Jenny marched up to the couch. “Mom, there’s a unicorn in the backyard.”
“That’s nice.” My attention remained focused on the complicated stitches of the delicate white shawl I was knitting for my cousin’s wedding gift. Offering to make a gift was all well and good until the bride-to-be kept changing her mind, requesting more complex designs because she wanted “to look like a fairy princess.” I could have told her that fairies cared less for silk blend yarn and more for nudity, but nobody had asked for my opinion.
“Mom!”
“Sweetie, Mom’s in the middle of something.”
“But a unicorn’s eating all our blueberries and you promised to bake a pie!” my six-year-old daughter complained.
“A unicorn is doing what?” I asked. So much for making progress on the shawl.
Jenny ran out of the house and I followed. The unicorn standing in the middle of our backyard appeared to have gotten in without touching the white picket fence that successfully kept out dogs, enchanted frogs, and deer. At least it wasn’t a kelpie. With a small child around, I never once regretted my decision to avoid living by water. Still, I made a mental note to file a complaint with the realty company I’d used a year ago. They had sworn up and down that this was a unicorn-free neighborhood. So much for “professional guarantee.”
“You can just get out of my garden right now,” I said crisply. “You weren’t invited and we plan on eating those.”
The unicorn lifted its head. A few spots of blueberry juice stained its otherwise pristine muzzle. It had eaten all of the ripe fruit and was starting on the still-green berries. “It is generally understood that unicorns are welcome wherever we go,” the intruder said.
“It’s also generally understood that a fence means ‘Keep Out.’” Over my dead body would my backyard become a salad bar for any creature, fantastical or mundane. Let one magical creature in and the next thing you know, you’re surrounded by them and don’t get a moment’s peace.
“No mere fence is an obstacle to one of my kind.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I signaled Jenny to get out of the way and slowly walked toward the unicorn. I’d drag it out by its mane if I had to.
It reared up and I had to dodge the sharp hooves. I rolled my eyes. “Now what’s the problem?”
“You are no longer a virgin. It is taboo for my body to be sullied by the touch of one who is impure,” the unicorn said.
I crossed my arms. “Really? I never would have guessed. And I’ll thank you to watch your language around my daughter.” Besides the content, the unicorn’s oh-so-formal way of speaking was getting on my nerves.
Jenny giggled. She was too young to understand what we were talking about but she knew when adults were discussing something it wasn’t appropriate for her to hear.
It had the nerve to look surprised by my reaction. “I have said nothing that is untrue. We are not capable of lying.”
Typical unicorn. They’re pretty to look at but the most passive-aggressive creatures you’ll ever meet. But I couldn’t just leave it alone, or else by the time it wandered away, any teenage maidens in the area would be taking off after it to make sure that “the pretty unicorn doesn’t get hurt.”
Time to call on the professionals. Jenny trailed behind me as I stormed into the house and picked up the phone.
“Thank you for calling Animal Control. In order for us to provide good service, please state whether your call is regarding a magical or non-magical creature,” a perky voice recording said.
“Magical.”
“One moment please.”
There were several moments of silence before a man started speaking. “Magical creatures division, how can we help you?”
“There’s a unicorn in my backyard. It’s eating all my plants and won’t leave.” All right, so far it had eaten only the blueberries, but I knew a bottomless pit when I saw one.
“Has it caused any other damage to your property?”
“No.”
“Are there any other magical creatures nearby?”
“Not that I can see.” I drummed my fingers against the wall.
“I can put in a work request, but you should know that it may be up to twenty-four hours before anybody can come over. Removal of a unicorn is typically low-priority and all of our field workers are currently dealing with a phoenix on the city’s west side.”
“Damn.” Any creature that needed both Animal Control and the Fire Department to deal with it was bad news for anybody else who needed a problem solved.
“In the majority of unicorn infestations, the unicorn in question will eventually wander off,” the employee suggested.
“It’s the ‘eventually’ part that’s giving me trouble,” I said. “Thanks anyway. Never mind about the work request.” I hung up the phone and returned to the backyard. There was one more thing I could try, at any rate. “Will you please leave my property and go somewhere else?”
The unicorn didn’t bat an eye. “I should like to stay here a while longer. I am greatly tired from traveling, and the food in your garden is refreshing. And you must know that bad fortune comes to those who do not show hospitality to my kind.”
Unicorns might not be capable of outright lying, but they were geniuses at bending and stretching the truth. They would make very good lawyers. The threat about misfortune was true, but it could be as minor as an e-mail virus or as severe as the roof of my house being blown off during a freak windstorm. Naturally, opinions on what good hospitality was could differ. I’d never been able to decide whether unicorns directly caused the “accidents” or if they put in a request to another creature.
