by Ashley McLeo
“Who are they from?” Selma asked once the delivery man was out of earshot.
Plucking a card from one of the bouquets, Abby handed it to Selma. “Open it.”
Selma ripped open the tiny envelope and pulled out a note printed on thick, luxurious stock.
Most Beautiful Faerie Queen,
You were enchanting to converse with last night. Please excuse my presumption in
obtaining your place of employment but I hoped to take you to dinner tonight.
Please respond to the number on this card.
“Simon Jakowsky?” Selma read the name on the bottom of the card as if it were a question.
Abby looked momentarily stumped before her mouth opened into an “O”. “I know him. Well, of him. He doesn’t get out much. He’s old money in banking—or is it real estate? Whatever. He’s in his early thirties. Brown curly hair, sort of a chubby face, and very tall.”
An image of a man fitting that description formed in Selma’s mind. She’d said ten words to him and he was asking her to dinner? She found it a little absurd that so many men had been interested in her just because Andrew had been. But then again, her magic aside, she supposed it was no stranger than a man being interested in a woman for her looks alone. Either way, they knew nothing about her, other than external appearances.
“Open the other ones,” Abby instructed pulling the cards off the other bouquets. “If they asked you out, we’ll have to decide which date would be the best to go on first. Oh my God, Kayla is going to go crazy when I tell her about this!”
The other cards also held invitations for dates. Dates that for all Selma’s fantasizing about New York, she never would have been able to dream up.
Her mouth dropped open. “This man—Sean O’Neil—says he wants to take me on a private tour of the Statue of Liberty tonight.”
“His parents own a quarter of Manhattan. He can do a lot better than that,” Abby replied.
And with that began Selma’s dating career in New York City.
Ice vs. Fire
A giggle escaped her as Sean dipped Selma to the music.
“Having fun gorgeous?” Sean winked.
She nodded and squealed once more as Sean swung her into another dip. She was having fun with Sean. Simon, Xavier, and Farrokh, too. In fact, the last week had been a whirlwind of fabulous dates, though she had to admit, having seen Sean thrice in that span of time, he was her favorite.
After Andrew, a small voice in her head whispered. Selma batted it away, unwilling to yield any ground to the man who had occupied her thoughts far too often. If she couldn’t have him, why think about him?
The song ended and Sean pulled her close to press his lips against hers. Selma reveled in it. What could she say? The man didn’t shock her body and magic the way Andrew had, but he was an excellent kisser.
“Should we grab a drink? I’m parched from dancing. It’s hard work keeping up with a fiery señorita such as yourself.” Sean wove his fingers through hers and guided her off the dance floor, which was a whorl of color and gems.
This charity gala wasn’t as extravagant as The Faerie Fall Ball. There were no costumes, only gorgeous clothes that made Selma swoon and radiant people. Earlier, Sean had pointed out an extremely attractive woman in her mature years and commented on how Selma would look as good as that woman when she was the same age. Selma had guessed that with the decelerated aging of her siren genetics, she was at least thirty years older than the woman and exploded into giggles which, unsurprisingly, caught Sean off guard. If they worked out, she'd let him in on her personal joke.
Sean’s hand tightened in hers. “Love, I see a man I need to have a chat with. Do you mind going ahead and ordering for the both of us? I’ll be right over there.” Sean pointed to a table of stout older gentlemen. “Tell the bartender it’s on my tab and join us when you’re done.” He grazed her neck with his lip and she shivered.
“Of course. Whiskey neat?”
“You know it, gorgeous.” He squeezed her hand, his hazel eyes leveling with hers, smoldering for a moment, before turning to do business.
Dios mio, he is hot.
She watched as Sean joined the group of older men she assumed were his father’s business partners. Selma turned around, not wanting to get caught staring and blinked. Across the room stood Vivienne, looking regal in a deep red gown and glaring at her with piercing aquamarine eyes.
