ACCIDENTAL UNICORN, THE

by Cassidy, Dakota

  As everyone had toasted his heroic act, he’d fought to stand up straight, but Vinnie knew how much he loved little Olivia, and having her named after him brought him great pride.

  They’d grown close to all the women, their spouses, Carl, Darnell, and Arch. They Skyped often, texted, shopped, talked, played board games and cards, and had meals together at least once a month.

  Her world had become so much bigger than she ever imagined it could be—filled with people who knew what it was to be labeled misfits and spit in the face of that label by living their best lives in spite of the purist haters.

  Vinnie had learned from them, she’d grown because of them, and there would never be a time she wouldn’t be grateful they’d come into her life. They’d brought her Oliver, the greatest gift anyone could have ever given her.

  Marty grabbed her around her shoulders and gave her a warm hug. “I’m so pleased for you, Vinnie! What an amazing thing to happen. To see all of your beautiful paintings shared with the world. Speaking of, there’s something Keegan and I want to talk to you about. We’re thinking of starting a line of cosmetics geared toward superheroes. Or superhero-ish. You know, they’re all the rage these days, and of course, we’ll need an artist for packaging. It’s a bit of a ways off, but if you think you might be interested, we’ll talk prelims and such over dinner one night next week at the house?”

  Vinnie grinned. Honestly, how had she gotten so lucky? “Are you kidding? Of course I’m interested.”

  Marty squeezed her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “It’s a date then,” she said before she went off to unpack some more.

  Then Wanda eyed her with a critical glance. “Any more noise from that hag Dorinda about killing her son?”

  Vinnie shook her head. After some digging, Wanda had found Byron owed a pretty hefty debt to some ogre loan shark, which was why he’d kidnapped Oliver in the first place—in the hopes of trading his debt for Oliver’s powers.

  That ogre and his henchman were the unfortunate souls who’d landed on top of the shipping crates when Nina launched their car across the night sky like she was lobbing a tennis ball.

  Both were in council custody, still terrified Nina would hunt them down. Neither Oliver nor Vinnie had asked Nina and Marty what they’d done to them, because they’d both had a taste of Nina angry, and that was plenty, thank you very much.

  But Vinnie and Oliver had their final meeting with the council only last week. They hadn’t told the others, simply because the council had assured them Dorinda’s complaint that Oliver and Vinnie had murdered her son was rendered invalid due to irrefutable evidence.

  Apparently, the shipping yard had a CCTV, and what Byron had done was all on video. There really wasn’t much to talk about, according to the elders of the council.

  Well, except Oliver’s new powers.

  In the explosion, he’d lost his alicorn, but when he’d crashed into Byron, he’d somehow absorbed his magic, leaving him with some pretty neat tricks he’d found he could perform quite by accident. It had also most likely left him as immortal as Vinnie.

  He’d had a great time popping in and out of her house with the snap of his fingers, and why drive to Manhattan to spend the weekend when they could skip rush hour and just appear in Times Square, bags in hand?

  So instead of worrying her friends—because they were a lot like mother hens when it came to her safety and well-being—Vinnie just shook her head.

  “Nope. All’s well that ends well. Except for Oliver and his penchant for zapping us places. He’s like a kid in a candy store with that power. He said all he has to do is think of a place and boom, he’s there—which worries me. Because he’s going to end up on the track of the Indy 500 or the Audubon…or worse? The Dalai Lama’s lap.”

  Nina cackled a loud laugh. “That’s almost cooler than being able to fly.”

  Then Vinnie broached the subject she most wanted to avoid. Ezekiel. “What about our favorite viper in a middle-schooler’s clothing, Ezekiel? Hear anything about his sentencing?”

  They’d finally gotten some answers from Ezekiel about how he’d found out about Oliver. Apparently, he often took pleasure in taunting people like Mikey, people who hunted for all manner of myths with the kind of passion Mikey had.

  It was a game for Ezekiel to follow them around and frighten them then wipe their memories. He’d simply happened upon Mikey the night they’d been at Byron’s—sheer dumb luck was what he’d called it.

