by R. J. Blain
“My what?”
“Your body’s age, ability to have children, and general health. Basically, after conversion, you won’t be a human anymore. You’ll be stuck with Dean, but as I said, there are far worse stallions you could be stuck with.”
“Stuck?” Dean complained.
“I just said there were far worse stallions she could be stuck with. I’m making sure she’s able to make an educated decision, as she’s been barred from doing that her entire life. I won’t have your starry eyes railroading her. My first act as world ruler is to make sure she is the one who makes the final choice. I figured you were hopeless from the instant you read about her while doing your best to save the world rather than take it over.”
“Is that how unicorns are? There are those who want to save the world, like Dean, and then there are those who want to take over the world, like you. Are there other types?”
“The ones that want to stab everything, the ones that like to light things on fire so they can eat the ashes, and the ones that would prefer to drown their victims, stab them, and drain them of their blood post drowning. We don’t talk about those ones all that much. That’s one thing the other unicorn species have in common: we don’t like the kelpie imposters.”
“Kelpie imposters?”
“Kelpies are water demons. They lack horns, often lure people into water to either drown them or breed with them and take the shape of horses. Those so-called ‘unicorns’ act like kelpies, but they’re blood drinkers. They’re related to Eastern unicorns, except they’re a lot nastier. There are several species of Eastern unicorns, and some of them do drink blood and eat meat, but they prefer scavenging battlefields. Our species gets along well with most, but we also don’t get involved in the species feuds. And let me tell you, some of the other species of unicorns? They’ll fight to the death if they run into each other. And if we happen to be around when a fight like that happens, we’re expected to wade in, kick them both into submission, drive them off, and tell them to leave each other alone. We’re usually considered the ‘nice’ unicorns. We are so not nice, not when we’re peacekeeping. Really, we can be nasty if pushed.”
“Is that why you don’t view my tendency to shank people as a bad thing?”
“Well, we won’t have to teach you how to wade in and knock heads together. That’s a point to Dean. Dean, just call already.”
“Fine, fine. I’m calling.” Dean tapped the screen of his phone and set it on the coffee table. “This is a terrible idea.”
The phone rang and I dabbed white, black, a selection of warm and cool grays, and brown paint onto my palette. As always when starting a painting featuring a person or animal, I began with his head and eyes.
The eyes were windows to the soul, and if I couldn’t paint his eyes well, the rest of the painting would fall apart. It would take effort to capture so much stubborn pride, ego, and mischief, but the challenge thrilled me.
Dean’s brown eyes wouldn’t impress most, but I liked the color, a rich tone full of life.
“There’s something seriously wrong with you, boy, to take an hour to actually call after texting,” a man announced. “I ought to come over there and teach you a thing or two about manners.”
In prison language, a threat like that would result in a fight, and I debated if Dean required assistance or if he should face his father’s wrath on his own. I figured the stallion could handle himself, and I went to work capturing him in paints. The brown I’d chosen lacked the depth I wanted, and I grabbed every brown I could in search of the right one. Then, as I doubted just brown would work, I grabbed a few yellows, oranges, and reds to add some fire to the color.
“Sorry, Dad. There’s a situation and Xena convinced me to ask the herd for a favor.”
“You have my attention. For you to let your sister talk you into anything, the world must surely be ending. Is there a reason we’re talking in English?”
“Layla speaks English, and she’s listening. It’d be rude to switch to a different language when we’re going to be talking about her.”
“Who is Layla?”
Xena snickered. “She’s the convict he plucked out of court and is determined to convert into a pretty little mare for himself. He’s positively smitten. She’s tolerant, although she’s definitely listening to his overtures, which have involved teaching her how life outside of prison works. She’s been incarcerated since she was five or six.”
“Okay. While I’m well versed on the existence of demonic little children, of which you are only one of many, I would not say any little filly that age deserves incarceration in an actual prison. The corner typically works along with other parental methods. Explain.”
“Her mother hated her and wanted to get rid of her. So, she did. It turns out Layla’s a talented painter, and there’s a counterfeit art ring taking advantage of her abilities. She had no way of knowing she was participating in illegal activities, and she’s quite possibly the sweetest human I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I like her, but I want to make sure she understands how life is supposed to work before she tames Dean. I don’t see him taming her. You also won’t have to train her much on the self-defense front. She tried to shank someone with my purse.”
Dean and Xena’s father whistled. “I need to remember when I ask you, my daughter, for an explanation, it’s going to be far worse than I imagined possible. From the day you were born, you were trouble, Xena.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault this time. Dean was whining he wanted a mare he could pamper, and he was tired of human women who wanted to bang him for his money. So, he got bored and decided to take advantage of our rarity rating to troll the prison system for someone interesting. He found her, and he couldn’t understand how someone with a string of petty thefts was serving a life sentence in a high security prison.”
“The more you talk, Xena, the more worried I become. Dean? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“She slapped my ass in court and fed me part of her first cupcake. How could I say no to that?”
I grinned at the awkward silence. It would be difficult to paint him as anything other than naughty. Did I even want to? I could paint him as majestic while naughty. That would be a challenge.
“Xena?”
