by Ashley McLeo
Selma's magic flared to life inside her at the sound of his voice. It was begging for him to come closer. To take her in his well muscled arms and ravish her. She shook her head.
No more. The gala was just to piss Vivienne off. She forcibly wound her magic up tight within her and made her way down the last few steps intent on removing herself from Andrew’s presence as soon as possible. “It’s a surprise seeing you here. Now, pardon me, my date must be waiting outside.”
“He’s not,” Andrew said, his smile growing with her confusion.
“Pardon me?”
“What I mean is,” he pulled a bouquet out from behind him. “I’m your date tonight.”
“But—but I called Farrokh,” Selma stumbled over her words.
And you’re married.
“He works for me. I was there when he took the call. I asked if you two were serious and he said you’d only been out together once, so I asked to join. It’s not like he could say no, he’s a hair’s breadth away from a promotion he’s worked years for. Hence, your friend is now Farrokh’s date, and I am yours.”
Selma’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish gulping for water. Her attention snapped back to Andrew’s eyes. They were clear, which meant whatever magic she’d imparted on him at the gala a few nights before had worn off. This man wasn’t enchanted at all right now, he was acting on his own volition. What nerve! She was about to tell Andrew off when she heard the sound of heels clicking down the stairs. Her mouth snapped shut. Abby! What would be worse? Pretending she’d planned this all along? Or letting her friend down, the only friend she felt comfortable calling up in the city, by telling her the uncomfortable truth? Selma was nowhere near settling her internal debate when Abby appeared a moment later, almost bowling Selma over.
“Oh my God, sorry Selma!” Abby screeched, righting herself on Selma’s shoulder. It was only when she’d regained stability that she noticed Andrew. Her eyebrows furrowed.
“You must be Abby,” Andrew said. “Selma has told me much about you. We shouldn’t keep your date waiting.” As soon as he turned to open the door Abby jabbed Selma in the back.
Andrew Van de Berg, she mouthed, her eyes wide.
Selma shrugged, forced the corner of her lips up, and turned to follow Andrew out the door.
In truth, it was the best date of Selma’s life. Even with Farrokh staring glumly at her the entire time.
Once the ball got rolling, Selma and Andrew talked nearly non-stop, not caring or noticing that the other two could not carry a conversation between them. Still, in the brief moments of silence Selma couldn’t help but think about Vivienne. About how everything she was doing was wrong. How she should have walked straight back up to her apartment the moment she saw Andrew in the foyer. Then explained to Abby that she’d lied and forced the date into existence to make her friend happy and it was now off.
But how can something so wrong feel so right? Selma wondered, catching Andrew’s eyes over dessert and feeling her magic roll gently within her.
His hand brushed against her back as Andrew pulled her chair out at the end of the meal, sending a delicious chill up Selma’s spine. For the first time that night, her carefully controlled magic surged and mind altering hormones leaked onto her skin. Instantly, Andrew’s nostrils flared and his eyes hazed over slightly. Selma’s heartbeat quickened, her body taking cues from her magic, even as she shoved it hastily back down.
“Where shall we head next?” Andrew flourished his hand like a magician in a show.
Suddenly, Abby forced a weak cough. “Sorry.” Another cough, more convincing this time. “I think I'm coming down with something and need to head home.”
Selma bit her lip and an uncomfortable silence hung in the group. She knew she should leave, but everything within her rebelled at the thought.
Abby, sensing Selma’s reluctance, continued. “Selma, I left stuff at your apartment so you’ll need to come too.”
Andrew stiffened at her side, a reaction to her magic. He was responding to a primal and artificial urge to defend her, to keep her near him.
But Abby was right.
Selma sighed. “Yes, of course. It is getting late anyhow. I have to work tomorrow.” She placed a hand on Andrew’s shoulder, touching him purposely for the first time that evening to calm him. His body softened beneath her touch, reassured. “Thank you for the amazing night but we must go.”
Andrew shivered as she pulled her hand away “Wait. We’ll drive you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Selma said, ignoring her body’s push of mind altering chemicals, her magic’s hope that she’d release more hormones at Andrew, keeping him next to her. She had to get away quickly, it was better this way.
