Page 20 of Playing with Fire

“He start it. I fin-ish it. Bad whore. Horse. Bad horse.”

Professor Yale laughed. “Whore, horse. Pretty much the same thing when it comes to a stallion. I’ll give you some credit. You didn’t kill the horse and eat him.”

“Should have.”

“Next time, just gallop away. You’re faster.”

No mundane horse had a hope in hell of catching me, that was true. I could even outrun a cheetah, and on a good day, I could maintain better than highway speed for ten minutes, after which I collapsed into a useless, quivering heap. Traffic lights gave me a chance to catch my breath, and even when we hit fifty, I didn’t have trouble keeping pace with Professor Yale’s car. “Horse need taught less-on.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“Yes, did.”

Another red light halted traffic, and thanks to a bunch of clueless tourists, we ended up waiting two cycles. I sighed at the delay. “We go to an a-part-ment?”

“No, I’m taking you to a proper house. I picked it with your special needs in mind. The owner has a fireplace, a sizable fenced backyard, and everything you need on hand. I even found time to hunt down a fur rug for you.”

I pricked my ears forward. The first mistake the CDC had made when I had transformed for the first time involved where I’d sleep. Straw made for terrible bedding for a tired, cranky unicorn capable of lighting things on fire. While flax was better, it still made me sneeze like straw did, and when I sneezed, things had a tendency to burn.

I really hadn’t liked the sprinkler system, and I’d spent the rest of my first transformation shivering in a miserable, wet, furry ball until the CDC figured out I needed to be kept somewhere toasty warm to minimize the risk to me and everything around me.

Manners mattered, and determined not to alienate one of the few people who seemed to care enough to go out of his way to help me, I said, “Thank you.”

“This polite version of you is really starting to creep me out. Stop it. You’re welcome.”

I decided to shut my mouth before it got me into trouble. Once we reached the outskirts of Queens, traffic lightened enough that I needed to put in real effort to keep pace with Professor Yale. By the time he pulled into a driveway behind an NYPD cruiser, lather dampened my coat, and I blew air in order to catch my breath.

In the garage, I spotted a sickeningly familiar red sports car.

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.