6. I never needed to come out of the fireplace, right?
SIX
I never needed to come out of the fireplace, right?
My first order of business involved stuffing my head into the fireplace so I could bask in the flames crackling around my nose and washing over my brow.
It took a bit of work to jam my horn up the chimney without damaging anything, but after a few minutes, I was positioned to relax and enjoy the heat.
My neck was just long enough I could lie down on the rug without having to rest much of my weight on the hearth’s stones.
“When Yale said you liked fire, I didn’t think you’d be sticking your head up my chimney. How in the hell did you even fit in there?” From somewhere behind me, Quinn laughed. “That’s incredible. When he warned me unicorns were high maintenance, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Could I fit my entire body up the flue? Making an escape through the chimney was beginning to seem like a viable option. In an effort to restore some of my dignity, I replied, “Your fire is nice. I like it.”
I never needed to come out of the fireplace, right? At least not until I reversed back to human.
Naked, in Chief Samuel Quinn’s house, on a rug, sprawled in front of his fireplace.
Naked. The naked part was really important.
Unless the magic gave me some warning, which it usually didn’t, I’d end up giving him quite the show.
With my abysmal luck, not only would he get an eyeful, it would happen in the most embarrassing place possible, like on a busy street in downtown Manhattan. No matter what, I was screwed.
Or not.
Damn.
“So, there’s a small problem. The station just called, and they need me to come in. There’s a situation. While I’d love to leave you to your enjoyment of my fireplace, you need to come with me.”
But I had just gotten comfortable. The fire was perfect, roaring around my head and keeping me so nice and warm. I had found a slice of heaven, and I had to move already? “No,” I wailed. “My fire. Mine!”
“I’m really sorry. I’ll have to douse it.”
Quinn wanted to douse my fire? Fury at the thought of so much wasted wood and flame burst through me, but I squished it back so I wouldn’t do something stupid like yell at him.
How dare he want to douse my fire? I’d show him the error of his ways.
I snorted, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and reined in my temper. “Why sor-ree? Not your fault.”
Those words cost me, especially since he wanted to take my fire away from me. Still, he was a cop, and he had to go in when called. It really wasn’t his fault. “Must work.”
I understood work. I had to do too much of it to barely get by.
Quinn sighed. “And then there’s the other small problem. I have no idea how I’m getting you to the station. They’re supposed to send a truck for scheduled shifts, but I can’t wait that long.”
“Wait. Mo-ment.” I rolled my body so I could get my hooves under me, restrained the instinct to hook my claws into his floor for better balance, and wiggled my head and horn free of the comforting confines of the fireplace.
To keep from setting his home on fire extracting myself from the flames, I devoured every last scrap of wood in the hearth, crushing the charred bits between my teeth and ripping the fire-hardened chunks apart with the help of a hoof.
I choked and coughed several times in my hurry to swallow.
Within minutes, I reduced the fire to nothing more than a few piles of ash and embers.
Bleh, ash. I licked it up anyway to be safe.
“And that would be another thing Yale neglected to mention. I guess I won’t have to douse it after all. That just leaves the issue of getting you to the station.”
Did Quinn not realize I was a unicorn, thus my own form of transportation? “I can run. Have hooves.”
“I was hoping for something a bit faster.”
I flattened my ears, tossed my head, and whinnied at the insult. “Out-run you, Chee-fuh Queen.”
He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Out-run you, pesky human Chee-fuh Queeny!”
“That was even worse. You really think you can outrun me in my cruiser.”
Shaking out my mane, I snorted, blowing just enough flame to warn him I meant business. “Yes. Take you. Fass-tur.”
During the certification process and evaluation of my species after transformation, I’d carried a few riders.
I’d taken another student from Manhattan to the Hamptons and back.
In a less-than-legal favor to one of the instructors, I had run her across the bridge to New Jersey so she could speak at a convention after her car broke down.
We had wisely never told Professor Yale about that stunt, as we both valued our lives—and she’d given me extra credit for the favor.
Quinn was heavier than all my past riders, and I blamed his extra inches and his beautiful, beautiful muscles for the extra weight. Still, I could handle him—I hoped.
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?”
“You know how to ride, yes?”
“Well, of course. I do mounted patrols sometimes in a pinch, and I teach riding lessons to new recruits when the regular instructors are unavailable.”