“She really did. She was on her way to the witness stand and gave him a slap right to his rump. He about jumped out of his skin, and she got lucky he didn’t clip her with a hoof. He would’ve suffered a meltdown if he had, too. I thought I’d have to sit on him during the court session. Her statements upset him. There’s probably records of the session somewhere. They brought in an angel because of the circumstances, and Layla inadvertently exposed the counterfeit ring. I think the angel became upset over the reality of Layla’s life and purchased her the type of cupcake she’d stolen. Turns out nobody had taught her how to use her debit card. That card? Has tens of thousands of available dollars on it. We have the information for it, and the court is handling restitutions for her, but her current confirmed owed earnings are already on it. Dean won’t let her use her card while he’s around, though. She’s painting right now, which is all she really knows. I took her to the art store while Dean was getting his US license and buying a vehicle. We bought too much. Also, when you bring the herd, please get a big SUV. We’re going to need it to move her new clothes and her art supplies. Can you ask Simon if he can preserve wet oil paintings? We might have to move her in-progress art before it has a chance to dry.”
“I’m sure Simon can manage. Why am I gathering the herd and invading the United States?”
“Well, two members of the counterfeit ring have attempted to kidnap her once already. She kneed the one in the groin and did her best to shank him with my purse. They ran away—the cowards. I was debating how best to beat them, but she took care of it herself.”
“That’s a fair reason for concern. Dean, what are your thoughts on this, son?”
“They’re damned lucky I was at the courthouse snarling at a judge whe
n it happened, as I would have left bloody smears on the road for even thinking about trying to touch her.”
“And what is the young lady’s opinion on all of this?”
Both Xena and Dean stared at me. I continued to paint the naughty unicorn’s eyes, hoping I could capture just how much trouble he’d inevitably create wherever he went. In fact, the more exposure to the pair I had, the more I believed they were wolves in sheep’s clothing. “Neither should be left unsupervised. I’m not sure a maximum-security prison cell could hold either for long and we still haven’t ordered chicken wings yet. Or baked treats.”
“I’ll make sure you’re fed after we’re done talking to Dad,” Dean promised. “And we’d have to move your painting station so we can get to the door.”
I considered my placement near the door, art supplies spread out in a sea around me. “That’s a valid point. I accept responsibility for the delay. But you owe me extra chicken wings still.”
“I’ll get you some cheese sticks to try to go with them, and I’ll see if there are any bakeries that’ll deliver. If not, there’s a convenience store down the street. They won’t have great stuff, but they’ll have some stuff. Either way, you’ll have some form of baked good to go with dinner tonight.”
“It’s rare for a woman to make things like dinner selection easy, Dean. Appreciate this while it lasts,” his father advised. “Your mother goes out of her way to make me guess. She likes when I put in the extra effort. She also likes when I take the foals with me so she can indulge in peace and quiet.”
“Mom isn’t there, is she?”
“She is indulging in some peace and quiet right now. I was told if the foals woke her, she would geld me. As I’m not sure if she’s serious this time, the foals and I made a tent fort. As building a tent fort is tiring work, I’m the only conscious person in the house, as it’s one in the morning.”
Dean grimaced. “Right. It’s late there. Sorry, Dad.”
“If you’d called me over something frivolous, I might’ve cared, but it seems you two have gotten yourselves in trouble. Again. You’re going to have to give me an idea of what you want us to do so we can prepare before I bring the herd over. Obviously, preventing them from kidnapping your mare is at the top of the list. You wouldn’t call in the entire herd for just that. Well, you might, but Xena wouldn’t. She’s sensible sometimes. I’m expecting you to forgo any sensibility for the next ten or so years, just like your brothers and sisters. Your choice of hunting grounds is a little unusual, but I suppose desperate times lead to desperate measures. Try not to upset your mare too much before you convince her she should stick around.”
Xena laughed. “She’s painting Dean as a unicorn right now. She made him model for her for hours, and he danced to her tune without a peep of complaint. I’m scheduled for a turn, but she took pity on me on account of this phone call and dinner. So far, I think she’s painting his head. Hey, Layla?”
“Hmm?”
“Is it normal for it to take such a long time to paint so very little?”
“I’m experimenting, so yes. I like experimenting.”
In reality, I wasn’t sure which method of painting would best portray the troublesome stallion, so I’d have to play around with it until I found the way I liked best.
“I think we’ve lost her to her painting, Dad. I tried.”
“You didn’t try very hard, but if she’s happy using painting as a coping mechanism, then I say that’s more Dean’s problem than mine right now. Back on subject. What do you need us for?”
“Well, since the counterfeiting ring isn’t going to stop until they either get Layla back or make sure no one else has her, I thought we’d get together, wipe the ring out, expose all the paintings they forged using her, and offer to buy the paintings back so Layla can have them. We can then sell them after the story is exposed and we figure out how they authenticated the paintings. I figure at least one of her paintings has to be in a museum, so we should test their security. We would tell them we’re doing it, and if we can’t bust in, their art should be safe. If we bust in, they sell the painting to us after we steal it.”
“You just want to steal things again,” their father accused.
