about it, I accepted the inevitable with a nod. What else could I do? I stared down at the little yellow dress. If I squinted, I was pretty sure I could see my black bra through it. Damn. I was giving the dress a tug to pull the hem down so it was a little closer to a comfortable length when I noticed the hair on my legs.

  Crap. I really needed to shave.

  Chapter Ten

  At a little after eight in the morning, Professor Yale pulled into Quinn’s driveway. Armed with a folded check, I got out of the old man’s car. The house looked dark and quiet.

  The roses lining his walkway caught my eye, and I blushed at the memory of having eaten one as a unicorn. To cover my embarrassment, I leaned down and stared through the window. “I’m going to wake him up, aren’t I?”

  “No. I called him right before we left the hospital. Go get some sleep. You’re so tired you don’t even know which end is up anymore. I might start thinking you like the man if you keep acting this way, and you’d regret that later. Have fun at your sleepover party, little girl.”

  Groaning, I stepped away from Professor Yale’s car and flipped my middle finger at him. “We need to have a long talk about your personal dictionary. It needs adjusted. In what alternate dimension do I have fun with Chief Quinn?”

  He laughed. “Take care and get some sleep, Bailey.” Backing out of the driveway, he drove away with a departing wave.

  “There’s nothing fun about being scolded by a police chief at eight in the morning, you know!” I called after him.

  The bastard didn’t even slow. Sighing, I prepared for the worst and marched to the front door, knocking before I lost my nerve.

  A yawning Quinn opened the door, shirtless and in nothing more than a pair of boxers. “Come on in. Sorry I didn’t pick you up from the hospital—Yale threatened dismemberment if I got underfoot.”

  Since when did Quinn, half-naked or otherwise, act so nice? I could do nice, too. I could also talk to the man without slobbering all over him. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

  “Get in the house already, Gardener.”

  Right. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. “I have a hangover, so if I say anything stupid, that
’s why. I’m really sorry.” At least I could try to prevent issues before they happened for a change.

  “Yale already warned me you were paying for getting drunk on napalm. Who knew it’d be like alcohol for a unicorn? Conveniently, I have hangover meds on hand.”

  “There’s medication for hangovers?” Where had those been all my life?

  He laughed. “Sure is. It even works, too. Drink a couple glasses of water, take two of those tablets, and you’ll be feeling better in no time. Kitchen’s this way.”

  Quinn led me through his home. He had moved his furniture, giving his home a calm, welcoming atmosphere. “You really do have a nice house.”

  “Consider it yours for however long you need.”

  Forever would be a good start, but I didn’t have the courage to tell him that. No one had ever invited me to make myself at home for any length of time, not in my adult life at least, not even my parents—especially not my parents. I swallowed so I wouldn’t cry in front of Quinn.

  He wouldn’t understand.

  “I really appreciate this.”

  “You’re welcome.” Quinn filled a glass with water, dropped two orange tablets into it, stirring with a spoon until both tablets dissolved. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

  I set my check on the counter and took the glass. The medicine tasted like oranges, and I guzzled it down before my stomach could rebel. “Did everything work out with the situation yesterday?”

  I still had no idea what had happened. While I didn’t expect Quinn to tell me, I could fake being a good person with a little effort. People liked when others took an interest in their work—at least, I thought they did.

  “I’m of the opinion it was a distraction to keep resources away from the 120 Wall Street incident. Fortunately, we had you on our side, else it would have gotten bad fast.”

  I almost dropped the glass but set it down before I broke it. “What?”

  Quinn pointed at the folded piece of paper. “That’s your check?”