  But the council had called it something else entirely. They’d called it prison worthy and then locked him in a cell while they debated his sentence.

  Nina popped her lips. “Yep. That dink’s gonna be locked up for a long time, kiddo. A coupla lifetimes long. So nothing to worry about, okay?”

  “What about Godfrey?” To this day, his face still haunted Vinnie from time to time.

  Yes, she knew he was created for the purpose of evil and he’d certainly made good use of his purpose with her, but…a small part of her still felt sad.

  “You mean how did he find out about Oliver’s existence?” Nina asked, cocking her head. “Your buddy Byron wasn’t exactly discreet about fucking asking around about my favorite Glitter Shitter. Word gets around in our world. You know that, Vin.”

  Vinnie nodded. “Have you seen Godfrey since that all went down?”

  Nina grazed her cheek with her knuckles. “You want to know if he’s okay, huh?”

  She gave her a sheepish look. “I do.”

  “You’re a good fucking kid, Vin. Yeah. He’s okay. Darnell’s been sort of mentoring him and he’s making real progress, I hear. There’s not much that can be done about where he comes from, but he can definitely change what the fuck he does with his powers.”

  Vinnie smiled because clearly Nina saw what she’d seen in Godfrey or she’d have left him to rot in Hell. “You’re a good fucking vampire, Nina. Thanks.”

  Carl stuck his head inside the den and waved his hand, making her forget all about Ezekiel. He’d been duct-tape free for a month, and it looked like his record was holding steady.

  “Come…o—ou—t…side. Now, please,” he said with his lopsided grin.

  Vinnie reached for his hand and gently squeezed it before she handed him Olivia. “Carl, how are you? Did I thank you for being such an amazing help today? I never could have gotten this done without you.” She dropped a kiss on his cheek before they headed to the backyard.

  “Hold up there, Almost-Goddess. I gotta cover your eyes. Sparkle Tits said so.”

  “Cover my eyes? Geez, what are they doing out there?”

  Nina placed her cool, pale hands over Vinnie’s eyes, walked her toward the door off the kitchen and led her to her favorite place of all—Oliver’s arms.

  The cool, crisp air of fall, their favorite season, greeted her nose. She smelled the scent of mesquite wood in the fire pit they’d built together with a six-pack of beer, a pizza, and a YouTube video. And the delicious smell of Arch’s homemade lasagna and garlic bread drifted from the open window in the kitchen.

  Oliver brushed a warm kiss over her lips, making her heart skip a beat. “Honey?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I made a promise to you almost exactly a year ago today. Do you remember what that promise was?”

  “That I could bring my throw pillows. No, wait. That was only last week. That we could repaint the guest bath because that horrible moss green has got to go?”

  Oliver chuckled, the rumble of it landing in her ear as she pressed her cheek to his broad chest. “Well, there was that, but no. Do you remember how we talked about unicorns and princesses?”

  “Did you get me a crocodile, Oliver Baldwin? Listen, I love animals, but I don’t know if I have enough Steve Irwin in me to handle a croc.”

  Everyone began to laugh, a sound she welcomed with open arms.

  “It’s not a crocodile. Remember I promised if you’d be the princess to my unicorn, I’d build you a castle and a moat?”

  Vinnie frow
ned and latched onto the material of his Bills sweatshirt. “I do remember that. But it was made under duress, so the fact that I have no castle with a turret and a moat to date is not a problem. A garden will be just fine.”

  He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear, making her shiver. “Open your eyes, honey.”

  Vinnie forced her eyes open to find all the people she’d fallen so deeply in love with smiling at her as they yelled, “Surprise!”

  Her eyes welled with tears as she focused on her surprise.

  “Nooo. You really did it? You did this for me?”

  Oliver chuckled and pulled her closer. “You refused to take the den as a place to paint, because you didn’t want to usurp me out of my man-space, as you called it. And you wouldn’t choose one of the guestrooms because you want to fill them with friends and babies—which is why we decided to move in here, instead of your place, because it’s bigger. But I wanted you to have a place you could call your own, honey. A place where you can organize everything the way you like it, because I know organization is important to you. It’s a place where you can paint those incredible works of art for your new publisher or just paint to paint. But it’s all yours.”