Without thinking, Selma glanced about. Andrew was nowhere to be found. Catching herself, she shook her head. And why am I even looking for him? This is ludicrous. She turned back to meet Vivienne’s eye, which had narrowed dangerously. Selma had given herself away.
As if in confirmation, Vivienne crossed her arms over her chest and strode toward Selma.
Selma’s spine stiffened. Despite turning many men’s heads, she’d never been in an altercation with a scorned wife or girlfriend. And she didn’t want to start now, not when there was nothing to fight over. She wound her way through dancing bodies, hoping to lose Vivienne before ducking off the dance floor and retreating down a long hallway. Finally, she made it to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Selma released a long exhale, relieved to have subverted a confrontation.
The room she’d retreated to was small. With the space taken up by an enormous chandelier dripping with crystals above, and a heavy table to the side, laden with fine art and sculpture, the toilet seemed little more than an afterthought. The sink and door knobs matched the chandelier and a pile of fluffy, white hand towels sat by the sink above a discrete bin. Although simple, this restroom probably cost more to furnish than most people’s homes in Menorca. Selma shook her head. Fine art in a toilet, who’d have—?
Bam!
The door behind her shook as someone pounded hard against it.
She followed me. Blood froze in Selma’s veins. What do I do?
It dawned on her that the only reasonable thing to do was open the door. At least if she was alone no one would witness whatever transpired between them. Her pride could not bear that. She opened the door.
“Why are you here?” Vivienne asked by way of greeting. She strode in, notes of lily of the valley and bergamot following her into the room.
Selma raised her eyebrows and shut the door. “Pardon me?”
“You heard me. Why are you here?”
“They say America is a free country. However, I am new here. Perhaps I am wrong?”
Vivienne sneered. “Ugh. Even worse. An immigrant. My husband is attracted to the help.”
Selma’s eyebrows arched to unforeseen heights. “I have never been anyone’s help and even if I had been, is that a bad thing? How would people like you live your lives without the help? Also, I would appreciate it if you explain why you consider following me to the toilet appropriate?”
“The toilet. Really, you’re in America now, not wherever you came from,” Vivienne huffed before pulling herself up to tower over Selma. “I don’t know what you told my husband the other night. For all I know you offered him a cheap rate.” She sneered as Selma’s mouth fell open. “But it’s obvious English is your second language, so let me make one thing very clear. Andrew is mine and I will not have him embarrassing me in front of our friends or being pictured in the paper with anyone else. Stay away from him.” And with that, Vivienne opened the bathroom door and let herself out, slamming the door behind her.
That bitch. Selma was practically vibrating, her heartbeat racing and jaw tightening. Her hand clenched the crystal doorknob, ready to pull it open, to storm out after Vivienne and give the woman a piece of her mind. Instead, she remained rooted in place, unable to fully control her magic.
Sirens were known to lose control of their magic in only three instances: when they hadn’t been intimate for prolonged periods (usually still avoidable unless they were caught off guard like she’d been with Andrew); when in peril or experiencing another strong negative emotion such as fear; and according to superstitious sirens like Selma’s mother, when they
were going mad. And right now, Selma, still on her self-imposed sex ban, was in the midst of the two experiences she believed to be real.
“I’m fine,” Selma whispered, trying to calm the hormones surging through her. She moved to the mirror and instinctively patted down her hair, which had lifted to appear more voluminous and full on its own accord. Taking a closer look, Selma puffed out her cheeks and blew the air out of her lungs. Realistically, her hair was the least of her worries. Most noticeably, her breasts had become hugely swollen and the skin of her chest and cheeks were flushed to mimic arousal. Even her eyes looked larger, more innocent and needy. Her magic was affecting her body, showcasing signs a man would look for when choosing a mate. It was her magic’s last ditch effort to find a mate to protect her.
“Sean is out there waiting for me,” Selma moaned into the mirror as she pressed down her chest. The hormones her body could turn on like a light would have to wear off or be released for her appearance to return to normal. By that time she would have missed half the party. She bit her lip, her mind working to come up with a solution on how to return to normal.
