21. You make trouble for fun. #2
“I would’ve asked for a phoenix feather, but the last time we went that route, we got the whole damned birds, and that’s even worse than drunk cindercorns.”
“Well, maybe the next time my wife requests napalm, you’ll listen. When she has to get creative, she gets really creative.”
“Trust me, we know. We’ve learned our lesson. I wish you the very best of luck containing her in the future. You’re going to need it.”
Bailey
Unlike when I hitched a lift on a sunbeam, time distorted. I supposed distance factored into it; light only traveled so fast, and I had no way of judging how far of a gap I had to cross to travel between the divine realm and the mortal coil.
I disliked the darkness, but I looked forward to seeing Quinn.
Had I been thinking, I would’ve realized life rarely went my way.
Instead of my usual, somewhat graceful landings, I popped into existence and crashed directly onto my target.
I squealed, Quinn crashed to the ground beneath me, and had he been human or been a gorgon-incubus doohickey, I would’ve crushed him.
The peppery spice of napalm filled my nose, and after a stunned moment, I realized the gel-like fluid surrounded us.
“So nice of you to drop in,” my husband muttered. “Could you please get off?”
“Oops.” I rolled off him, splashed into the napalm, and scrambled to my hooves. Then I licked napalm off my husband’s nose. He tasted even better when drenched with the sparkly gel. “Best present!”
Quinn groaned and rolled to his hooves, and the napalm dripped from his coat. “Welcome home. Enjoy your trip?”
A flash of golden light drew my attention, and a moment later, Sunny landed on my back. “Yes! Look! Puppy.”
Quinn reached over, seized Sunny by the scruff of her neck, and waded through the napalm in the direction of a bright light.
I realized someone had set up a spotlight near several large tankers, which were hard at work flooding the area with my favorite treat.
I trailed behind Quinn, prancing in the gel while he delivered my puppy to Tiffany.
“Please make sure there’s no napalm in her coat,” Quinn said, releasing my puppy once certain Tiffany had a good hold on her. “Thank you.”
Tiffany held my puppy in one arm and waved at me. “Nice entrance, Bailey.”
“Nice? I squish Quinn,” I wailed.
“He handled it with grace. He hasn’t been completely squished. He’s only slightly tenderized. Right, Sam?”
“I’m fine, Bailey. You startled me. We have to light up some napalm now. You can rub my back later as penance for landing on me.”
Quinn’s recommended ‘punishment’ caught my attention, and I regarded him with a hungry look. “Will need baby-sitter. Will take long time to rub back.”
“I’m sure I can coerce one of my relatives to watch the kids for a while.”
“Good. Good.” I lifted my head and pranced in place. “Janet! Janet!”
Janet saluted me. “Go get that napalm lit so we can go home sometime this year.”
“You stay for wedding,” I declared. “There be one, even if have to take over Vay-gus.”
Janet laughed. “Just get me home sometime this year, please. Also, I’d like to see you take over Vegas. Sounds like fun.”
“Yes, can do. You have pets? Need pets watched? Home watched? Quinn? Did you take care of Janet’s home?”
“I don’t have any pets, and my house should be fine. The door was locked, and I have an alarm system. Don’t worry, Bailey. Really.”
I relaxed and nuzzled Quinn. “When we make fire?”
My husband chuckled and nipped my shoulder. “As soon as the containment field goes up. It won’t be much longer. Let’s go get into position so we can get to work as soon as they’re ready.”
I bolted for the dome, skidded to a halt in the napalm, and pranced while waiting for Quinn to catch up. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
He laughed and joined me, rewarding me with another nuzzle and a nip. “Patience, Bailey. You’ll get to play with napalm soon enough.”
Quinn
Bailey’s common sense and dignity dribbled out of her pretty equine ears, and she rolled in the napalm, kicked her hooves, and played like a child on a sugar high.
What amused me most was that she didn’t eat more than a bite or two before she abandoned all pretenses of maturity to romp and play in the gel.
I took a nibble here and there to see what all the fuss was about, but beyond the napalm having a warm, peppery bite, I didn’t see the appeal.
