13. Cindercorns are not supposed to like being wet.
THIRTEEN
Cindercorns are not supposed to like being wet.
I limited my napalm consumption to enough to make my coat burn and ignite the thick, sparkling gel.
It seemed wrong to indulge while at the equivalent of a funeral.
It took me less than five minutes to ignite the napalm, and I helped reduce the building to ash and rubble with the help of a few larger snorts, which did an excellent job of flash-frying the structure so the napalm could do its job better.
None of the CDC’s equipment survived the inferno, which burned blue-white until the napalm finished its work.
Unlike in New York, there were no tones, and the CDC wasted no time hosing the rubble down with neutralizer.
I listed my enjoyment of being sprayed down as a perk of early pregnancy, and I snapped my teeth at the spray whenever it came close.
Taking a firehose of neutralizer to the chest knocked me right over, and I snorted my shock the blast had managed to do more than thump into me.
Whinnying, I pawed at the barrier to get at the naughty stream.
The archangel joined me inside, and he laughed at me. “I have been asked to check on you, as cindercorns are not supposed to like being wet.”
“Want!” I replied, thumping my shoulder into the barrier to get at the hose.
“I can see that.” The archangel vanished, and a moment later, I got my wish, and several hoses smacked me at full blast. I rolled around in the pink, sparkling fluid, which steamed around me.
Being wet worked so much better when my coat refused to cool down.
Once I had a nice puddle to keep me amused, the CDC resumed dousing the smoking building until they switched to regular water to continue cleaning up the site. The shield dropped, and I bounded into the snow, dropped, and rolled.
The snow melted, and I lunged to my feet for a deeper patch to cool off my coat.
My husband approached and observed with a raised brow. “Are you feeling okay?”
“So hot,” I complained, doing my best to burrow into the snow-chilled ground. “The babies make me insane, like cold?”
“You were already insane, Bailey.”
Oh, wow. I stopped and stared at him. “Oh, that burn good. Reward you later.”
He smirked. “Love you, too. Are you ready to shift back to human? If so, they’d like to confirm you burned the dust out, and they have a big blanket for you so you don’t get chilled while getting dressed.”
“Big blanket so they don’t get show, you mean.”
“That may have factored into things. I’ve been told I’m unreasonable when it comes to you.”
“Yes, that right.” I rolled to my hooves, braced, and shook out my coat, which steamed. “I did good, only had few bites of nay-palm.”
“Much to the astonishment of the CDC. Then again, after the second chomp, your fur went blue-white hot and the napalm began combusting when it came in contact with you. They are speculating pregnant cindercorns run as hot as phoenixes.”
“Me the best cindercorn.”
“That’s not hard when you’re the only cindercorn below the age of several hundred to a thousand years old. Or so says Alan.”
“I young like filly!”
“Come on, my beautiful. They want to scan you and check your temperature before you shift.”
I trotted over to Alan and pranced at a safe distance while he played with his meter before holding it out. I tested a snort to discover I blew blue-hot flames still. “Use area scan. No meter survive that hot. I melt it. Over two thousand degrees because blue not orange.”
Alan nodded, adjusted the meter, and held it in my general direction. It remained silent. “Great job, Bailey. Stand still while we try to get a temperature check on you. Snort when I hold up my left hand, please.”
I waited for his signal and snorted on command, pleased with how hot my flames remained.
“You’re exhaling at just below three thousand degrees. Your internal body temperature is higher, and your coat temperature is moderating to a safer ninety degrees. If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.”
“Cin-der-corns best unicorns.”
“Just agree with her,” my husband suggested.
“I’m having a difficult time coming up with any reason not to,” Alan admitted, and he retrieved a blanket from his van. “Once you’re changed and dressed, the archangel wants your help with the gorgon. Wear clothes you don’t mind having to burn. He has informed us she will be defensive.”
“I just wear blanket,” I announced. “No ruin nice clothes with bile and blood. Yuck.”
“Can’t say I blame her. If you get some rope, we can make cleanup a snap.” My husband tossed the blanket over me. “Try not to roll in the snow while human. You won’t like it nearly as much.”
“Pets okay?”
“They’re enjoying a nap in the rental. Fortunately for us, the CDC has spare gas with them, so they’ll fill up our tank before we leave.”
“Run out of gas would suck.”
“Yes, it would.”