Why am I left with the repercussions of someone else’s bad behavior? Selma thought shaking her head as anger with Vivienne overtook her sense of helplessness once more. Why can’t it be Vivienne who is—oh!
Her lips lifted slowly as a bold idea struck her. One her mamá would call the spawn of Selma’s pride and temper, but then again, her mamá was far too conservative for this sort of scene. Still, Selma had to admit, while the idea thrilled her, it was counterintuitive to her inclination to wait until her magic wore off. But it was also more fun, more daring, and certainly more satisfying than hiding in the woman’s bathroom.
Plus, it may just teach Vivienne a lesson.
She emerged from hiding, presenting herself on the edge of the ballroom, shoulders back and chin held high. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Vivienne. Already she was turning heads with the faint film of estrogen, spiked with testosterone and a small dose of progesterone covering her skin.
Fly, Selma commanded, and the hormones leapt off her, into the air, seeking impressionable nostrils.
The closest men and woman parted before her. To her right she saw Sean, his hand on an older man’s shoulder, his eyes following her like a wolf catching sight of a deer. Selma smirked, knowing if anyone was the wolf in this scenario it was her. She lifted a single finger, indicating to Sean she’d only be a minute, blew him a kiss, and strode deeper into the throng of gowns, jewels, and tailored suits. The press of eyes upon her was real and heavy and exhilarating. A shiver ran up her spine as Selma realized that despite being in a room filled with New York’s high society, she was the most powerful being in the room, able to enchant every single person should she want to. Of course, some would take a heavier dose of magic, while others were susceptible to practically none, but still, she had enough power to go around. She always had, though back home she’d never used it like she was planning to now. The question of why she didn’t allow her magic freedom more often flickered in her mind. Already, it felt so damn good, and she hadn’t even truly started yet.
Finally, she spotted him. Andrew, with Vivienne at his side, talking to a table of men and women, all of whom were hanging onto his every word. The scene reminded Selma a bit of how the townspeople regarded her family back home, with their full attention.
Vivienne noticed Selma approaching first. Her blue eyes hardened and she laid a protective hand on Andrew’s bicep, pulling him closer.
Oh Vivienne, it would take much more than that to keep your man if I truly had my sights set on him. Luckily for you, this little show is a warning. One you should take to heart, before you go around insulting women in toilets again.
She was at the table a minute later, hovering over Andrew’s shoulder for no more than a second when his spine straightened.
Andrew turned and Selma was struck by his beauty once more. Her magic danced inside her and she could have sworn she felt her breasts squish tighter against the unforgiving fabric of her dress. It was clear as day, her power was calling to him like it had no other man before. Selma shook her head, baffled and a little annoyed at her magic’s stubbornness, even if she was about to use it to her benefit.
“Hello, Andrew. I wanted to thank you for having my dress cleaned so quickly.” Selma leaned closer allowing her hormones to affect Andrew directly.
Immediately, Andrew’s mouth dropped open and his eyes clouded over in what sirens deemed the siren haze. He stood, throwing his wife’s arm off his shoulder to face Selma. “Of—of course. It was the least I could do.”
Selma gave him her most charming smile and then turned to the table of men and women, all of whom were staring at her with wide eyes. “I have met your wife, and Gerard.” Selma twinkled at one of the men she’d spoken with at the Faerie Fall Ball. “Introduce me to the others?”
Vivienne let out a strangled sound as Andrew maneuvered Selma closer to the table. As Andrew introduced her to New York’s social elite, Selma called thin streams of hormones from her body. She directed a fine mist toward each man, putting them in an faint magical haze before altering the mix slightly and moving on to the women, leaving only Vivienne untouched. Her extra precautions ensured that only Andrew ended up completely siren enchanted, despite direct contact with her. While enchantment, a step down from a full-on enthrallment, would be easy to accomplish with her appearance so drastically altered, it would also be too obvious. Selma was going for something lighter here—smitten—a touch high on magic. Simply put, she wanted to make sure Vivienne was worried, but not have anyone follow her home. It was a delicate balance, but she was sure she’d managed.