Right on cue, a gust of wind swept through and the roof of my house creaked. I examined the unicorn, but it showed no sign of responsibility. As far as its claims of being tired from traveling went, this one had likely gone no more than a few miles. I wondered if it had devoured the gardens of any of my neighbors.
“When will you leave?” I asked.
“As soon as I am rested. I am thankful for your minor kindness in my time of need,” the unicorn said.
Smacking it on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper was starting to sound like a good idea. As I watched, the unicorn finished eating our blueberries and moved onto the mint. It was welcome to that plant, at any rate—I hadn’t known that mint should be planted in a contained space, and it had begun to take over the yard. Yet I knew it wouldn’t stop there. I retreated to the picnic table to think.
Jenny climbed onto my lap. “Why did the unicorn eat all the blueberries?” she asked. “It’s being mean.”
“A long time ago, people found out that unicorns can heal people and get rid of poisons. They also thought that unicorns were lucky, so they would go into the forest and try to catch unicorns to keep them as pets. The unicorns could ask for anything they wanted in return. But they got spoiled and even though we don’t keep them as pets anymore, they still take whatever they want.”
“Can we put it in a time out?” Jenny immediately suggested.
I laughed. The unicorn glanced up, then returned to eating. Several mint leaves were stuck in its teeth. “If I could, I would. Aren’t you supposed to ask if you can keep it? When I was your age, most of my friends wanted unicorns.”
Jenny examined the unicorn. “It’s kinda boring.” She perked up. “Can I have a tarantula?”
“No.”
“Laine’s mother got her a tarantula.”
“Laine’s mother works with spiders. You’re not owning anything with eight legs as long as you live in this house.” Time for a change in conversation. I raised my voice. “Getting full yet?”
“No,” the unicorn said.
“How would you like it if I sprayed you with the hose?”
“How would you like it if every stitch of that shawl you’ve been working on for the past three months unraveled?” it countered.
I snarled at it.
The unicorn ignored this. “I am somewhat thirsty. Would you be so kind as to provide some nectar?”
“They don’t sell nectar for unicorns at the corner store. There’s a stream a few miles away. You could drink as much water as you want there,” I said.
“Alas, I am still so weak that I fear I would not be able to reach this stream. I do not have the strength to leave your yard.”
Translation: I don’t feel like it and if you don’t bow and scrape to me, I’ll stay here until even the grass is eaten. My eye twitched. I set Jenny down and filled a bucket with water.
The unicorn dipped its horn into the bucket before drinking. The water rippled and glowed. When it had finished, the water was so clean that it practically sparkled.
“Adequate, I suppose,” the unicorn said like a wine expert who preferred a vintage several hundred years old but would settle for something one step up from slime if no other options were available. It began drinking.
Hopefully that would delay it long enough for me to get some research done before it returned to eating. I ushered Jenny back into the house and settled her with one of her toys while I looked through my mythological encyclopedia. I was already familiar with the general knowledge I had told Jenny—virgins, antidotes to poison, and so on—but I hoped that the book might provide some inspiration.
A ripping noise drew my attention back to the garden. Through the open window I could see the unicorn tugging the clematis off of the trellis. The vines and flowers disappeared into the unicorn’s mouth. It was amazing how much damage could be caused by an animal without opposable thumbs.
“Mom, I’m bored,” Jenny said, interrupting the grinding of my teeth.
“Why don’t you read a book?” I asked.
“I’ve read all of them already.”
“Play with one of your dolls.”
“I’ve played with all of them,” she complained.
I glanced over to the toy shelf where her dolls ‘lived.’ Pristine when her father had sent them over as gifts, every doll’s hair was now styled in elaborate hairdos and their clothes were decorated with finger paint.
“Watch television.”
“There’s nothing good on.”
I loved my daughter, but I couldn’t entertain her and plan how to get rid of the unicorn at the same time.
A light bulb clicked on inside my head. “How would you like to play with the unicorn?” I asked.
“I don’t want it.”
“We’re not going to keep it. I just thought you might like to play with it until it goes away.”
“What do unicorns like to do?” she asked.
“Why don’t you talk to it and find out?”
“Okay.” She ran outside.
I continued looking through my book but kept one eye on the backyard as Jenny approached the unicorn.
“What do you like to do?” she asked.
The unicorn had almost finished the clematis. It slurped a burgundy petal. “In the old days, princesses brushed my mane and plaited ribbons into it, and I would fall asleep to the sound of their singing,” it said in a dreamy voice.
I snickered at the look on Jenny’s face; as much as she enjoyed playing with her dolls, it was a battle just to get her to brush her own short hair.
“Why do you eat so much?” she continued.
“I eat only as much as I require,” it said. I rolled my eyes and flipped past a chapter on how to attract unicorns.
