Playing with Fire: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)(22)

Wait. A police cruiser? Red convertible parked in the garage? Nice house? White picket fence, good part of Queens?

“Oh hell no.” In case Professor Yale wasn’t sure how I felt about the situation, I squealed my dismay. While I’d never been to his house, there was only one cop I knew who had a convertible, lived in Queens, and took a cruiser home with him whenever he felt like it: Chief Quinn.

My heaven and hell bundled in one smoking hot package opened the front door, looked at me, and grinned. “Does this mean I get to go for a ride, Yale?”

I gulped. Panic coursed through me, and I wondered how far I’d get before I collapsed in an exhausted heap somewhere. Why was I at Chief Quinn’s house? Had Professor Yale coerced the man?

Wait. Chief Quinn wanted to know if he could what?

I whipped my head around to stare at Professor Yale. “Big fire?”

I could make a really, really big fire, and while everyone dealt with putting out the flames, I could make it to the next state, no problem. Houses burned nicely. So did trees. I bet I could make the grass ignite, too. And the bushes. And the cars, all three of them. Chief Quinn had helped the CDC torch my place, so turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it?

“No, Bailey. Good afternoon, Chief Quinn.” Professor Yale stayed in his car, leaning out his open window to wave at the police chief. “Thanks for hosting. She’ll be less grumpy after she’s been fed and put near a fire. Remember, if the temp gets below eighty for too long, she might try to hibernate, so watch out for that. Drop the temp to seventy at night and bank the coals. In the morning, stoke the fire as hot as you can, put meat in easy reach, and give her about an hour to wake up. When you take her out of the house, don’t forget the blanket and the cork.”

Chuckling, Chief Quinn leaned against the doorframe. “I remember from the ten other times you explained it. I even have all the brushes you suggested. Come on in, Gardener. You’re stuck with me until you reverse back to human at the earliest. Isn’t it your lucky day?”

Was the man insane? Had he hit his head on something? Why the hell did he sound so cheerful? I unsheathed my claws and dug them into the asphalt, flattened my ears, and glared at Professor Yale.

The old man ignored me. “Call me if there are any issues, Chief Quinn.”

“Will do. Thanks for bringing her over.”

“All right, Gardener. Move your ass so I can get back to work.”

I snorted but sheathed my claws and stepped to the side so he could back out of the driveway, leaving me alone in front of the brick house with its pristine picket fence, immaculate lawn, and roses in full bloom lining the walkway.

The man who hated me for ruining his marriage had invited me into his home. Me, a fire-breathing unicorn requiring a manual to keep healthy. By tomorrow, if I didn’t reverse back to human, I would leave tufts of black and red fur everywhere. I would need someone to help brush out my coat so I wouldn’t mat. I would cost him a fortune in firewood and meat.

Even knowing that, he had still invited me in.

“Sor-ree for the truh-bull.”

“Come on in, Bailey. It’s really no trouble. The competition to host you was fierce, as Perkins and half the station offered their places, but since I was the only one of the lot with a suitable fireplace, I won by default.” Chief Quinn stepped into his house and left the door open behind him.

I gaped. Perky had volunteered to host me, too? Who else at the station would actually want to help care for someone as problematic as me, let alone half of them? Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Aware of Chief Quinn’s curious neighbors emerging from their homes to stare at me, I shuffled my way down his driveway to the walkway. The sweet scent of roses got the better of me, and I paused to nibble on a bloom.

“Are you eating my roses?” Chief Quinn blurted.

Oops. I flicked an ear, swallowed the evidence, and feigned innocence. I made it a few more steps before a large red bloom caught my eye. I eyed it, glanced at Chief Quinn, and debated if I could get away with just one more.

“Professor Yale didn’t tell me you had a taste for roses. Had I known, I would have bought a bouquet so you wouldn’t eat my bushes.”

Yep, Chief Quinn liked his roses. What could one more hurt? He had so many of them. It took far more restraint than I liked to leave the big flower alone. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I took a nap on his sidewalk for a while. The run from Manhattan hadn’t done me any good. I turned my ears back and swished my tail, annoyed over my aching muscles. My time in the hospital hadn’t helped at all, either. When I reached the four steps leading up to the small porch and the front door, I glared at them.

As a unicorn, steps were my archenemies; as often as not, I tripped over my own hooves if I tried to take them any faster than my slowest walk. I lifted my head so I could get a good look into his home. The entry way provided plenty of space with a side table shunted against the white-painted walls as my only obstacle.

Fortunately for me, no one really knew a whole lot about unicorns, especially my species, so when I did something weird, everyone figured it was a part of my new body and the result of transformation.

Wrong.

Unicorns, at least of my breed, normally couldn’t teleport, nor could they hitch a lift on the beams of sunlight streaming into Chief Quinn’s home. I was different. I had no idea how it worked, but when I had four hooves instead of two feet, a little concentration, a clear path, and some light equalled a fast way to skip the stairs.