Playing with Fire: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)(26)

I snorted. “I know. I won. Best meats. Yum-ee grapes. All mine.”

“Gardener!” Quinn released my bridle, spun, and stomped into the station. I followed in his wake, wobbling my way up the steps.

One of the cops held the door open for me, and I gasped out something he fortunately interpreted as gratitude. “Quinn. Quinn. Sad-dle? Sad-dle heavy, Quinn. Take off? Meat? Wat-ter? Quinn!”

My words made the man twitch. I pursued him all the way to the elevator, chanting my demands. At the parting doors, he turned to face me and palmed my nose. “You are too fat for this elevator, so take the stairs and like it!”

I hated stairs but loved winning, so I called it even and trumpeted my pleasure at my triumph over Chief Samuel Quinn.

Mine.





According to the amused cops loitering in the station’s lobby, Quinn was on the eighth floor. Did he really expect me to climb eight flights of steps? He would pay dearly for his misguided assumption I would do what he wanted. He was mine. I had won the bet, and he wasn’t going to be bossing me around anytime soon. In a brief but fierce battle against my quivering muscles, I lifted my hoof, unsheathed a single claw, and tapped the up button. It felt like an eternity until the elevator door swished open so I could stretch my neck and check the max occupancy sign.

Two thousand pounds.

When I got hold of him, I’d take a nibble or two out of him. Death would be too good for him, and I’d enjoy making him squirm. I was not fat! I maybe weighed seven hundred pounds. I could use the elevator. Maybe I’d torch his pants so he had to walk around in the nude. A light nip would remind him he couldn’t say mean things to me. With an indignant snort, I stepped inside. Perky and several other cops joined me.

“Purr-key!”

He chuckled. “Gardener. Have yourself a nice run? Which floor you headed to, girl?”

“The one with Chief Queeny.” I whinnied a laugh. In a perfect world, the name would stick, and I had four candidates to spread my new nickname for the man.

“Eight, then.” Perky pressed the button. “I’m headed that way, too. I’m surprised you’re here. What brought you this way all dressed up like that?”

“Profess-ur Yale dumped me with Queeny. No time for trail-ur.”

“Wait. Chief Quinn was at home? That’s—”

“Eight min-nuts and four-tee sev-un sec-unds away.” I really needed to practice talking more in my equine form. “By u-nee-corn.”

“Okay, that explains why you’re absolutely drenched and look like you were run through a wringer. You’d have to clock in at almost two miles a minute to get here that fast. Damn. I heard you were fast, but that’s nuts. You could outrun an interceptor on an empty road at those speeds. Do you have rockets strapped to your ass or something?”

I preened and tossed my head at the compliment. “Sad-dle hev-ee, Purr-key. You take off? Wat-ter?” I hesitated. “Meat?”

After a run like mine, I thought I had earned a little bit of whining and some indulgence—and a drink.

Perky gave my shoulder a slap. “How about some crap coffee and some stale chips?”

Score. “Deal.”

The elevator dinged and opened, and I wobbled my way after Perky, who guided me through a maze of desks and chairs. It took a bit of work to ease my way through without knocking anything over. As I passed cops, they offered handfuls of candy and chips. I accepted their offerings and lipped their outstretched hands without taking a single bite of one of Quinn’s officers.

At one of the workstations near the end of the line, Perky cleared away enough space for me. “Park your furry butt here for a few minutes, Gardener. I’ll get you something to drink and find someone who might be able to free you from that contraption without breaking it.”

“Sad-dle, Purr-key. It’s called a sad-dle. The one on my face is a bri-dle.”

“Contraptions. Wait here.”

“Wait-ing,” I mumbled, standing where he ordered. While he was gone, I helpfully rearranged his desk and stole his chips, which were stale just like he promised. When I got bored, I dozed, a hind hoof lifted while I used his desk as a pillow.

Someone prodded my nose. “You’re drooling on my desk, Gardener.”

I snorted, blew several sheets of paper and some envelopes to the floor, raised my head, and blinked at Perky. “Purr-key.”

Behind Perky, a freshly groomed Quinn stood, scowling at me. “Hey, lawbreaker. Up for a plea bargain? Admit you’re guilty to every last crime you committed getting us here, and I’ll let you off easy.”

Uh oh. Cranky human was out for blood—mine. “You did not make me swear to fol-low laws. But I liss-en. Still won bet.”

Quinn sighed. “Yes, you won. Here’s the deal: someone called in a large-scale gorgon bile mess about five minutes after we got here. The gorgons we have on call are both out of town. Can you deal with it, please?”

How did he expect me to deal with the bile without hands? Roll in it and play in a bonfire? Wait. Could he really be giving me a chance to solve a gorgon bile problem with fire?

Best. Day. Ever.

“Fire? You’ll let me solve your gorgon bile problem with fire?” Since I was trying to be more polite, I added, “Please?”

“God save my soul, but yes. You can solve this problem once—and only once—with fire. Only this once.”