“You ride. I run. Fass-tur.”
Quinn ran his hands through his hair before giving his scalp a good scratching. “You’re seriously telling me you think you can beat my cruiser to the station.”
“Yes. Stop com-plain-ing. Bri-dle?”
“Yale left me one yesterday.”
“Sad-dle?”
“I am not putting a saddle on you. I refuse.”
Stubborn human. Why were all humans so stubborn and annoying, especially the pretty ones? “Yes, you will.”
“I will not.”
“Get sad-dle! Take you. Ten min-nut. Be fass-tur if not argue. Wear un-ee-form, get sad-dle. We go.”
“It takes longer than ten minutes to go fifteen miles, Gardener.”
“Want to bet?” I’d show him. I’d make it in nine, too, just to spite him.
“No, I don’t want to make a bet with you. It can’t be done.”
“You will. Bet,” I demanded. “Bet!” Prancing in place, I bobbed my head and swished the air with my horn.
“Christ, fine. Fine! What bet? I really can’t afford to waste time, Gardener.”
“When you here in house, no shirt. Feed me best meat by hand. Grapes, too.” After all, what girl didn’t want a shirtless man feeding her grapes? Unicorn or not, I was going to live the dream. “Keep fire nice, bright, warm. Serve me.”
For a chance to have a half-naked Chief Quinn at my mercy, I’d do a lot more than gallop to Manhattan. “You win, you boss me. I give rides. Make fire. Not make fire in house.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Quinn stared at me. “If I don’t agree, you’re going to play with fire in my house to spite me, aren’t you?”
Oh, that was a great idea. “Yes!”
“I’ll go get the saddle.”
Quinn would be mine to enjoy, and all I had to do was gallop from Queens to Manhattan to have him.
As though resigned to his inevitable defeat, he gave me a bowl filled with fresh meat cut into bite-sized cubes while he dealt with my tack.
The CDC had custom made my saddle since my body wasn’t quite shaped like a horse’s.
The bridle lacked a bit, which was a good thing, as I would’ve melted it down and swallowed it to get rid of it.
Metal did terrible things to my digestion.
After he had me saddled up, he went into his house to change, returning within five minutes. The rumpled state of his uniform warned me whatever the situation was, it was bad.
His cheek twitched as he looked me over. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Swallowing down the last chunk of meat, I gave the bowl a parting lick before straightening and tossing my head. “You ask Pro-fess-ur Yale about ride. You get ride. Com-plain, com-plain, com-plain. You keep time. Me run. You ride. No whine-ing.”
Quinn groaned, jammed his toe into the stirrup, and mounted. I grunted as he settled his weight on my back. Yep, the man was made of pure, wonderful, rock-hard muscle. In nine minutes, he’d be all mine.
“Hold tight. I run fast. Ver-ree fast. Fass-tur than car. Red-ee?”
“Fine. Don’t you dare break your neck doing this, you hear me? So help me, I’ll kill you myself. I’m timing you, Gardener.”
Since losing my rider—my prize—would cost me precious seconds, I eased my way to a canter, unsheathing my claws whenever my hooves couldn’t get enough traction on the asphalt. I would give him a block to adapt to my rolling stride before I hit top speed.
While I didn’t often drive despite having a license, I knew the routes from Queens to Manhattan well enough.
After a moment of thought, I decided Quinn lived close enough to Whitestone to warrant crossing the bridge there before hopping onto the Cross-Bronx long enough to reach Bruckner.
Then I’d make my run past Central Park to the police station.
The only issue was getting there without ditching my rider or smacking into a car. Either would ruin my day, although I’d rather break a leg than hurt Quinn. People needed him.
No one needed me.
The thought both depressed and annoyed me, and determined to prove I could be useful to someone, I charged towards the Whitestone bridge.
Intersections proved my first obstacle, and I dealt with them by bolting through green lights, treating yellow lights like green ones, and jumping over vehicles when the lights didn’t cooperate and stayed red before my arrival.
The first time I disregarded a red light and leaped over oncoming cars, my passenger yelped and clutched at my neck. I loved it so much I did it again at the next light, thundering my way to the bridge in a minute flat, blowing through the tollgate and cutting off several drivers in the process.
“Fucking hell!” Quinn choked out.