“I hate change,” I grumbled.
And Rossi, that ancient vampire, laughed.
Chapter 10
The unicorn did not sleepin the garage because, “Really, Myra. I am not a beast of burden like you.”
Instead, she took over my guest room, pulling the handmade doilies and lace curtains down with her teeth and trotting them into my laundry room where “they can be washed, but never improved.”
When she complained about the color scheme being “too English-rose-meets-clown-school,” I told her it was my guest room, and I’d be happy to consider her a responsibility instead of a guest and leave her out in the garage with the car and a pile of hay.
Since it was closing in on two in the morning, I pointed at the bed. Told her to use it or lose it.
I’d never seen a unicorn (because here, where no one could see her, she said she preferred to let her horn fly free) look so sullen. She slunk up onto the bed like she was made of liquid pout and ennui and sighed loud enough I could hear it from the hallway.
“Don’t care,” I called back.
I shut my door, decided at the last minute to lock it, just in case Miss Horn Flying Free decided to level a complaint in the middle of the hours I had left to grab some sleep.
I kicked off my shoes, shucked out of my pants, dragged my bra off from under my T-shirt, and fell into bed.
~~~
Something soft and fuzzy pressed down on my face, heavy as a cat sitting on my head.
I didn’t own a cat.
I jerked awake, shoving away the intruder. A wide, fuzzy muzzle, round nostrils, and long horse face filled my vision.
“You’re awake!” Xtelle declared. “Good. Make me breakfast.”
“I’m not awake.”
“Ah-ah. Lying isn’t allowed here in Ordinary.”
“I’m not lying,” I rubbed at my eyes and scrubbed my face, “and of course lying is allowed.”
“Oh? Well, isn’tthatinteresting? Not that I would ever lie. A lying unicorn! Can you imagine such a thing? I can’t imagine such a thing, no, not at all. But you shouldn’t lie, Myra, because you’re just so…so…that.”
“That?”
She waved a hoof at me. “Reed-ish. It’s…unavoidable.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. “Go away.”
“You said I’m your guest. I demand you make me feel welcome. I shall have breakfast!”
She jumped down off my bed, trotted across the room, hooves ringing like wind chimes in a hurricane as they struck the hardwood floor. “Hurry, Myra. I can’t wait to try omelettes for the first time.”
“I’m not making you omelettes!” I pulled the pillow over my head and locked it down with my arm.
“You can’t expect me to eat a scramble. Peasant food.”
I dragged the second pillow over my head and scrunched down deeper into the covers.
Something crashed in the kitchen, and the “Oops! Was that an heirloom?” was loud enough to stab through my down-enforced trenches.
I pushed the pillows off my head just in time for my alarm to go off.
