Playing with Fire: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)(20)

Professor Yale gestured to someone in the crowd. “Your question?”

“Is it true only virgins can ride unicorns?”

The entire audience cracked up laughing. I wondered if the glass barricade could handle seven hundred pounds of unicorn slamming into it. Maybe if I softened it with a little fire first, I could get through and poke a few holes in the boy.

“I’m sure Miss Gardener would enjoy a midday snack if you’re volunteering. No, virginity will not save you from being eaten by a unicorn. Bailey, please show them your claws. Try not to break the glass, as it is very expensive.”

I charged the barrier, reared, and pressed my front hooves to the glass, unsheathing my claws and tapping them on the slick surface. I turned my head and exposed my teeth, which were serrated and pointed to better tear meat into chunks I could swallow. As payback for the virgin question, I snorted flame, too. “Dee-lee-ssshh-us human.”

The front row cleared out so fast I whinnied my laughter. “Run, tay-stee humans. Run.”

To give the kid credit, he didn’t flee although his eyes widened.

Professor Yale cracked up laughing behind me. “Would you care to put your virginity to the test, Maverick?”

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Any other questions?”

The students kept quiet, and quite a few of them retreated to the safety of the doors in the back of the auditorium.

“That concludes today’s lesson. Dismissed.”

The place cleared out in record time, and I dropped to all fours, letting out another amused whinny. “They run fast, profess-ur.”

“That they do. Did you really have to threaten to eat them? I’m going to have whiny students in my office complaining I put their precious little lives in danger.” The old man shook his head. “At least there is good news. You’re testing out as expected. Whatever gives you your immunity isn’t dependent on your immune system. A genetic marker, perhaps? Ah, a mystery for another day.”

I shook out my thick coat and gave my mane a toss. “Who knows?”

“Good question. Something to think about later. Are you ready for a trip? We’re expected elsewhere. As we had to napalm your apartment, the CDC has made arrangements for temporary housing.”

I tossed my head, widening my eyes in astonishment. “Real-ee? Why?”

“Ah, that’s right. You probably don’t remember what we told you while you were ill. We couldn’t neutralize the device with the sprays. It took two rounds of napalm to get it all. As it’s partially our fault you lost your residence, management thought it would be appropriate to make arrangements.”

Since when did a government-run organization like the CDC do anything outside of their contracts? “Im-poss-ee-bull.”

“Get used to the idea. Everyone’s very grateful you kept it in your apartment. Had your heating or air conditioning been on, we would have been dealing with a major outbreak. You did everything exactly right. You neutralized the airborne particles, you did your best to contain the source of contagion, and you kept everyone out of the affected zone. It’s not often I get to tell anyone this, but well done.”

“Thank you.” I meant it, too. For Professor Yale, there was no higher praise. When I added his compliment to the fact the CDC was helping me beyond the normal protocols, I was a very happy woman. Unicorn. Whatever.





While the CDC would have brought in a truck and trailer for me, I decided to hoof it across the city, tailing Professor Yale’s little yellow sedan. If I reversed back to human, I’d be better off on the street with him to supervise than in the back of a trailer alone, bouncing around in a bed of flax.

Nothing hurt quite as much as having to pick out hay or flax after transforming, and it often involved a very patient nurse, a pair of tweezers, and a scalpel. I’d much rather gallop ten, twenty, or thirty miles—or more. I’d run my furry ass all the way to the Hamptons to avoid it.

Unfortunately, Professor Yale didn’t feel it was necessary to inform me of our destination except to tell me it wasn’t in Manhattan. Once we were on the road, I was far too busy dodging cars and pedestrians to care. Within five minutes of leaving the CDC’s headquarters, a taxi cut me off, forced me onto the sidewalk among a bunch of annoyed and startled New Yorkers, and blared his horn.

If the cabbie wanted to play, I’d play. I snorted flame at his bumper and gave chase. I caught him staring at me in wide-eyed horror in his rearview mirror as I twisted my way around and jumped over a few cars in my effort to teach him why he should never piss off a fire-breathing unicorn.

I pursued him for two blocks before scorching his bumper, turning tail, and trotting my way back to Professor Yale’s car, sending gouts of flame at anyone who had a problem with me going the wrong way in traffic. If the cabbie hadn’t tried to run me over, I wouldn’t have needed to show him the reality of challenging black and red unicorns.

Professor Yale rolled down his window and stuck his head out of his car. “Don’t make me cork your horn, Bailey.”

“No touch. Burn.” Mmm. Fire. “Fire?”

The first hints of fall encroached on summer’s heat, and despite my thick coat, the lower temperature bothered me when I breathed. I wanted to find somewhere nice and warm to curl up and nap. At least running would keep me warm, assuming no other idiot cabbies tried to run me over.