Page 19 of Playing with Fire

“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.

The old man sighed. “It’s getting too chilly for you, isn’t it?”

“I’ll man-age. Little cold.” Since he seemed in the mood to talk while driving, I trotted alongside his car and shot glares—and fire—at anyone who dared to complain we took up an entire lane. I even kept right on the line.

If a cop pulled me over, I’d eat him. On second thought, I decided eating one of Chief Quinn’s officers wouldn’t go over well, so I’d settle with a nibble instead.

“You really are a one-track mind when you’re a unicorn. Yes, Bailey. There’s a fireplace where we’re going, and I was very clear in my instructions there needs to be a fire waiting for you when we arrive. As if I’d forget something that basic.”

I snorted, and trails of smoke rose from my nostrils. “Far?”

“Not too far, no. Thirty minutes if traffic doesn’t get too bad.”

“Where?”

“Just to College Point. Might even make it in twenty if we’re lucky.”

I flattened my ears. “Queens?” I struggled with the word, my thick equine tongue unwilling to cooperate. “Coll-eeg Point in Queens?”

“Yes, in Queens. You’ve lived there for how long? You should know where we’re going. Pay attention to where you’re trotting.”

The nice thing about being stuck as a unicorn was the wide assortment of natural weapons at my disposal. The instant we stopped at a light, I shoved my nose into his car and gave him a good look at my teeth. “You try dodging cars.”

“I know, I know. I can’t help that the cabbies are idiots on even the best of the days and don’t like sharing the road with others.”

I stomped my hooves to keep warm while waiting for the light to change. In my impatience, I unsheathed my claws and dug them into the asphalt. “Burn them!”

“No, Bailey. You can’t burn the cabbies.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t eat them, either.”

“Ab-so-loot-lee no fun, Profess-ur Yale.”

“Don’t kill the cabbies, Gardener. Don’t vandalize their cars, either. And for the love of God, please do not attack any police horses should we meet one on the way. The last thing I need is to have to explain to Chief Quinn why you went after one of his mounted officers again.”

I pulled my head out of Professor Yale’s car and snorted, grateful the light had changed to green so I wouldn’t have to continue the discussion. It wasn’t my fault the NYPD had decided to have a stallion on the force, and it certainly wasn’t my fault I had refused to lose my virginity to some damned horse. One day I would decide to overcome my social ineptitude long enough to find a man—a human man—willing to sleep with me.

Stupid whore horses.

Whatever happened, I couldn’t let Chief Samuel Quinn figure out I was a virgin who only knew the finer points of sexuality thanks to the internet, too much time spent in a bar, and having a faery for a boss.