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

by RJ Blain

  Clemmends paled and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  I was missing something. While I specialized in cleaning up after gorgons, learning about their familial structure hadn’t been a priority for me. “Right to rule? Why’s that?”

  “It’s a what, not a why, dear. It’s a type of magic, and it’s why I am not wearing sunglasses. My brother wears his only because he loses his temper far easier than I do. It’s also why our snakes are uncovered. Our control over our powers is superior. Many other gorgons petrify with a look, as their abilities are always active. We choose when we petrify someone. That is evidence of our right to rule. I have it. My brother has it.”

  I didn’t need to do the math; if Quinn ever became a gorgon, he’d have it, too. Would dust even work on someone who carried gorgon genes already? I couldn’t remember anything about the CDC testing the possibility.

  I hadn’t even known gorgons could have human children.

  The head of the CDC blanched. “Chief Quinn is gorgon spawn?”

  Every single snake in the room hissed, and Quinn’s cousin’s expression turned so terrible I suspected his sunglasses were the only thing keeping Clemmends from petrifying. I filed ‘spawn’ away as an insult.

  “My grandson is the child of two humans. By the CDC’s own rules, he’s quite human, I promise you. He will not accidentally petrify anyone.”

  My eyes widened at the subtle inflection in my grandfather-in-law’s voice. Could Quinn petrify someone as a human?

  “I see.”

  “Bailey, dear heart, do show Mr. Clemmends your bracelet.”

  My bracelet? Oh, the tattoo. I’d forgotten about the thing, and I obeyed, shoving back my coat sleeve to reveal the golden pattern, which still glowed with a faint light, although it had dimmed. “It’s really pretty. I didn’t get a chance to thank Sylvester.”

  “Don’t you worry your lovely head about that. Angels love weddings. I give it a day at most before his common sense dribbles out of his ears and he has eloping regrets.”

  “He doesn’t have ears.”

  “Oh, he does. If you want to see a great reaction, give his shoulder a slap one day. You might luck out and launch him into orbit.”

  I could handle an angel’s lack of a head. I could handle their ears being on their shoulders. I could. I’d gotten better at being a polite adult. “That’s good to know.”

  My grandfather-in-law smirked at me before turning to the head of the CDC. “Mr. Clemmends, I witnessed the signing of their marriage certificate. Samuel’s other grandfather bound them together until the end of days, and they both carry the evidence of their binding on their left wrists. Now, please explain to me why you thought, for even a second, it was acceptable to attempt to coerce someone into an agreement to serve as a surrogate?”

  I took a discreet step to the side to get out of the biting range of the hissing, swaying coral snakes, and Barnabus joined me, whispering in my ear, “I’m just the scapegoat. On behalf of my side of the family, I’m very sorry you got dragged into this. My whelp’s idiocy is inexcusable.”

  “Let’s review,” I muttered. “I really had no idea how I’d get my husband to marry me—or even keep me as his girlfriend at the minimum. I’m hopeless. I should be thanking someone for this mess, but if I get too close to your whelp, I might be tempted to try to kill him again. He tried to petrify me!”

  “Tried?” Barnabus straightened, and both of his eyebrows rose. “He didn’t succeed?”

  “Freak bit me, too. I hate when gorgons bite me. It hurts like hell.”

  “You’re really immune. Full immunity?”

  “I’m really immune. That’s why I get the worst jobs in the city.”

  The gorgon king made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “Even to dust?”

  I wrinkled my nose at the mention of the substance. “I’m immune even to dust.”

  “It seems Prince Samuel picked an extraordinary woman indeed. I’m impressed, and that doesn’t happen often. You should escape while you can. Once my brother begins to rant, he doesn’t stop for a long while. Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you.” I backed away and fled while I could, easing the door open enough I could slip out of the office and make my escape.