  She put her hand to her mouth to keep from ugly-crying.

  There before her, in all its purple-and-pink-shingled glory, arched stained-glass windows, and not one but two turrets, was a castle with a unicorn carved from wood above the door, and a tiny flag flying on a pole at the top of the turret that read, Castle Vincenza Raphaela Morretti.

  Someone had planted pink and white mums in planters to set on the tiny front porch, and there was even a wishing well right next to it with a cotton candy machine in the center, spinning the sugary delight in purple and pink.

  But that wasn’t all. The wishing well had a fairy and carousel wind chime hanging from the roof, the tinkling chimes dancing in the light breeze of late afternoon.

  And almost the entire way around the perimeter, there was a moat. A moat with pink and green lily pads and a blowup crocodile.

  It stood proudly under the buttery autumn sun, glistening and perfect.

  It was the most perfect thing ever.

  She couldn’t hold back anymore, tears flowed down her cheeks in salty drops as she threw her arms around Oliver’s neck, burying her face in his collar. “I…I don’t know what to say. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! This is why you kept me away for the last week? I was starting to think you were having second thoughts about shacking up.”

  He squeezed her tight, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I’d never do that, but I had to have someone come in and install the heating unit. I’m pretty good, but I’m not that good.”

  “It has heat?” she squeaked, making Baloney poke her head out of her sweater.

  “Uh-huh. And air. It’s kind of like my version of a she-shed. Or as we’ve all been calling it, a Vinnie-shed. So you’ll always have something that’s all yours with no interference from a big oaf like me.”

  She dropped kisses all over his face, bracketing his jaw with her hands. “I love it, Oliver. I love it, and I love you. No one has ever done anything like this for me. Not ever. It’s beautiful. You’re all so amazing. All of you, thank you!”

  He leaned back in their embrace and smiled his gorgeous smile. “I love you, Vinnie. I always want you to have fairies and dancing carousel horses. Always.”

  “And I always want you to be my unicorn. Always.”

  As everyone gathered around them, as gold and rust leaves fell from the trees, as the fire in the pit they’d built burned and glowed, as Frank, Mario and Muffin chased each other in the backyard, as Arch called them to say it was time for family dinner, Vinnie wiped her tears and let Oliver carry her inside.

  To their home.

  To their future.

  To their always.

  The End

  I hope you’ll come back next year and join me for another adventure with the women of OOPS. I don’t know what it’ll be about yet, but you can bet it’ll be filled with laughter, too much cussing, and most of all, eternal, ride-or-die friendship. Always.

  Preview Another Book By Dakota Cassidy

  Chapter 1

  “So, Sister Trixie Lavender, how do we feel about this space? Open concept, with plenty of sprawling views of the crumbling sidewalk from the leaky picture window and easily room for eight tat chairs.

  “Also, one half bathroom for customers, one full for us—which means we’d have to share, but there are worse things. A bedroom right up those sketchy stairs with a small loft, which BTW, I’m calling as mine now. I like to be up high for the best possible views when I survey our pending tattoo empire. A tiny kitchenette, but no big deal. I don’t cook anyway, and you sure don’t, if that horse pucky you called oatmeal is any indication of your culinary skills. Lots of peeling paint and crappy plumbing. All for the low-low price of…er, what was that price again, Fergus McDuff?”

  Short and chubby, a balding Fergus McDuff, the landlord of the current dive I was assessing as a candidate for our tattoo parlor, cringed and visibly shuddered beneath his limp blue suit.

  Maybe because Coop had him up against a wall, holding him by the front of his shirt in white-knuckled fists as she waited for him to rethink the price he’d quoted us the moment he realized we were women.

  Which was not only an outrageous amount of money for this dank, pile-of-rubble hole in the wall, but not at all the amount quoted to us over the phone. It also looked nothing like the picture from his Facebook page. I know that shouldn’t surprise me. He’d probably used some Snapchat filter to brighten it up. But here we were.

