9. As soon as the CDC got hold of me, I was a dead unicorn. #2
I scowled and turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at his angry face, which would only serve to remind me I was naked under the blanket, how ridiculously handsome he was even when pissed off, and how I really wouldn’t mind if his clothes were incinerated so we were both naked and under a blanket—preferably together.
Damn it, why couldn’t I do anything like a normal human being? Even with a skull-splitting headache and aching body, I wanted the man. It wasn’t fair.
“You’re going to the hospital, and that’s final.”
Infuriated Quinn was too hot to handle. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t embarrass myself any further.
The EMTs agreed with Chief Quinn, ignored my protests, and took me to the hospital, where I spent the next five hours undergoing tests to confirm I wouldn’t fall over dead, turn to stone, or start petrifying people.
To add insult to injury, Professor Yale arrived five minutes after I did and insisted on accompanying me through every single part of the examination.
If the old man kept laughing at me, I really would kill him. “Would you please stop?”
“You ate so much napalm you got drunk on it. Of course I’m going to laugh.
Who wouldn’t?” While he managed to speak the words in his most solemn teaching voice, Professor Yale grinned at me.
“Stop complaining and get dressed. I’ll even turn around to protect your modesty.
You should be happy. Unlike the two cops who went into the building with you, you dodged a trip into a glass coffin.
I thought you’d appreciate knowing they were in for six hours just to be cleared and are breezing through recovery.
Neither were contaminated, but we weren’t about to take any chances. ”
Even sixty minutes in a glass coffin led to misery and revaccinations, but it beat the alternative.
Maybe when my body didn’t ache so much, I’d even be happy about it—at least happy for Janet.
The cadet could take a one-way trip to his grave for all I cared, and if I never saw the insufferable man again, I’d be content.
Grimacing at the pull of sore, stiff muscles, I dug into the bag Professor Yale had brought with him.
Why, exactly, was I holding a pair of black lace panties and matching bra in my hand?
I selected my bras for function over form.
Could little scraps of cloth held together with lace actually keep my breasts contained?
I wasn’t even sure what the point of the dainty panties were, but I wore them anyway.
The bra fit a little too well, and no amount of tugging prevented it from giving me the Grand Canyon of cleavage even though my breasts weren’t all that large to begin with. Muttering curses, I hoped the lace would actually keep them supported and somewhat contained.
Instead of normal clothes, someone had decided a yellow dress with dinky little straps and barely enough fabric to keep everything covered classified as appropriate attire. I pulled it over my head and discovered it barely fell mid thigh. If I bent over, I’d give everyone a show.
“What the hell is this thing?”
Professor Yale turned around and arched an eyebrow. “I do believe that’s called a dress, Bailey. It’s a form of attire members of your gender wear. It was also the easiest thing to acquire on short notice with the sizes we had on file in the CDC database.”
Right. The CDC kept measurements of all certified employees in case of emergencies, allowing the organization to clothe anyone caught handling situations without being able to pack a bag first. Dresses were easier, as fashion designers hadn’t quite figured out how to standardize jean sizes.
“I feel indecent, Professor Yale.”
“Stop complaining. Just be happy the CDC is footing the bill again. Can you please stop trying to get yourself killed? You’re going to give me an ulcer.”
“So, did they actually call you for the secondary authorization?”
“Yes.”
At least protocols had been followed. It probably wouldn’t save me from a lengthy interrogation, but maybe I’d survive without losing my certification. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”
“No.”
“Wait. What? Why not? I ordered an entire skyscraper to be napalmed. This isn’t like torching a single apartment or something. It was an entire building. I reduced it to rubble.” My voice had gone up a full octave, and I cringed. “Sorry.”
Professor Yale chuckled. “We have full video evidence of everything that went on in the building. The camera Officer Downing provided was uploading directly to the CDC as well as to her portable monitor. You checked the meter per protocol, reset the meter when you weren’t sure if the reading was correct, and took every single precaution to ensure the public’s safety.
You then did a full examination of the site.
While you pulled the trigger quickly on giving a napalming order, there is zero reason for anyone at the CDC to question your judgment. ”
I pinched myself. It hurt. “Did hell freeze over?”
Shaking his head, Professor Yale grabbed the empty bag, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the garbage can.
“No. After the difficulty neutralizing the gorgon dust in your apartment, we decided to go with high-intensity napalm—a new blend, infused with magic to reach higher temperatures. The bomb techs forgot to account for the higher ignition point. We’re very impressed—we weren’t sure how the hell we were going to get the napalm lit, and you went and did our job for us.
That said, was it really necessary to roll around in it while on fire?
After the building had collapsed, the reporters captured a few clips of you playing in the debris.
They really love the clip of you belching white-hot fire near the end of your drunken rampage.
The giggling and chanting of ‘napalm’ over and over is coming in as a close second favorite.
The CDC issued a statement you were chosen for your breed’s ability to ensure the new blend of napalm worked.
You should be grateful; we kept your name out of the news. ”
I groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Me? Joke?”
“I was on the news? As a unicorn?”
“Just be grateful the photograph of Chief Quinn carrying you to the ambulance hasn’t reached the media. Expect blackmail.”
I sucked in a breath and widened my eyes. “Oh, no. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Very. At least you won’t have much paperwork to do.
I thought you’d appreciate if I handled it for you.
All you need to do is review and sign. Even better, I have a check with your name on it.
The bad news? There’s an official lifetime ban on you eating magically infused napalm without authorization.
There will be no drunken revelries without it being cleared by the CDC first.”
I sighed. “It’s not like I went on a drunken rampage on purpose.”
Professor Yale thumped my shoulder. “Ready to get out of here? Chief Quinn is expecting you. At least this time you’ll be able to enjoy a more traditional stay. I’m sure you want to sleep off your hangover.”
“At Chief Quinn’s house.”
“Yes.”
My life had somehow become very strange.
Instead of complaining about it, I accepted the inevitable with a nod.
What else could I do? I stared down at the little yellow dress.
If I squinted, I was pretty sure I could see my black bra through it.
Damn. I was giving the dress a tug to pull the hem down so it was a little closer to a comfortable length when I noticed the hair on my legs.
Crap. I really needed to shave.