  I made it to the ground floor before I realized I’d forgotten to ask about the CDC’s proposal for employment. While I could use a job, in a way, I was grateful I hadn’t stuck around. The idea of working for someone who viewed me as a thing with monetary value left a sour taste in my mouth. If I’d been treated like a person rather than a commodity, I never would have needed to marry Quinn in the first place, although I had zero regrets about having done it.

  We’d figure it out, and I suspected Sylvester was onto something with his comment about the best sex of my—and Quinn’s—life. Mary’s belief in the bright side of things worked sometimes. Quinn drove me crazy in all the right and wrong ways. The longer I was with him, the more time I wanted to spend with him, in and out of bed.

  Quinn, Perky, and Nilman were where I’d left them. The three had their heads together, staring at Perky’s phone. One of them giggled. “Not to interrupt your play time, but we can leave now. I delivered the papers. No one was assaulted.”

  “Sneaky,” my husband muttered. Then he giggled. My eyes widened.

  Why was Quinn giggling? What were they looking at on Perky’s phone? I frowned, circled their table, and peeked over Quinn’s shoulder. A video of a kitten playing with a scrap of paper enthralled the three men. Narrowing my eyes, I twisted around to get a good look at the cafeteria, homing in on the cafe portion. A stamp featuring a pixie marked the upper left corner of the sign.

  “I leave for half an hour, and you three get high on pixie dust?”

  A chorus of giggles answered me, even from the older cop. My husband flashed me his best smile. “You slipped off while I was working. You only have yourself to blame.”

  I eliminated a light dusting of C-grade dust as the culprit; it put Quinn in a better mood but didn’t change his base personality. A full dose of C-grade made him more likely to smile and take it easy on those around him. I had found the change disconcerting enough I hadn’t wanted to give him B or better.

  “You shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to your phone, then.” Would Quinn turn out to be one of those who people were determined to make everyone around him as happy as he was? If B or better turned him into a giggling, kitten adoring mess, what would A+++ do to him? My curiosity would lead us to a dark—and sexy—place. I’d need a lot of neutralizer before I experimented with felony-level drug administration on my husband. “Can we go home?”

  Quinn leaned back in his chair so his head rested against my stomach. “Yes, we can leave. Up for driving the rest of the way? We can work if you’re driving.”

  Oh boy. Three cops high on pixie dust trying to do serious work would likely lead to hilarity at the station later. Hilarity I hoped I would get to watch. “Seems fair since I slept on the way to Richmond. I might stink the station out if I don’t get a shower, though.”

  The smoldering look my husband shot me made me want to drag him somewhere semi-private. “I can help—”

  Nilman jabbed Quinn in the ribs with his elbow. “No, sir. You can’t help her.”

  “But—”

  Perky joined in, slapping Quinn upside the head. “No.”

  Kitten video forgotten, the three degenerated to elbow jabs, finger pointing, and kicks under the table, giggling the entire time. I opened my mouth, snapped my teeth together with a clack, and waited. Waiting didn’t change anything. I suspected they had rules to their odd brawl. They remained seated, their faces were off-limits, and they seemed intent on some goal.

  It took me a few minutes to determine they were trying to tickle each other and failing miserably at it.

  I checked their coffee cups to discover them empty. Leaving the men to their play fight, I disposed of the cups, headed for the cafe, and dug out my CDC identification card, holding it
out to the young woman at the counter. “I’m the responsible adult driving the three idiot cops home. What grade did they take?”

  The barista chuckled, looked over my card, and handed it back to me. “A+, ma’am. A gentleman was in here earlier and paid for their coffee, asking me to dust their drinks.”

  Considering one of Quinn’s grandfathers was upstairs, I had my suspicions. “Did the gentleman happen to lack a head?”

  She grinned, put her finger to her lips, and nodded.

  Damned angels. “Thanks. I’ll make sure they make it home without menacing someone.”

  “They’ve been very well behaved.”

  I cast a doubtful look at the three men engaged in a tickle battle. “Well, they’re very happy now, that’s for sure.”

