Page 33 of Playing with Fire

Perky waited outside. He’d only be among the first to petrify. If the napalm leaked out of the building, he wouldn’t live long enough to turn to stone. He would burn, too. If it took too long, if the shield was at risk of failing, others from the station would come to supervise—or try to help.

Quinn would come.

No matter what, I couldn’t allow Quinn to get anywhere near the dust. They’d stuff him in a glass coffin. I couldn’t bear the thought of Quinn being lowered into unforgiving ground, too much of a risk to be awakened if he breathed in the dust. They’d kill him.

He had magic, strong magic—magic the government would never allow into the hands of a newly whelped gorgon. They’d kill him.

It’d be my fault.

Quinn.

I climbed the stairs, plowing through the goop covering the steps. Placing each hoof with care, I worked my way upward, and the higher I went, the less dense the napalm was. The draining had already begun.

It wouldn’t be long until too much napalm filled the ground levels of the building, making the temperature of the twenty-first floor too cool to eradicate the gorgon dust.

A doorway blocked my way. I backed to the end of the landing and slammed my shoulder into the door. It held. I snorted flame, but the napalm didn’t light. I retreated and charged again. The door shuddered on its hinges.

My third blow knocked it open, and I staggered into blinding daylight. A rainbow barrier marked the presence of the shield where it curved overhead, encasing the entire structure. Through it, I spotted several helicopters circling, observing, waiting for the moment the napalm lit.

Without me, it wouldn’t.

Tossing my head, I trumpeted a challenge and charged across the roof to raise my body temperature. If my regular fire wasn’t hot enough to ignite the napalm, I would run until I burst into living flame. I would run until I couldn’t take another step as long as it meant the fuel combusted.

I would give my last breath to repay Quinn for his kindness, for welcoming me into his home when he had every reason to cast me aside. I wouldn’t fail.

I couldn’t fail.

Gouts of red and orange blew from my nostrils with every breath and the napalm coating my fur heated. It lit with a hiss, bathing me in a blanket of flame. The bridle fell away in pieces, the leather incinerating before it could reach the ground. My hooves glowed blue-white, and the fuel they touched caught, leaving flaming hoof prints in my wake. The fire pursued me across the roof.

I could light the napalm. I would win. I slowed to turn so I could cover the entire roof in flame. I trumpeted another call, a promise to the hovering helicopters that victory would be mine. Curtaining heat and flame, a blue, white, and yellow inferno sparking with silver and gold, licked my heels. If the napalm refused to burn the old-fashioned way, I’d help it along floor by floor, top to bottom.

120 Wall Street would burn, no matter what.

If I slowed to a canter for too long, my body lost the ability to ignite the stubborn napalm, so I ran as hard and fast as I could through the building. While the sections I galloped through burned, I didn’t trust the fires to reach every floor unaided. Even if 120 Wall Street collapsed around me, I wouldn’t stop until I reached the ground.

Columns of flame swirled up the stairwells, and I dove down through the billowing fires. I tumbled down several flights of stairs, squealing my disgust over my difficulty navigating the steps. The structure groaned as more and more of the fuel ignited and the flames spread. The unlit napalm glowed gold and silver, illuminating my path.

When I reached the twenty-first floor, the upper stories shuddered. Chunks of molten steel and broken concrete plummeted through the ceiling around me. I dodged the burning debris, charged the contaminated office, and plowed through the glass without slowing.

My gusting breath ignited the gasoline in the ceiling and the napalm on the floor. A cloud of billowing blue flame engulfed the reception and sucked air in from the adjacent room. The crack-bang of windows shattering cut over the roar of flames. Cool air rushed over me and fanned the fires.

“Burn, burn! Burn, damn you!” I leaped into the next room and pranced, coaxing the inferno to spread, breathing life into it. I needed it hotter and brighter. I surged through to the third contaminated room, turned tail, and returned to the reception.

My breath burned silver-white tinged with the faintest hint of blue. The gorgon dust wouldn’t take anymore lives. It wouldn’t reach anyone outside. Perky was safe. When 120 Wall Street finished collapsing in on itself, there would be nothing left for the CDC’s meters to find. When Quinn came, the public he worked so hard to protect each and every day would be safe.

He’d be safe.

I danced my joy and gave myself over to the flames.

Chapter Chapter Nine

As soon as the CDC got hold of me, I was a dead unicorn.

As long as I lived, I never wanted to experience a napalm bender hangover ever again. I’d gotten drunk more than my fair share of times over the years, but none of my other next-morning regrets compared. Even my horn hurt, although I suspected ramming my head through various walls and doors factored into my discomfort. My eyes ached and added to the din in my skull, which was further agitated by the pulsing iridescent shield trapping the smoke and ash until phase two of the napalming process began.

When the CDC determined the fires were out, they’d spray liquified neutralizer over the piles of ash and debris to ensure any trace contaminants were destroyed. Considering how little of 120 Wall Street had survived the napalming, I thought pumping excessive amounts of water into the space I was occupying more than a little unfair.

The shield thrummed, and within several seconds, a cold rain began to fall.