I supposed her heritage played some part in it functioning somewhat like pixie dust for her. Her reaction did remind me a lot of how many reacted to the shimmering powder most used to improve their moods—if taken to the extremes.
Bailey flopped onto her back and wormed through the gel, and I stared in a mix of awe, amusement, and confusion at her antics. I hadn’t even known cindercorns could, with enough work, slither across the ground on their backs.
My life had become so strange since Bailey had stormed into it. I took another bite of napalm just in case I hadn’t consumed enough to turn me into a hyperactive menace.
Nothing happened beyond adding to the warmth in my belly. I expected that warmth would become stronger fire once the containment shield went up. I figured if I could survive hellfire, the ignited napalm wouldn’t bother me.
I just needed to make sure I stayed out of Bailey’s way while she freaked out. Unlike the incident at 120 Wall Street, I wasn’t concerned about the mine crushing her; most of the buildings only had one or two stories, and it would take a lot more than some steel to slow my wife down.
Just to be on the safe side, I’d stay out in the open and leave the building demolition to her.
She’d have fun, and I’d have fun watching her have fun.
Not long after Bailey had decided walking was too much effort and slithering was more up her alley, the containment shield snapped into place, and the barrier gleamed in the colors of the rainbow, illuminating the entirety of the mine complex.
“Showtime, Bailey.” I nudged her with a hoof. “We need to light the napalm now.”
“Napalm!” my wife purred, and she snuggled with the gel. “Yummy, delicious napalm.”
I wanted to be the one she snuggled with, damn it. “Bailey. We have to light it on fire.”
“Soon,” she replied, and I got the feeling she used soon in the same way my divine relatives used the word: if left to her own devices, she’d leave me waiting for a few years first.
Great. I’d have to figure out how to light it myself. “How did you light it in New York?”
For a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to answer me, as she started chowing down on her favorite treat. “Run fast, make fire.”
At the rate of her napalm consumption, the CDC would need to bring in a few extra tankers to make up for her gluttony.
My poor wife. She’d have a record-breaking hangover in the morning.
I had no idea if I could run fast and make sufficient fire to light up the napalm, but I’d give it a shot.
If I couldn’t do it, I’d find some way to goad my drunk cindercorn wife into helping out.
Shaking my head over the insanity, I pawed at the gel, snorted flame, and took off at a canter.
Napalm splashed into my fur, and as soon as I hit full speed, my fur ignited.
Unlike hellfire, the napalm tickled more than it hurt. With a little experimentation, I discovered the faster I ran, the faster the napalm ignited. The thick gel resisted my efforts, but once patches of it burned without my interference, it began to spread.
Snorting flame helped, too.
The first time I passed my wife, she didn’t even notice I’d turned her lake of napalm into flame. When she finally figured out I would take her treat away through burning it off, she surged to her hooves, charged a few paces in my direction, and snorted her displeasure.
“Bad Quinn! No burn!”
I skidded to a halt and snorted fire at her. “Yes, burn.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She closed the distance between us, reared, and stomped her hooves into the napalm. “Can’t eat if you burn.”
I longed to smack my forehead at the insanity. “Bailey.”
“Not my napalm,” she whined, and as I’d married a cindercorn with the general maturity level of a toddler given copious amounts of sugar, she rolled into the flaming gel. “Mine!”
If I loved her much more, my heart really would burst in my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
She wormed her way to me and somehow managed to wrap herself around my forelegs. “You mine, too.”
That was something. “Yes, I am. But I still have to light the napalm on fire.”
“Mean!”
I regarded the gel, which had begun to burn merrily and spread. “I’m so cruel and mean. You’ll just have to punish me after we get to our hotel.”
“Promise?”
“The faster you ignite all this napalm, the faster we get to the hotel so you can properly punish me.”
Bailey lurched to her hooves and galloped away, and the few times she slowed, probably long enough to catch her breath, she bucked and whinnied. I couldn’t tell if the napalm had short-circuited her brain, or if she was that excited to take me to a hotel.
Either worked for me, and bemused, I watched my wife turn into a fiery psychopath hellbent on destruction.