  A bead of perspiration popped out just above Fergus’s thin upper lip.

  Coop’s dusky auburn hair curtained his face, but his stance remained firm. “Like I said, lady, it’s three grand a month—”

  Cutting his words off, Coop tightened her grip with a grunt and hauled Fergus higher. His pleading gray eyes darted from her to me and back again in unadulterated fear, but to his credit, he tried really hard not to show it.

  Coop licked her lips, a low hum of a growl coming from her throat, her gaze intently focused on poor Fergus. “Can I kill him, Sister Trixie Lavender? Please, please, pleeease?”

  “Coop,” I warned. She knew better than to ask such a question. “She’s just joking, Fergus. Promise.”

  “But I’m not. Though, I promise I’ll clean up afterward. It’ll be like it never happened—”

  “Two thousand!” Fergus shouted quite jarringly, as though the effort to push the words out pained him. “Wait, wait, wait! I meant to say two thousand a month with all utilities!”

  That’s my demon. Overbearing and intimidating as the day is long. Still, I frowned at her, pulling my knit cap down over my ears. While this behavior worked in our favor, it was still unacceptable.

  We’d had a run-in with the law a few months ago back in Ebenezer Falls, Washington, where we’d first tried to set up a tattoo shop. Coop’s edgy streak had almost landed her with a murder charge.

  Since then (and before we landed in Eb Falls, by the by), we’d been traveling through the Pacific Northwest, making ends meet by selling my portrait sketches to people along the way, waiting until Coop’s instincts choose the right place for us to call home.

  Cobbler Cove struck just the right chord with her. And that’s how we ended up here, with her breathing fire down Fergus McDuff’s throat.

  Coop, who’d caught on to my displeasure, smirked her beautiful smirk and set Fergus down with a gentle drop, brushing his trembling shoulder with a careful hand to smooth his wrinkled suit.

  “That’s nice. You’re being nice, Fergus McDuff. I like you. Do you like me?”

  “Coop?” I called from the other end of the room, going over some rough measurements for a countertop in my mind. “Playtime’s over, young lady. Let Mr. McDuff be, please.”

  She rolled her bright green eyes at me in petulance and wiped her hands down her burgundy leather
pants, disappointment written all over her face that there’d be no killing today.

  Coop huffed. “Fine.”

  I looked at her with my stern ex-nun’s expression as a clear reminder to remember her manners. “Coop…”

  She pouted before holding out her hand to Fergus, even though he outwardly cringed at the gesture. “It was nice to meet you, Fergus McDuff. I hope I’ll see you again sometime soon,” she said almost coquettishly, mostly following the guidelines I’d set forth for polite conversation with new acquaintances.

  Fergus brushed her hand away, fear still on his face, and that was when I knew it was time for me to step in.

  “You do realize she’s just joking—about killing you and all, don’t you? I would never let her do that,” I joked, hoping he’d come along for the ride.

  But he only nodded as Coop picked up his tie clip and handed it to him in a gesture of apology.

  I smiled at her and nodded my head in approval, dropping my hands into the pockets of my puffy vest. “Okay, Fergus. Sold. Two grand a month and utilities it is. A year lease, right? Have a contract handy?”

  Fergus nodded and scurried toward the front of the store to get his briefcase. It was then Coop leaned toward me and sniffed the air, her delicate nostrils flaring.

  “This place smells right, Trixie Lavender. Yes, it does. Also, I like the name Peach Street. That sounds like a nice place to live.”

  I looked into her beautiful eyes—eyes so green and perfectly almond-shaped they made other women sick with jealousy—and smiled, feeling a sense of relief. “Ya think? You’ve got a good vibe about it then? Like the one you had in Ebenezer Falls before the bottom fell out?”

  And you were accused of murder and our store was left in shambles?

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from bringing up our last escapade in a suburb of Seattle, with an ex-witch turned medium named Stevie Cartwright and her dead spy turned ghost cohort, Winterbottom. It was still too fresh.