  “The pretty one was very anxious after you left. He needed a little liquid joy.”

  Good old pixie dust, controller of depression, easer of anxiety, tester of patience. “Good to know. Thanks. Have yourself a good day.”

  I returned to the table and sighed. “Come on, then. I need to get you three to work.” Would the dust wear off in time? If it didn’t, what would I tell the other cops at the station? The complaints would come in early and often. A slightly happy Quinn unnerved me. A giggling one skewed my perception of reality and stirred all sorts of bad thoughts. If I ditched Perky and Nilman, I’d regret it sometime after I got Quinn somewhere alone.

  They ignored me. I made a mental note to suggest the CDC classify A+ pixie dust as a controlled substance rather than a devilishly expensive one. Then again, I knew how much Sylvester had paid to make my life interesting.

  “Worth it,” the angel murmured in my ear.

  Too startled to scream, I whirled around. “You!”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why would you do this to me?” I pointed at the three men who were oblivious an angel had just popped into existence nearby.

  “How could I watch my precious grandson mope when you left without him? He needed to stop whining, so I bought them coffee. I may have whispered a few suggestions to his friend to convince him they really needed a refill of coffee while they waited.”

  “You poured several hundred dollars worth of pixie dust down their throats to stop Quinn from whining?”

  “Consider it part of my wedding gift to you.”

  “Your wedding gift is giving me three punch drunk men to babysit?”

  “One of them will provide you with certain amusements in due time. He was sulking. I couldn’t just let him sulk while you dealt with business.”

  “That really doesn’t explain why Perky and Nilman are so, so happy right now.”

  “My little grandson needed someone to play with.”

  “I left them alone for maybe an hour. They would have survived.” I sighed, hung my head, and willed myself to have patience.

  “A man shouldn’t be sad on his wedding day.”

  “I’ll remember this, Sylvester,” I promised.

  “You are so entertaining.” The angel fled in a burst of golden light, probably to avoid my wrath. Sneaky, wicked angel.

  Unless I intervened, I doubted the three cops would leave the cafeteria, happy to play like children while being amused by the smallest things. “All right, you three. It’s time to go.”

  Quinn flashed his panty-igniting smile in my direction. “Hi, beautiful.”

  Okay. Maybe I could find a few minutes to drag him into a stairwell first. No one would notice, except the security guys monitoring the cameras. Damn it. “If you don’t get in the car, I can’t take you home, Quinn.”

  While pixie dust could short circuit someone in a hurry, it didn’t completely remove their ability to reason and connect the dots. Quinn moved fast when he wanted to and was halfway to the door before I realized he had left his phone and wallet on the table. I gathered his belongings while Perky cracked up laughing.

  “I think he wants to go home for some reason. I wonder why that might be.”

  Men. “In reality, he’s going to work so he can pester everyone at the station.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “You’re going to work, too.”

  “Work sounds like fun. Let’s go to work, Nilman!”

  The pair jumped to their feet and hurried after Quinn, leaving their phones and wallets behind, too. I sighed, gathered their things, and checked the seats and floor for anything else they had dropped during their playful excitement.

  Maybe I wouldn’t give Quinn the good stuff after all. I considered hunting down some neutralizer to restore the men to sanity. I sighed and gave up. Who was I to ruin their harmless fun?

  Chapter Eighteen

  If Quinn, Perky, and Nilman sang another note of a children’s song, I would become a serial killer and a widow at the same time. Easing the SUV into a parking spot at the station, I killed the engine and regarded my passengers with narrowed eyes. Of the three, Nilman seemed the most sober. I turned my glare to him. “So help me, if someone doesn’t bring me neutralizer in the next five minutes, there will be bodies stashed in the nearest stairwell.”

  The older cop smiled at me. “Look at them, Gardener. They’re so happy. How could you take their happiness away? It’s so rare.”

