Page 43 of Playing with Fire

“It’s morning, and in the past ten minutes, there have been six gorgon bile reports, two incidents involving harpies, a phoenix sighting, and a swarm of pixies on a sugar high. Yale called me to get you to deal with the bile.”

“Ask the phoenix to deal with the bile.” I shivered. “It is bile, right?”

“While tempting to find someone brave enough—and stupid enough—to approach a phoenix and ask it to deal with a group of drunk gorgons, I suspect it wouldn’t work out too well for the city. Turns out the gorgons went to a bar, got hammered, and tried to walk home afterwards. They made it about a mile before they decided to sit down and play with their own vomit. These specific gorgons are registered as living in New Jersey.”

“They were trying to walk to New Jersey?”

“From Lower Manhattan. They used to be very drunk, now they’re very hungover.”

“If you ask really nicely, maybe the CDC will take pity on you and take care of everything except your pixie problem.”

“They are.”

I rolled over and pulled his blanket tighter around me. “I’m going back to sleep, Quinn.”

“Would you believe that the CDC suggested I contact some woman named Bailey Gardener to make sure the gorgons headed home without further incident and decontaminate the sidewalk and bar?” Quinn chuckled.

I peeked out from beneath the blanket and pillow. “I hate you.”

The police chief propped his feet up on his desk and smirked at me. “I told them I might know someone named Bailey Gardener. You were looking for a new job anyway, right? I’m pretty sure cleaning up gorgon bile is your favorite thing on Earth.”

“I would rather deal with the pixies.”

“Oh? Are you volunteering? That could be arranged—after you check out the bile situation.” Quinn reached for his phone and pressed a few buttons. “Calems, bring your partner to my office. I have a job for you.”

“You’re really going to make me deal with more bile, aren’t you?”

“I’d send Perkins with you so he’d have a real reason to throw up, but it’s his day off. Have fun, Gardener. Try not to napalm anything this time.”

“I hate you so, so much.”

Chapter Twelve

If Officer Fluffy barked at me, I’d sock him in the snout.

Officer Calems’s partner was a werewolf, and he herded me out of Quinn’s office with snarls and bared teeth. Only threats of mutiny and grand theft police cruiser bought me enough time to change into too tight jeans, a white shirt, and my new black leather jacket. One of the on-duty cops stuck in the station doing paperwork stole my pajamas and gave me my wallet in exchange.

Damn it. The werewolf with two-inch long fangs driving me away from Quinn was bad enough, but I had left my wallet in his office? I hated mornings. Why couldn’t I be back in bed? I’d settle for Quinn’s couch in his office, warm, cozy, and safe.

The werewolf growled at me, and I turned to face him. Werewolves qualified to work on the police force had three forms: human, wolf, and a blend of both. Officer O’Daniel was in his blended form and wore a special uniform designed for his hybrid body. He showed me his teeth again.

I curled my lip and showed him mine. “Go ahead. Push me, fluffy. I’ll eat you.”

If people were expecting a nice, coherent me before I had time to wake up and drink some coffee, they were out of their minds. And so help me, if Officer Fluffy barked at me, I’d sock him in the snout so hard he’d yip his way back to Quinn with his tail tucked between his legs.

Werewolves. Ugh. At least O’Daniel seemed tame enough; I made it all the way to the garage without having to pick a fight with him, one he’d probably win considering he was waist high on all fours and probably more than six feet when he stood upright.

At least he kept his nose to himself and didn’t try to mark his territory. Once I could talk without growling worse than he did, I’d ask him why he was running around on all fours with a furry coat.

“Your tailoring bill must be atrocious.” I glared at the cruiser, sighed, and crawled into the back, shutting the door before the werewolf got any crazy ideas about joining me and using my lap as a pillow.

Both cops shot dirty looks my way before getting in the car. Yep, O’Daniel was easily six and a half feet tall if not pushing seven.

I really needed to stop my mouth from blurting whatever it felt like. “What? I haven’t had coffee yet.”

“Heard you had a smart mouth, Gardener,” the werewolf growled at me.

I liked Quinn’s snarls a lot better. Yep, I had it bad. Did infatuation classify as a dangerous disease? It needed to be; my common sense had already abandoned ship, and at the rate I was going, my self-respect and dignity would soon follow. “I can finally die happy. Word of my infamous smart mouth has spread. My work on this Earth is done.”