Playing with Fire: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)(18)
At least the CDC would pay for my hospital bills—all of them—in exchange for being put on display like some freak of nature. Granted, I was a freak of nature when it came to my immunities, but that wasn’t my fault.
“There are no words to express my level of hatred for you, Professor Yale.” I glared at the man, who stood with his students in the small auditorium. All in all, there were at least a hundred and fifty people watching me get drenched with various formulas, dried off with the containment chamber’s special ventilation system, doused with liquid neutralizer, and dried off again before we repeated the process.
If my immune system kicked the bucket again, I would find a way to make him suffer for an eternity.
“Now that you have seen standard immunities, students, I’m going to show you something rather special. For this demonstration, I will be in the containment chamber with Miss Gardener. While most of our substances can be sprayed into the room with her, the next sample will be given in pill format.”
Uh oh. I didn’t like the sound of that. Most magical substances only required skin contact to work well, which meant he probably had some hellish mundane poison or irritant he wanted to show off. “Are you going to take it, too?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I will be the control subject for this demonstration.”
I tensed. There was exactly one compound I could think of that he’d be willing to test with me. “Oh no. Hell no. Hell fucking no. Not happening, Professor Yale. You keep that shit away from me.”
The old man laughed long and loud. “It’s only a D grade sample, Miss Gardener. You’ll be fine.”
The next time I was volunteered for testing and agreed to put up with it, I’d remember transformative substances carried a hazard rating, which they earned due to their unpredictable nature, risk of permanency, and longevity. Magic worked in mysterious ways, and unlike almost every other class of substance on Earth, transformative substances locked victims into only one shape; after exposure, the CDC maintained a database of names and transformations in case other government agencies required the information.
I became a unicorn, and not the pretty white kind with a sparkling horn and a tendency to fart rainbows.
Contemplating escape didn’t help me. Professor Yale moved fast for an old man, and an assistant locked the door behind him before I had a chance to make a run for it. “This is happening, Bailey. You may as well surrender now.”
“Damn it.” I sighed and held out my hand for the tiny gel capsule. “I don’t suppose you’ll go first?”
Professor Yale gave me the pill. “If that’ll make you happy, sure.”
Maybe the students would be too busy laughing at the professor’s fluffy bunny ears to notice me. Yeah, right. After I swallowed the pill, within five or ten minutes, I’d be a black and red mottled equine armed with a pointy stick on my head—a very sharp stick with a razor-like edge spiraling from brow to tip.
“The transformative category of hazardous magical substances is among the most dangerous. Until someone has been exposed to a substance, no one knows what they will become. You might become a cat. You might become a rat.” Professor Yale popped his pill into his mouth and swallowed. Since he only underwent a partial transformation, it took about twenty seconds for him to sprout his bunny ears. “You might, like me, become a rabbit. Grade D substances trigger minimal alterations in most subjects. Bailey, please demonstrate the rule’s exception.”
Yippee. I heaved the most dramatic sigh I could manage and swallowed the pill.
Under normal circumstances, I would have exercised my right to curse up a storm at the discomfort of transformation, but since I had an audience of young men and women about to get an up close and personal look at how a human body could expand, sprout fur, mangle bones and grow new ones, I kept my vocabulary to myself and limited myself to a few pained grunts and involuntary whimpers.
Transformative substances sucked, I hated them, and I seriously considered stabbing Professor Yale with the weapon attached to my forehead. It took me a few minutes after the magic had its way with me to scramble to my hooves, which clattered on the tiled floor. Flattening my ears, I leveled a glare at Professor Yale, who dared to chuckle.
Fortunately, while my head and body were mostly equine in nature, vaguely resembling the love child of a goat and a horse, my specific species of unicorn possessed vocal chords capable of limited English. Anything with two or more syllables gave me trouble, and speaking made my soft, equine mouth ache. I stomped a hoof, which clicked on the floor. “Not fun-ee. Hate you.”
Professor Yale grinned. “Class, look very carefully. This will probably be the first—and only—time in your life you will ever see a unicorn of her breed. As a part of your certification, each of you will be exposed to D grade transformative substances to determine your species. Like me, you will probably experience a very minimal alteration, generally harmless in nature. For most situations, there are three grades you need to be aware of: C, B, and A. Exposure to A+ and greater transformative substances will likely result in a permanent transformation or death. D or lower has negligible effects. You can even purchase some limited E grade compounds in novelty stores. Bailey and I each took a pill made from the same batch of compound, which for safety reasons I will not name. No matter which substance Miss Gardener is exposed to, the results are the same, which qualifies her for the safe handling and testing of all A+ graded transformative materials.”