Free Brush of Darkness by Allison Pang

last couple of months.
    One heated frying pan later and I was well on my way to cooking a heaping pile of bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs. I’d tried for an omelet, but as usual I’d ended up with nothing more than a runny mess. One of these days I’d just admit that I couldn’t cook, but until then I was going to keep trying. I piled some toast together with jam and topped off the whole thing with a mug of steaming English Breakfast.
    Something sharp pricked my ankle, and I jumped. “Oh, it’s you,” I muttered as the unicorn snorted up at me. “You want some?”
    He made a little movement that looked like a nod and trotted off toward the table, leaping onto one of the chairs. I hesitated. “What the hell.” I skimmed a few strips of bacon onto an extra plate. There was a part of me that felt a little uncomfortable with feeding what was surely an herbivore nothing more than the remnants of a cloven-hoofed cousin, but based on the way the little beast licked the grease off the plate I didn’t have much to worry about.
    We sat at the table together, the unicorn and I, chewing in silence as I mulled over the details of yesterday. “I think I’m screwed,” I told him ruefully, sliding back into my chair to sip my tea. “Totally and utterly screwed. And I think I need to give you a name.”
    Tapping his horn on his plate, he made a little grunt that sounded an awful lot like “more.” I tossed him a spoonful of eggs, sucking on my lower lip as he buried his face in the cheese. Between the underwear, the leg humping, and the single-minded eating, it was almost like living with a tiny, preternatural fratboy. All I needed was to trip over some empty cans of Natty Light.
    Today was my late day, but my stomach churned with restlessness. Charlie would be working the early shift at the bookstore this morning, and she was always good for a chat. I slipped on my Crocs and refilled my mug after dumpingthe dishes into the sink.
    “You’re staying here,” I told the unicorn. “Last thing I need is for you to start showing . . . your affections . . . to the general public.” He rolled his eyes, but ambled off the chair and back into the bedroom, hooves tapping like little hammers.
    I clutched the mug to my chest as I left the apartment, creaking down the outer steps. I’d broken several coffee cups since I’d moved in, mostly due to carelessness. Well, that and the occasional seizure. I rolled my head on my shoulders, stifling the urge to run my fingers over the scar. My mother used to joke about me spinning until my brains fell out when I was a kid, but I supposed a metal plate would be just fine for stopping that sort of thing.
    The morning was brilliant, everything still damp and dewy from yesterday’s rain. It was going to be humid later, but there was a crispness to the air that spoke of cooler times approaching. I breathed it in, enjoying a few moments of quiet, but there was an edge to it. The calm before the storm, maybe.
    There was no mark upon the back wall to indicate the silver Doorway to the Marketplace had ever been there, but I could almost see it gleaming on the brickwork in an ivy-twined lattice of magic. The remainder of the courtyard was small and square and utterly boring. Moira liked to think of it as quaint. I called it “Abby can’t garden for shit.” The few flowers left after the scorching July heat were wilted but defiant. If I had any brains at all I’d look at getting a few gnomes in to do some pruning.
    The Pit had a back-door opening beneath the stair, leading into the storeroom and the makeshift closet that doubled as Moira’s office. I unlocked it with a jingle of keys, giving the morning sunshine one last regretful look. There were days when living above the bookstore was an advantage, butfor some reason I couldn’t think of one right now.
    There were no customers this early in the morning, but Charlie was humming away, busy with a more mundane set of inventory boxes. UPS had come