As there was no such thing as privacy when a full CDC team was in attendance, I forced myself to reverse back to human, a process that went faster and better than I expected.
As warned, I didn’t like the cold nearly as much as when a cindercorn, and I jumped into Alan’s van to escape the snow. “Fuck! Shoes, Sam! Shoes!”
My husband dared to laugh at me. “I told you that you wouldn’t like the snow nearly as much when human.”
“I already said I’d reward you later.”
Alan handed me a pair of rubber snow boots and several pairs of socks. “You’d be upset if you ruined shoes you actually liked, so ruin these. Those have already seen more than any one pair of boots should ever see, so they would appreciate being retired.”
“Poor boots.” I pulled on the socks and stuffed my feet into the boots, which were several sizes too large. “And now that I’m oddly dressed, let’s get this show on the road. It’s going to take all day to deal with that many statues. Time’s wasting!”
The archangel pressed his hand to the gorgon’s wounded chest, and the stone reformed until no evidence remained someone had stabbed a sword through her.
“I cannot take the memory of her injury from her while she is stone, and doing so might erase what you need to learn. As such, she will be hostile. I will do my best to limit how much damage she can do, but I can offer no more than that.”
“You’ve done so much already. Thank you.”
“It is an honor. It is rare we can help like this. Most simply do not ask. She is not human.”
“But she didn’t deserve this.”
“No, she did not. And that is why I can help. Your willingness to pay for the work was also a key factor.”
“Right. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. It was your willingness to do so that mattered. It would unbalance things if we were to require payment, for you will have paid too high of a price for what you do now and will do in the future. You have made her life your responsibility, and that is a far higher price to pay than any money.”
“Is that why Beauty and Sylvester were saved?”
“Their father would have paid far more than he had, and they were all he had left. But yes. The money their father paid will find its way back to his children, for we knew even then he would not live long beyond their survival.”
Oh. “But you, as in your fellow angel who saved them, couldn’t say that. So you took the money knowing what would inevitably come?”
“Yes. Please do not cry, for it will alarm your husband, who does not handle such things well.”
“He really doesn’t.” I sighed, double checking the hoods on her serpents, her blindfold, and doing a full inspection of her statue to make sure there was nothing else wrong with her. “Alan?”
“Yes?”
“What’s the best grade pixie dust you have on you?”
“We have the good stuff.”
“Give me a vial and make sure everyone stays out of the way. If she’s too happy to see straight, she’ll be a lot less likely to harm anybody. You should get lesser grades for the rest of the victims, too. We may as well make this as pleasant as possible.”
“That ploy will work well,” the archangel stated.
I tapped my temple. “Sometimes, I remember I have a brain and decide to use it.”
Alan headed off for his van at a jog.
My husband sighed. “I’m going to the SUV until you’re done. Make sure they decontaminate you thoroughly. The last thing you need right now is me on a pixie dust high.”
“Wait. What? No. You take that back, you fiend. I absolutely do need you on a pixie dust high.”
The archangel’s laughter chimed. “However much I like your grandfather, I am siding with your wife on this one. She is very deserving of you, should you be under the influence.”
I smirked. “See? Even the archangel agrees with me.”
Muttering curses, my husband stomped off towards our rental.
“He’s just mad because it’s a felony, no matter how much he’d enjoy me committing a felony tonight. Really, Sariel got to him a little too young, making him such a goody-goody. It’s just a little felony!” I hollered at my husband’s departing back.
Alan returned carrying a metal case, which he handed to me.
“It’s not a felony if someone in the CDC gives you the sample for your use.
Since you didn’t go on a napalm bender and did such a good job with the dust removal, I see no reason I can’t slip you a vial of some dust so you can enjoy your husband’s company tonight.
I’ll give you one grade below the best, so he might stand half a chance of remembering it in the morning. ”
Hah. “You and I are going to get along just great.”
“They told me you were difficult. I suggested they just failed to speak your language. I figured a reward system might work, and considering your husband’s special genetics?
I could be talked into adding a line to your file that you’re highly motivated into being able to use samples of high-grade pixie dust on your spouse in recreational fashions following testy work like dust removal to limit the consequences of your exposure to napalm. ”
“Hold that thought.” I took the case, popped it open, and whistled at the selection of dust samples available. The vials of the top-grade dust alone could enslave the entirety of a football stadium. “Damn, they sent you over here prepared, Alan.”