Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
A muscle in my jaw twitches. I glance up at the officer, who’s now all but tapping his foot.
“Nothing exciting,” I mutter. “Just… I might have mistaken a mounted cop’s horse for a unicorn. And then, uh, tried to ride her off into the sunset.”
My eyes flick to the dull gray walls and the rows of empty plastic chairs in the waiting area beyond the payphone. A vending machine hums in the corner, blinking a red ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign.
I hate gray.
I stare down at my scuffed Mary Janes. “Turns out she wasn’t a unicorn. And I wasn’t exactly sober.”
I don’t mention the part where I’m pretty sure someone dosed my drink with Special K at some point in the night.
Like, yeah, things can get shimmery when I get that bouncy manic shine, and sometimes I think I’m a re-incarnated oracle from an ancient, alien civilization, seeing everything at once but forgetting it at the same time in some terrible form of karmic punishment.
But last night went extra dextra, and it’s just a whole disjointed mess of colors and laughter and then—cold, gray walls.
Did I mention I hate gray? There are just so many other colors to choose from.
“Moira,” she sighs. “I’ll be there soon. Give me a few hours, okay?”
“Yeah.” I drop my head back. “Thanks, Kira.”
I hang up before my throat can close up again.
Officer McGrouchy-Pants jerks his chin, ushering me back to the cell where my new, temporary family is waiting.
I smile and wave at Big Mama, the plus-size sex worker who cradled me in her lap last night like a drunk little baby bird. She blows me a kiss as she’s led out for her own phone call, and I mime catching it. Damn, she’s a good cuddler.
Making friends wherever I go is one of my few talents.
If only I could keep them.
I sink down onto the cold bench, pressing the heels of my hands into my burning eyes. My head is still foggy, but fragments of last night flicker through the haze. The unicorn. The way the world glowed—the streetlights haloed, the laughter like wind chimes. The officer’s stunned face as I vaulted onto his horse—
Backward.
Her tail was so pretty, though.
I huff out a soundless laugh, but it fades fast. Because when I woke up this morning—
No unicorn. No magic.
No Bane.
Just cement walls, iron bars, and the yawning, endless ache where he used to be.
I slump against the wall, exhaustion sinking into my bones. Man, I’d give my left arm for a Barcalounger. Hell, even one of those crusty office chairs with lumbar support.
I must doze off at some point because the next thing I know—
CLANG.
A flashlight slams against the bars.
“Moira Callaghan,” a female officer calls.
I jerk upright, my stomach pitching. My head is still a fucking mess, and my shoes—god, why was I wearing these tight-ass pinchy Mary Janes when those fucking assholes decided to kidnap me?
Pushing to my feet, I swallow against the nausea. Then I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms as I follow the officer out.
A grim-faced worker hands me my belongings in a sad little plastic bag.
Domhnall’s credit card.
My key fob—to a car I currently don’t have.
A half-empty pack of cinnamon gum.
A ponytail holder.
Don’t remember where I acquired those last two from but shrug and pop a piece of gum in my mouth. Cinnamon. My favorite.
Then, with all the grace and dignity of someone definitely not arrested for public intoxication and unauthorized unicorn theft—
I skip out of the jail.
It’s tradition.
For luck.
What can I say? I’ve had a few drunk and disorderlies in my day. A handful of indecent exposures.
But FOMO?
Yeah. That’s never been my problem.
Kira is waiting when I get outside, leaning against her car like some kind of sleek, put-together goddess of competence and emotional stability. Unlike Dom, she’s not here to give me the world’s most disappointing TED Talk about my life choices. She just smiles and pulls me into a hug so big and warm that I half expect her to absorb me like an amoeba of goodwill and expensive perfume.
“I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”
Tentatively, I smile back. “Thanks,” I say, voice quiet, but my body already betrays me by sinking into her hold like an exhausted cat.
She gestures toward the car, but before she can get inside, I remember Domhnall’s car and launch into an explanation about how we have to go break it out of car jail. Kira just waves me off.
“Isaak can send one of his guys to do it later in the week. Domhnall’s got, like, five cars, right? He’s not going to miss it.”
I stare at her. Then, before she can dodge, I give her another hug, squeezing the stuffing out of her.
“You beautiful, competent, problem-solving genius!” I announce, squeezing tighter. “If you were a cake, I’d stuff my face with you.”