by Michelle Fox
She wasn’t making a love potion so much as a love bomb—one that had little affection for a clean kitchen. At this rate, she would never obtain her potions license. Noticing the soot on the ceiling, she realized she might not get back her security deposit on the apartment either.
From the living room, her roommate said, “Oh no. Not again.”
“Yes, again,” she said with a sigh. “Sorry, Raven.”
Raven came into the kitchen and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. “Mar, you know I love you, but I’m really tired of the smoke. The first thing guys ask when they come over is if something is on fire.”
“Look, I’m really sorry.” Marion frowned down at her potion pot, which appeared to have a hole in the bottom. Damn. This was the first time she’d used it too.
“I know, but ‘sorry’ doesn’t get rid of the smell. It’s gotten to where I avoid werewolves and you know how much I like furry men.” Marion’s roommate paused, a faraway look in her eyes, and then gave herself a little shake. “Anyway, I think it might be time to confine your efforts to the lab at the university.”
Marion sighed again and threw her potion pot into the garbage. Another three-hundred-dollar pot ruined. She was going to have to review her budget again and find the money for another one. But no more non-stick potion pots. They were too expensive. She’d have to make do with the cheaper ones.
“You’re right,” she said with a glum look at Raven. “I’ll do this at school from now on.” It would mean late nights on campus, but it would save her the clean-up in the kitchen. The university labs had wards in place to contain any magic accidents. Potions or spells gone bad simply disappeared as if they’d never existed, but the incident reports students had to fill out provided documentation enough. Documentation Marion had hoped to avoid since too many incident reports could lower her grade. She was barely passing Potions as it was.
“Have you considered that maybe your problem isn’t the potion, but you?” Raven opened the kitchen window, shooing the air out with her hands.
“What do you mean?” Marion grabbed the broom and swept the rose buds into a pile. The roses had turned to ash and smeared black across the white linoleum. Great. She’d have to mop, too.
“I mean, maybe a love potion requires some, you know, action?”
She stiffened. “I’m not you.” Her roommate was the social butterfly while Marion worked hard to be the beige wallflower. She liked solid walls at her back; it meant no one could sneak up behind her. She'd come to Vegas to blend in and hide behind the wards that protected the city from dark magic. In time, she would learn the magic herself and then no one would be able to touch her again.
But first, she had to stop blowing up love potions.
“You don’t have to be. Frankly, I don’t want the competition. But since you are human, I know deep down, underneath that scholarly facade is a passionate woman just waiting for the right man.” Raven paused and gave Marion the once-over. “Look at you. Your hair is singed. You’re wearing sweatpants and your shirt is more gray than white. You’re not even making an effort.”
“You know I wear old clothes for potions.” Marion plucked at the frayed hem of her shirt, trying to tuck it under and out of sight.
“And to the grocery store and your classes. Homeless trolls dress better.”
Marion steeled herself against the truth of Raven’s statement. She owed no one an explanation. Besides, Raven, with her easy confidence and quick charm, wouldn’t understand. “I’m going to go take a shower and get cleaned up. Maybe I’ll even meet your standards when I’m done.” She swept past her roommate to the bathroom and slammed the door.
“I’m just trying to help,” Raven yelled after her.
Marion turned the water on full force drowning out her roommate’s voice and dropped her clothes on the floor. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and shook her head. Raven was right. Her hair was singed. What she hadn’t mentioned was that it also looked like birds had been trying to construct a nest in it. She took a moment to brush it out before stepping into the shower knowing if she didn’t get the worst of the tangles out now, it would hurt like hell later.
Her blonde hair smooth, Marion set the brush down on the vanity, and caught sight of the scars on her wrist. Two years had passed since the doctors had pinned it back together and she hadn’t been on a date since. It still didn’t feel safe. Which was why she needed to pass her potions class, so she could start the magical defense courses. They were the only thing that could protect her.
***
Marion was in her room trying to find some clothes to wear when Raven barged in without warning. “Hey, I’m going out tonight. Do you want to come?”
Marion clutched her bath towel tight around her. "Ever hear of knocking?"
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were getting dressed."
"You think I shower fully clothed or something?" She loved her roommate, she really did, but sometimes Raven drove her nuts. She had a habit of doing things without thinking, like flinging open the door to Marion's room unannounced. Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know if I’m up for a night out.”
“Your favorite DJ is on tonight.”
“Pixie Cool?” She loved Fairy Techno and PC was the best.
“Yep. It’ll be fun. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a guy.”
“I don’t want to meet a guy.”
“You can’t be celibate forever.”
Marion flushed. “I think you’re oversexed.”
Raven laughed. ”You say that like it’s a bad thing. Oh come on, Mar. Come dancing with me. It’ll be fun. We haven’t been out in forever.”
Marion sighed and weighed her options: Spend an evening alone at home trying to figure out where she kept going wrong with the love potion, or go blow off some steam on the dance floor? Considering she didn’t have another potion pot, it really wasn’t much of a choice. “Okay, I’ll go.”
Raven squealed in excitement. “Cool! I’m going to get dressed. We leave in an hour.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She saluted her roommate, but Raven had already left.