  Nilman was happy, too, but instead of reminding him of that, I turned around in my seat and banged my head into the steering wheel. “Get the hell out of the car.”

  It took a lot of work to herd the three smiling men to the eighth floor. Everyone wanted something from Quinn, who was quite happy to volunteer to help with even the smallest task. After five stops on the way to the elevator, my husband had given himself at least five hours of work.

  I hoped it was work he actually needed to do. Under the influence of A+ pixie dust, he’d enjoy doing anything anyone threw his way. At least it wouldn’t compromise his ability to realize someone was giving him an order he shouldn’t comply with. It would impair his base ability to refuse requests, but it wouldn’t force him to act against his nature.

  If angels had necks, I would have wrung Sylvester’s with my hands and enjoyed every minute of it. Immortals wouldn’t die from a mere strangulation. I could indulge for hours without any harm done. I’d enjoy it.

  On the eighth floor, Quinn’s cops gaped at us while I herded my trio of miscreants to their desks and locked my new husband in his office. Turning and pressing my back to the door, I glared at the cops. “Get. Me. Neutralizer.”

  Everyone stared at me in dead silence, doing a fair imitation of statues. Great. They probably thought I had lost my mind.

  “Three choices: I kill you all, I swear never to make any of you a single cup of coffee as long as I live, or you get me neutralizer right now.”

  My threats needed work. People weren’t supposed to laugh when I issued them. I sighed. “Please.”

  Amanda stepped away from her desk, grinning so wide her face had to hurt. “How much do you need?”

  “A spoonful in a cup of coffee each should work. Make it an espresso.”

  The woman laughed. “We don’t know how to use the machine.”

  Screaming my frustration, I pointed at the nearest cop, one of the younger men. “You. Do not let Chief Quinn out of his office.” I picked two other victims and pointed at them in turn. “Keep those other two at their desks. Pretend they’re little kids. Give them candy or something.”

  The three saluted, and my first volunteer replied, “Yes, ma’am!”

  In retrospect, giving the cops a good coffee machine without teaching them how to use it classified as cruel and unusual punishment. I could kill multiple birds with a single stone. “All right. The rest of you, fall in. Time to learn how to make coffee.”

  A few whoops answered me, and with a herd of eager cops in tow, I descended on their new machine. Suzy sat on the counter with a half-filled pot. I hissed at it.

  Suzy’s time would end soon enough—after I restored Quinn, Perky, and Nilman to sanity.

  “Pay attention, but I’ll be here to teach you h
ow the whole thing works after I sober the three idiots up.”

  The break room couldn’t fit everyone, although they made a valiant effort to cram as many bodies into the space as possible. Armed with three espressos spiked with neutralizer, I delivered them to my intended targets. It didn’t take much to convince them to drink. Within five minutes, the neutralizer would do its job and counter the worst of their pixie-dust high. I turned to the rest of the cops. “Chief Quinn never gets A or higher grade pixie dust again. Ever.”

  I’d think long and hard about using a tiny bit of the dust stashed in my bra in the safety of his home with neutralizer on hand. If I gave him a hit of the truly good stuff, I could make sure no one learned of it.

  When I was certain they drank down every last drop of their coffee, I turned to their volunteered babysitters. “Watch them until they stop giggling.”

  In a way, I envied the high threesome. Why couldn’t I benefit from a small hit of instant joy? I sighed and headed back to the break room. “Just this once, I will make you all a cup of coffee, but in exchange, you need to teach everyone else in the building how to use the machine.”

  My plan to spread the love of coffee would have worked a lot better if someone hadn’t opened their big mouth and spread the word I was on the eighth floor teaching people how to get a good fix of java.

  Since pixie dust didn’t come bundled with a low, ten minutes after I got the espresso into them, Quinn, Perky, and Nilman went to work as though nothing had happened, still in a good mood, but otherwise oblivious to their high. While tired, they dove into their jobs with the same cheerful determination as someone dosed with a mild hit of C-grade dust.