“Do not. You ate half my mom’s garden, even when she asked you to stop. And I told you we were going to eat those blueberries. You’re just mean.”
It glared at her, losing that prissy self-control for the first time. “Unicorns are not ‘mean.’”
“Are too.”
“We are not.”
“Are too.”
“Little girl, you should be honored to have me in your home.”
Jenny put her hands on her hips. “I don’t like you. You’re like a really annoying horse.”
“I am nothing like a horse!” the unicorn bristled. For a moment I thought I saw flames in its eyes. But it didn’t run off as I had hoped. Rats.
“You are too like a horse!” she shouted and stomped back to the house. “Mom, make it go away.”
“I’m trying, sweetie.”
Still glaring, Jenny leaned against me and looked at the book. It was open to an illustration of a unicorn lying peacefully in a garden, leashed to a tree by a length of gold ribbon.
Ribbon.
I smiled for the first time since the unicorn invaded the backyard. “Jenny, I need you to play with the unicorn again.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Just one more time, please. And then it’ll be gone.”
She heaved a mighty sigh for such a little girl. “Fine.”
“You’re going to tell the unicorn that you’re sorry for arguing, and that you’d like to brush and braid its mane as an apology.”
“Mom!”
I shushed her and looked outside but the unicorn didn’t appear to have overheard. It was still sulking and didn’t so much as glance in our direction.
“You only have to do it for a little while,” I told her. “The unicorn will fall asleep and you can play with it like one of your dolls. It’ll leave when it wakes up.”
“Why can’t you do it?” she asked.
“Unicorns don’t like mothers. It won’t let me touch it while it’s awake.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I fetched a handful of ribbons and a spare hairbrush.
I walked to the table where we kept Jenny’s art supplies and watched through the window while she approached the unicorn, which had begun nibbling the petals off of zinnias one at a time.
“I’m sorry I called you a horse,” Jenny mumbled.
“Could you repeat that?” the unicorn asked. “I am a bit hard of hearing.”
“I said I’m sorry!” she yelled. The unicorn jumped.
Hey, you asked for it, I thought.
The unicorn’s eye twitched. “Your apology is accepted.”
Jenny glanced at me. I made a “go on” gesture. She said, “Your mane is pretty. Can I brush it for you? I have ribbons.”
The words sounded as though they were being pulled out of her, but the unicorn didn’t seem to care. “That would be wonderful,” it said. “My mane has not been properly tended to in the longest time and it is a horrible mess.” It sat down.
Moving as though she expected the brush to bite her, Jenny began to groom the unicorn’s mane. Despite its comments, I didn’t see her encounter any tangles.
The unicorn’s eyes soon drifted shut. It started to snore. I walked up and handed Jenny her art supplies. “Have fun, sweetie.”
She grinned and got to work.
The unicorn woke up a half-hour later, just as Jenny was completing her masterpiece. “My face itches,” it complained.
“I was making you pretty,” she said and held up a small mirror. “Do you like it?”
It’s not every day you hear a unicorn scream in utter horror.
I bit my lips to contain my laughter as I watched the unicorn examine its reflection. Ribbons were woven through its mane until every bit of hair was knotted up. Neon pink nail polish decorated its hooves. Stickers clung to its horn. I had caved to my daughter’s demands and allowed her to use my scarlet lipstick. As a finishing touch, she had sprinkled multi-colored glitter all over the unicorn’s pristine white coat.
“What—this is—what have you done to me, you demonic child?” the unicorn shrieked.
Jenny ran behind me. “She was just showing hospitality,” I said innocently. “I felt bad that we got off to a rough start and we wanted to make it up to you. After all, I know how much you enjoy spending time with maidens.”
“Not like this! This shows a complete and utter lack of—of respect, and judgment, and good taste!” The unicorn shook its head but none of the stickers fluttered off.
“I could fix it for you,” Jenny began even though I know she was disappointed by the reaction from her living artwork.
“No! Keep those fingers far away from me.” The unicorn wheeled about wildly before leaping over the fence and sprinting away. Clouds of glitter drifted in its wake.
As soon as I could no longer hear its clattering hooves, I burst into laughter and swung my daughter around in a circle. “It’s all right, sweetie,” I said as I looked at her stormy face. “That unicorn just doesn’t know how to appreciate real art.”
“I didn’t think unicorns were like that,” she said.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Tomorrow I would contact my ex-husband’s half-dryad cousin about building a unicorn-proof fence.
A calculating look appeared on Jenny’s face. “It’s okay. Can I have a spider? They don’t eat everything.”
“No.” I settled her on my hip and walked into the house. “What do you think about going to the store? I feel like buying a blueberry pie for dessert.”