Goodbyes were said, Selma’s and Andrew’s parting words were laced with reluctance while Abby and Farrokh plastered fake smiles on their faces and shook hands, happy to be parting. The women left as the men paid the bill, and were just out of earshot when Abby elbowed Selma hard in the side.
“What the hell was that about?” Abby hissed. “He’s married!”
Selma sighed. This was the part of the night she’d been looking forward to least. “I know,” her voice trailed off to nothing.
What was she going to say? That she hadn’t known she was going on a date with Andrew? That he’d actually commandeered her date with Farrokh. Worst of all, that after the initial shock of it all she hadn’t minded? That despite knowing how wrong it was, she’d actually enjoyed it?
“It won’t happen again. I felt guilty the entire time.”
Abby raised a manicured brow. “Could have fooled me.”
The pair walked down the sidewalk in silence for a few minutes, neither knowing how to be normal after their very not-normal night.
“Selma?” Abby asked, her voice wavering uncharacteristically.
“Yeah?”
“You know if Vivienne finds out you went on a date with her husband you’re screwed, right? Some of the things I’ve heard she’s done to those who crossed her, well, it’s pretty horrific. I’d stay the hell away if I were you.”
Selma nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind. I suppose I must hope she doesn’t find out.”
To the Top
Selma leapt out of bed at the sound of her alarm.
Her body was alight with energy. On fire. She watched her arm tremble as she turned off the insistent alarm with shaky hands and perched on the edge of her bed. Minutes passed as her body quaked. Surprisingly, she found the sensations not entirely uncomfortable. Unusual, yes, but after her initial spike of fear subsided, there was a touch of pleasure that pushed into the forefront of her mind. A moment similar to the instant her magic released from her body. Suddenly, she sucked in a breath as the pieces fell into place and her confusion clarified. Her magic was running wild.
But there’s no man around, and I wasn’t dreaming of anyone.
Selma stiffened. Had she heard something in her sleep? Was someone in her apartment? She tilted her head to the side, listening. Reassuring silence greeted her, but Selma still tiptoed to the edge of her room and pulled open the door carefully. The apartment, most of which she could see from her bedroom, was empty and the front door was locked. She let out a sigh, relieved she did not have to fight off an intruder. But the reassurance was short lived as her hand began to shake more violently. She shook her head, baffled.
I did not eat much last night. Perhaps my blood sugar is low? It could be messing with my magic? Making it feel threatened?
Selma set about her morning routine, eating first to quell the shakes, then showering, and dressing. Though the tremors had dissipated a bit after breakfast, her magic still coursed through her in a way it never had before, making her feel as if she’d had ten cups of coffee instead of one. Ready for work, Selma pulled on her jacket and descended the stairs, her legs wobbling with each step. As she stepped through the building’s door into the alley chilly, early fall air hit her in the face, and she felt the shift. Her body rela
xed, her magic calmed, and her head tilted to the side.
Apparently, what she’d needed was fresh air. Selma frowned, still perplexed, and set off down a narrow side street connecting to the major thoroughfare that led to her office. No one was around. This was the favorite part of her morning walk—a calm she knew was short lived. The relative quiet reminded her of walking down winding cobblestone streets in Spain. She savored every moment before rounding the corner to merge into a wave of bodies stomping down the larger street.
Dios mio! Selma’s magic roared back to life, hijacking her body chemistry as a muscular man with manicured dreadlocks and dressed in a tailored suit strode by. Her head swiveled to watch the man disappear down the street, unperturbed. Before she could consider how bizarre her morning had been, another man walked by and a surge of hormones raced through her again.
Selma sucked in a breath as a horrible thought hit her. My magic is rebelling. It’s upset that I didn’t let it free last night with Andrew—that I kept it constrained.
Frustrated, she pushed forward, willing herself to ignore the pounding sexual energy rushing through her. But her magic persisted. With every step she took it bombarded Selma from the inside out. She’d made it halfway down the block when she realized she wouldn’t be able to go much further without collapsing.
I must siphon it off or else I’ll never make it to work. She scanned the sidewalk. There were men everywhere, men her body was reacting to when normally it would lie dormant. If she could release it as she walked the likelihood of her magic affecting any one man too strongly would be less. She held up her hand, trying to discern the direction the wind was blowing and sighed with relief. The wind would blow her magic directly behind her; she’d be untraceable.
