Rather than complain about my lot in life, I handed my purse over to one of my new co-workers, accepted I would be riding the hyperactive cindercorn, and waited until I could hold her attention for two consecutive seconds to get into the saddle. As expected, Bailey pranced in place, but my fledgling riding skills handled her restlessness.
Samuel stood with picture perfect patience while Alec struggled to figure out how to get into the saddle, and I coached him on how to make use of the stirrup, promising no cindercorns would be injured if he struggled to scramble into the saddle. While rough and lacking even a vestige of grace, Alec got into position. One of the cops helped situate his feet in the stirrups and offered some tips, including the recommendation to grab Samuel’s mane and hold on tight.
“No tele-port today,” Bailey promised, and she bobbed her head. I suspected she wanted to bounce around and buck like a demented goat, but she settled beneath me in an effort to contain herself. “Make coffee when back to station. Enjoy stay with wit-ness?”
“He’s good company,” I replied, keeping an eye on Alec as he got a brief lesson on staying astride a cindercorn. Judging from the street, it would take an hour to reach our destination. “Is traffic bad today?”
“It bad,” the cindercorn muttered. “If emergency we rider swap. I promise to be actual unicorn instead of trouble if we need to swap rider, but we can go fast in slow traffic if emergency. Otherwise, we plod with cruisers.”
Plodding would help make certain Alec reached our destination intact. “That sounds like a plan. Is today better than yesterday?”
From what I’d gleaned from Jacobson, yesterday had been pure chaos.
“Better, yes. People behave better, time to breathe. No breathing yesterday.” Bailey eyed her husband and turned her ears back. “Coma-inducing doohickey!”
“It’s not my fault you drank coffee.” Careful of his new rider, Samuel picked his way over to us and nipped his wife’s neck. “You can nap on the couch after you settle our cops in McMarin’s office and make them coffee.”
“Okay. Nap good, but only a few minutes this time, not all eternity.”
“I’ll do my best to make certain you don’t nap for too long. Just don’t leave me behind.”
Bailey snorted, and smoke burst from her nose. “Better go slow with new rider.”
“I should say the same to you, lawbreaker,” Samuel snorted back at her, and his included a few fingers of flame.
“Oh, feisty stallion. Me like feisty stallion.”
“Bailey, it’s not time to go home.”
The cindercorn lowered her head and heaved a sigh. “Work sorude.”
“You’re the one who wanted a salary.”
The gathered cops snickered before splitting up and heading for their cars. One cruiser took point in an effort to contain the cindercorns. To my amazement, it worked.
For a first-time rider, Alec handled himself well. After a few minutes of clutching the reins and Samuel’s mane, he relaxed in the saddle.
“It’s not bad when there’s traffic,” I commented, and to make it clear I wasn’t angry at my chief for being rambunctious, I patted her neck. “It’s safer to walk if they’re in a hurry, though.”
“I sad because true. Much safer. Much slower. Queeny make me behave until you get lessons. You impossible to replace, take much care.”
Queeny?
Samuel snorted and bobbed his head. “Yes. I am making you behave, because we’ve done how many test rides before findingoneperson who isn’t me who can handle your badassery?”
“Many, many sick cops. So many sick cops. Cops now quake in terror if asked to come to our office and I a most beautiful cindercorn. They know doom comes for them.”
“Or at least an upset stomach and a story to tell in the break room. You all right, Alec?”
“I’m fine,” Alec replied, and he stared down at his feet, probably making sure he kept his heels down. “Is this what mounted patrols are like?”
Both cindercorns whinnied their laughter before replying, “No.”
“This much worse than mounted patrol,” Bailey announced with pride. “Cindercorns obnoxious, stubborn, free-spirited. View cars as objects to be destroyed. Horses just shy at things. Like plastic bags that might rise up and eat them. But not gunfire or cars. Trained not to. But plastic bags? Those dangerous.”
“We’ve been working on the plastic bag issue,” Samuel added. “But we also don’t want to traumatize our patrol horses. Training them to not react to gunfire or cars is tough enough on them. Plastic bags might prove to be their greatest foe.”
“And buckets,” Bailey stated in a solemn tone.