Raven’s radio blared dance music through the apartment, shaking the walls with an infectious rhythm. Marion winced, hoping the neighbors wouldn’t complain, and then shook off her worries with a shimmy of her hips. Humming under her breath, she went through her closet looking for something too-big to wear.
Chapter Three
Vegas was going to be a nightmare. He could feel it in his bones. Aidan scanned the dance floor at Magique, the Avalon Casinos' nightclub, trying to keep a pleasant smile on his face. It was an effort, as he’d never been more angry. His anger had started as a slow burn that got hotter and hotter as he realized he was hopelessly trapped in Vegas.
He'd wandered up and down the Vegas Strip, taking in the barren heat, the tourists in their T-shirts and practical shoes, the cheap lights and even cheaper food, wondering how he would break the curse. The women were either too old or too pretty to satisfy the terms of the curse. Vegas held only extremes with nothing in between.
Staring into his mead, he wondered how much he would have to drink until he went numb. Sure, he'd screwed up, but the punishment seemed excessive. He was one of the Queen's guard, not some elf from the backwater of Fairy. He'd taken oaths and honored them, but that hadn't counted for anything in the end, had it?
Draining his glass, he waved at the bartender for another. With a sigh, he reminded himself anger was the not the solution. If he gave into his rage, the Queen would never let him back into Fairy. The terms of her curse had been clear: Until he pleased a woman less than perfect, the gates of Fairy were closed to him.
Aidan looked over the club for what felt like the hundredth time, assessing the pickings, and sighed. There wasn't a single diamond in the rough to be found.
One of the fairy go-go dancers fluttered her indigo blue wings at him and made eye contact. A blue halter top matched her wings and showed off her full breasts while tiny shorts
barely covered her round ass. Her red hair flowed down her back and a sheen of bioluminescence humans would probably mistake for make-up made her skin appear silver. Under other circumstances, he might be interested, but she was too pretty for the curse. He waved her away.
McAllister materialized next to him with a poof. Somehow his magic let him move through time and space outside of the portals. It was a rare talent, one that made him the Queen's favorite errand boy. Everyone else had to rely on fixed portal points or pay for expensive portal charms.
"Hello, McAllister." Aidan blinked as he took in the pixie's outfit. Bone white and skin tight it opened in a V down to his navel, showing off his pink chest hair, not to mention the rolls of a few extra pounds, and then flowed over his hips to flare into a wide hem at his ankles. Jewels and sequins dotted the lapel like star vomit. Given his diminutive size, he looked like a child's doll gone horribly wrong. "What are you wearing? Is that—"
McAllister preened. "A white Elvis jump suit circa the seventies." He executed a spin on the bar top, ending the move with an alarming shimmy of his hips as his wings fluttered in time with the club's music.
"And your hair." Aidan gingerly poked at it.
"It's called a pompadour. It's Vegas. I wanted to pay homage to its King." McAllister batted Aidan's hand away. "No touching. I don't want to ruin it."
"I don't think it's possible to make it worse." The hair in question was pink as a raspberry and held enough hair gel to turn it into a helmet. It was not a good look for the pixie.
McAllister shot Aidan a pointed glare. "Careful. Talk like that is what keeps getting you in trouble." He glanced at the people milling around the club. "You’ve got your work cut out for you, my friend.”
Aidan snorted and glared at the pixie. “You think? Tell me something I don't know.”
“How about the latest gossip from Court? Do you want to hear the news, or," he flapped his wings until he was airborne, "I can just go if you're going to be sour as a gnome sucking a troll's hairy balls.”
Aidan rolled his eyes and took a sip of his mead. Pixies couldn’t resist gossip and McAllister, with his pink fluffy wings, was all pixie, even if he did have the face of a troll—a fact no one mentioned unless they were looking for a fight.
McAllister’s wings twitched in annoyance as he lowered himself to the bar. “Don’t act like you don’t care, you sod-ass. You want to know what they’re saying.”
“Then tell me.”
“Well, you went wrong with the whole moon thing. No woman wants her ass compared to not one, but two full moons. I think that was what put you over the edge.”
Aidan felt a flush rise in his cheeks. “I meant it to be a compliment.”
“Which is why your fecking head is still attached to your neck. The Lady knew your intent was good, but a lesson was in order just the same.”
“Well, now what? Everyone here is fair." He gestured to the dance floor. "There's no one so ugly as to fulfill her requirements.”
“Make the best of it and hope you get lucky,” McAllister said as he flexed his wings, preparing to take off.
“Where are you going?”
McAllister paused. “I’m going to look for a good seat so I can observe.”
“Ahh, I see. You’ll be reporting back to the Queen.”
“Yes, my friend. I’ve been chosen as the executor of this task.” And with that, McAllister flitted off, leaving Aidan to fend for himself.
Aidan downed the last of his mead and made his way to the dance floor. At least the music was good, the same stuff they played at Court. He allowed himself a few dances just to release his pent-up frustration, scanning through the crowd for a potential partner. The shadows from the erratic pulses of strobe lights sometimes gave the illusion of a less-than-pretty face or figure. Once or twice, he thought he might have found someone only to learn, upon closer inspection, they would not qualify.