The conversation ran the gambit as every woman, save Vivienne, complimented Selma, and every man tried to impress her. Selma was chuckling at a joke a wealthy real estate mogul made, when her gaze landed on Vivienne.
The socialite’s aquamarine eyes had darkened against the faint purple of her face. A muscle in her neck twitched noticeably as Andrew launched into talk of his most recent investments. Feeling Selma’s stare, Vivienne locked eyes with her.
It was a poor choice to threaten me, Selma thought, leveling the woman who’d attempted to bully her earlier.
Vivienne blanched as if Selma had spoken out loud and Selma’s magic purred deep within her.
Victory.
Double Date
A huge yawn escaped Selma, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to contain the noise.
“Out late again last night? With Sean? Or was it some other amazing man this time?” Abby popped her head over her cubicle.
Selma bit her lip. Abby was becoming as sour about her hectic dating schedule as Selma was growing exhausted.
“A man I met at the charity gala Sean took me to.”
“Must be nice,” Abby huffed, lowering back in her chair.
“You know what would be fun? A double date!” Selma threw the idea, fresh as rain out there.
“Really?” Abby popped back up. “Did someone ask about me?”
“Err—the man I was out with last night introduced me to a friend—I forget his name—but he’s been looking to get out more.” Selma hoped Abby would be placated with her vague answer.
“Suits me just fine. Not like I’ve been having any luck on my own. Tell me when and where and I’m there,” Abby chirped, her mouth tight moments earlier, turned up at the corners. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Want anything?”
Selma shook her head. As soon as Abby bounced off Selma picked up the phone, intent on finding a date for her friend.
“Thanks for setting this up,” Abby said, skipping into Selma’s apartment later that day. “I’ve flirted with so many of the men you’re dating at parties. Even made out with a handful but the next day,” she upturned her hands and spread them wide as if to indicate a vast, empty space before her, “I heard nothing. I think chill will be more my style. What does he look like?”
“Uh, very good looking.
He’s the tall, dark, and handsome type.” Selma spoke the cliches hoping they would be true. Between working all day and frantically making calls while Abby was away from her desk to secure a date, she hadn’t had time to dig into Abby’s date’s past.
“Hmm, I usually go for gingers but beggars can’t be choosers, am I right?” Abby poured herself a glass of red wine from an open bottle on Selma’s counter. “When are they picking us up?”
As if on cue, the buzzer rang.
“Now,” Selma said, then thinking twice added. “Hurry and finish that. I’ll get the door.”
Abby downed her wine in seconds.
Now if he isn’t tall, dark, and handsome I can tell her she had wine goggles on.
Selma picked up the intercom receiver. “We’re on our way.”
“Can I meet you down there?” Abby’s face grew pink. “I have to use the restroom before we go out with the man who’s sure to be the hottest one I’ve gone out with in ages. I may be a few minutes. Can you tell them I’m finishing getting ready? They’re a couple minutes early anyways. I’ll lock up.”
Selma nodded and tossed her friend the keys to her apartment. At least this way she’d be able to thank Farrokh for setting something up so last minute without Abby hearing.
She trudged down the stairs in her three inch heels, wondering how best to explain why she’d begged Farrokh to find a friend for Abby without making her friend sound sad and bitter. It was a detail they hadn’t worked out over the phone as Abby had returned from a trip to the copy machine faster than Selma expected. As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to worry. Farrokh wasn’t at the bottom of the stairs.
Andrew Van de Berg was.
“Oh, hello.” Selma’s hand gripped her opposite forearm and her head craned past Andrew as she tried to catch sight of her date.
“Hello, Selma. It’s nice to see you,” Andrew said, a handsome smirk on his face.