“Well, yes. And Layla’s always stolen things she shouldn’t, not that that’s really her fault. But it’s not stealing if we’re allowed to go in and test their security. I get to steal something, and it’s legal. Best of all, if we con the museum into trying to buy another piece of art from the counterfeiters, we could run our heist the same time the museum folks are negotiating for the new painting!”
“No.”
“Dad,” Xena whined. “It’s a brilliant idea.”
“I could get the contact information for the painting sellers and accomplish the same thing. I’m not against having Simon or Juan test their security work against a museum, but we’re not turning it into more of a madhouse than such a venture would be. And while I’ll bring the herd over, we’ll need to do some serious discussion and research into the situation. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to lay low, and you’ll help Dean’s young lady settle. If she’s been in prison for a long time, she will have difficulties adjusting.”
“She’s been okay so far,” Xena replied. “She’s really resilient.”
“Well, she’ll have to be to put up with Dean.”
The stallion sighed. “That’s not at all fair, Dad.”
“It really is. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone. Also, I suggest you acclimate Layla to hugging and physical contact. You know your mother.” The line clicked.
Dean picked up his phone, glaring at the screen. “He really hung up on me.”
“Well, it is late there, and if Mom made him build a pillow fort, Mom or one of the foals isn’t feeling well, so he’s going to have to deal with someone sick on a long flight. He probably wants to call Juan and get him on the move here. Don’t be surprised if he shows up tomorrow morning.”
“Juan?” While puzzled by the entire phone conversation and their father’s parting warning, I would find out what he’d meant soon enough.
“My older brother. He enjoys security work, and he’s our oldest brother’s right-hand man. Juan is the doer; Simon is the thinker. I bet Dad’s on the phone with Juan now, as he loves bodyguard roles, and the instant he learns I’m interested in you, he’ll be over here putting me in my place and making sure I treat you right while showing me how I ought to protect you.”
I could think of exactly one way to deal with the problem. “If he tries that with me, I’m breaking his nose on your thick skull.”
Xena’s eyes widened, and Dean scowled. I returned to my painting, making a mental note I’d have to study him when angry so I could capture his fury in oil.
He’d be spectacular, a living contradiction on the canvas. I resumed my work, determined to capture his every emotion and immortalize it.
“I think she means it, Dean.”
“Oh, I know she means it. I’m just debating if it’s worth getting a concussion for the pleasure of watching her break his face with my hard head. You know what? It is. Should you have any urges to break my brother’s nose on my head, I’ll cooperate. Just try not to kill either one of us. You’d make Xena cry.”
“I might cry, for all of five seconds. Then I’d start going over my share of the inheritance.”
“You would miss me. Admit it, Xena. You’d miss that your only older brother willing to let you tag along was gone. You’d have to move back in with Mom and Dad for at least five years.”
“You’re right. I would miss you. I would also miss freedom. You can’t kill him beating up Juan, Layla.”
“I can’t make him pose for me if he’s dead. I’ll spare him for however long he remains an interesting painting subject.”
Dean sighed. “You know what? I’ll take it. If posing for your artistic enjoyment makes you happy, I shall endeavor to be an interesting painting subject for you.”
“How
many unicorns am I going to have to beat up?” If I had to make plans to tenderize a lot of unicorns, I’d need to do my stretches, or I’d pull a muscle.
Xena grimaced. “Hopefully, just Juan. That said, we’re going to have to test how well you can handle hugs and displays of affection. Mom’s a hugger, and the instant Dad tells her about you, she will be weepy and want to hug you until she’s absolutely certain you know you’re loved. Mom’s hardly delicate, but Dad’ll freak if you get into a brawl with Mom. I am curious which one of you would win, but not curious enough to risk Dad’s wrath over it. I think Mom would win. She’s got a lot of experience correcting Dad when he steps out of line and wrangling stubborn colts. And sometimes, once Dad gets into a mood, she has one of two ways of dealing with him.”
“Dare I ask?”
“You do.”
I laughed at her immediate reply. “Okay. How does she deal with him?”
“She either flattens him or takes him to bed. And let me tell you, there are more than a few foals in this family because Mom tamed Dad taking him to bed.”
Some things I didn’t need to know, and that went onto the list in a fairly high position. “I’m not responsible for any new brothers or sisters you might have in the future.”
“I’m sure Mom’s already got a foal on the way. She’s been gunning after Dad for months. If she’s not, we’re going to have to spend at least an hour taunting Dad, after which we’ll surely be graced with a new brother or sister.” Xena rubbed her hands together. “The next one means they might forget about me for a whole decade!”
“Keep dreaming, Xena,” Dean muttered.
“Have a foal or two. They’ll forget about me for sure, then.”
“Neither of our parents are going to forget about you, so give it up. If they haven’t forgotten about Juan, and you know full well they haven’t, there is no chance they’re going to forget about you. If you don’t want them nosing about in your love life, just tell them you’re looking around but haven’t found the right stud quite yet. Take pictures of men you find appealing, but make sure you record things Mom won’t like about them. Then, tell them you were looking at one, but it wouldn’t work out and why. You’ll get at least six months of mileage per man that way.”