But then he became aware of the woman next to him dancing like she was possessed, and once he caught sight of her, he was riveted. Not by her beauty, for her loose hair hid her face. Nor was it her figure that captured his attention for her floor-length skirt topped with a too-big, long-sleeved shirt made it impossible to determine if she was of good form or not. No, it wasn’t her physical appearance at all that demanded his attention, it was the frantic desperation of her movements that called to him. Something was trapped in this woman, fighting to get out, and he found the progression of the battle fascinating.
***
Marion grooved in the center of the dance floor and let the music carry her away. She was no longer failing at potions or even human; she was music. The bass throbbed through her body while the melody rushed through her veins. All that mattered was moving in time with the beat.
Raven nudged Marion. “Don’t look, but someone’s watching you.”
Marion went still. “Where?”
“Behind you. He’s cute. Although I don’t get what he sees in your hobo-purdah look.” Raven did a little spin combined with a hip thrust. “Come on, dance and try to pretend you’re not a walking fashion disaster.”
Marion shook her head, spooked. People didn’t stare at her. Half the time they didn’t even realize she existed and she liked it that way. She’d worked hard to be unnoticeable and it unnerved her to think someone was immune to her façade. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”
Raven shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She made eyes at the young man next to her who returned her interest and they began to dance.
Marion pushed her way through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor. Moving quickly, she made her way up the stairs that led to the patio on the roof. The club sat at the top of the Avalon Casino and normally the roof bar was packed, but Marion was relieved to find herself alone. The day had been windy and that tended to keep people inside because of the desert dust. Walking the length of the night-shadowed patio, she leaned against the railing and looked at the street below.
A pang went through her at the sight of the couples walking along the Vegas Strip. They cuddled up against each other, hands tucked in their partner’s back pocket. They kissed and giggled. Would she ever let another man get close like that again? Suddenly she felt very alone and very small.
“Are you all right?” asked a deep voice behind her.
Marion jumped and turned to find an elf with attractive chiseled features smiling at her. The tips of pointed ears poked through his blond hair, and he towered a good six inches over her. His form fitting black leather coat outlined broad shoulders and the trim musculature of his physique. Large hands gave the impression of great strength, enough to snap her in two if he wanted. Marion shivered and said nothing, filing him into the 'handsome but lethal' category in her head.
He took a step toward her, an expression of concern on his face. “You’re cold.”
She edged away from the stranger, eyeing the door. If she ran fast enough, she could make it before he caught her. Or at least she hoped so.
“Do you speak?” the elf asked. “I was watching you dance and then you just ran away. I had hoped maybe we could...” He trailed off as Marion shook her head.
“No,” she said.
“No?”
“I don’t dance with people I don’t know.” Marion took a step towards the door relieved to see the man didn’t move to stop her.
“That’s a shame, because you dance quite well.”
“Thanks.” She passed him, intent on reaching the door. It meant safety.
“Before you go, could you tell me your name?”
She froze and looked back at him over her shoulder. He wanted her name? Why?
Sensing her hesitation, he said, “I’m Aidan.”
“Marion.” Marion kept a wary eye on him, watching for signs of any magic. She knew elves were the good guys of Fairy, as a general rule, but that didn't mean they were safe. Not in her book.
“Nice to meet you Marion.” He moved toward her then, hand extended and she bolted, running down th
e stairs and bursting into the club.
Dodging the crowd of dancers, she located Raven grinding against a muscular guy with a shaved head. Grabbing her friend by the elbow, Marion yanked Raven off the dance floor, ignoring her wails of protest.
“What is your problem?” Raven glared at her. “I had a good thing going there.”
Leaning close, Marion told Raven about the guy on the roof.
Raven shook her head. “You’re freaked out because a guy dared to speak to you? What am I going to do with you?”
When Raven put it like that, Marion did feel a bit stupid. So much so, that when Raven took Marion’s arm and pulled her back up the stairs to the roof, she didn’t resist.
***
Aidan sat in a plastic lounge chair on the bar's patio and looked up at the sky. The stars twinkled at him in what he took to be amusement at his predicament. He’d taken the Queen’s curse to mean he was to find an ugly woman and please her. Not that he’d have to pursue a lovely young woman who was obviously terrified of men.
Sex he could handle. It was something he was good at. Coaching someone out of their shell was foreign to him. Women threw themselves at his feet, begging for his attention—just look at Serena. They didn’t run away. Strange, very strange.
She’d said her name was Marion. That and the fact she danced like a prisoner trying to break free was all he knew. The question was, what could he do to ensure he had the chance to learn more?
A clattering of feet on the stairs interrupted his thoughts and two women stepped onto the roof. One he recognized as the vivacious brunette that had been dominating the dance floor and the men on it for the last hour. Behind her came Marion, protesting loudly and often.
“Really, Raven, I don’t think this is necessary. What do you think you’re going to accomplish?” Marion fought her friend’s grip.
Aidan waited, intrigued to see what would happen next.
The brunette spotted him and her face lit up in a smile. Dragging Marion with her, she came to stand in front of him. “Hello.”