Selma set off at a brisk pace and allowed her magic to do its work. Enhancing her features to become more attractive to the opposite sex, producing testosterone and allowing it to disperse onto her skin and away with the wind. Selma walked three full blocks before her system normalized. More importantly, not a single person approached her, and she hadn’t begun any testosterone fueled fights. It had been a weird morning to say the least, but everything had turned out alright in the end.
Selma tossed her jacket and bag on the desk, already feeling exhausted after her arduous walk to work. Having to siphon off her magic with careful control, so as not to enchant one person too heavily had been more taxing than she could have ever imagined. Glancing at the stack of papers on her desk, Selma released a sigh and turned to get a much needed coffee. She made her way through the labyrinth of cubes, all of which were full with people deep in work.
It’s quite strange. I’m on time for once but these people look as if they’ve been here for hours already. I suppose it’s true what they say; Americans live to work. Selma shook her head at a man staring into his screen as if his life depended on entering the data before him.
The coffee station was empty save for Abby stirring cream into her cup.
“Morning, Abby,” Selma smiled at her friend and was surprised to see Abby jump.
“Hey, Selma. You sleep well?” Abby asked, her voice high and strained as she took a step back.
Selma nodded. “Once I got to sleep—I tossed and turned a bit before. What do you think about going out for lunch today? I didn’t have time to pack a lunch after our double date—”
“Shh!” Abby hissed, her green eyes wide as she glanced around. “I don’t want anyone here knowing about that! Remember what I said about Vivienne? I’m sure she has moles around, especially with you working here.”
“Moles? The blind animal?”
“No!” Abby rolled her eyes, “You should take a slang course or something. Moles. Like people who seem fine to your face but are working for the enemy. A spy.” She nodded her head to the sea of gray cubicles before them. “Did anyone tell you Tom was looking for you this morning? Don’t worry, it wasn’t even your in time yet, so you shouldn’t have to schmooze him. But he did say for you to go to his office as soon as you got in.”
Selma’s heart raced as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Was this the moment her luck ran out? She wrung her hands, hoping she was not about to lose her job. Sure she could go through another interview process and enchant an interviewer a second time. She could even convince the hiring manager she didn’t need the college degree most jobs required, and negotiate a higher salary, but she knew she would be kidding herself. The problem came when the real work set in. The pace of New York was frantic, especially compared to Menorca. Workers were expected to know what to do and excel at it straight away, unlike the sleepy island town she grew up in. Selma was having a difficult time keeping up with the vast quantities of work the company piled on every day and her coworkers were starting to notice. If only she had enough saved to start her own venture—do things her own way—but her goal of a creative, entrepreneurial career still felt so far in the future.
“He didn’t say anything?”
Abby shook her head.
Selma sighed. “Well I better go see what he wants.” She walked down the hall to the end office, another cubicle, larger than the others and with the advantage of having a discrete entry point. Selma knocked on the cubicle wall and entered. “Good morning, Tom. Abby told me you wanted to see me?”
Tom shot up from his seat, watery eyes bulging. “Selma! Yes! I’ve received orders from upstairs. You’re to be moved.”
“Moved?” Selma’s stomach sank. “Do you mean I’m getting fired?”
The manager shook his head. “Nothing like that! Why would we let a talent like yourself go? You’re leagues ahead of the rest of our division.”
Talent? She thought of Andre, the middle aged man in the cubicle next to her who did twice the amount she did in a day.
“Oh,” Selma murmured. “Where will I be heading then?”
“Upstairs to work under the big boss. Turns out he needs a secretary and heard about your stellar organizational skills. Why don’t you grab your things, and I’ll show you to your new desk?” Tom’s voice grew squeakier with each word.
Selma raised an eyebrow. “OK . . . sure.”
It took two minutes to gather all the things she cared about from her desk and return to Tom’s cubicle. Tom led her to the elevators and pressed the button for the top floor of the building.
I didn’t even know our company had offices on the higher floors, Selma mused. Then again, I try to think about this place as little as possible, so, no surprise there.
The elevator shot up and in no time at all Selma was in a different world. Her heels clicked against shining wood floors and heads turned from inside glass offices as they walked by. It even smelled fresher up here, like sprigs of rosemary. Tom guided her into a large office near the end of the hall.
“This one is yours.”
“Dios mio,” Selma breathed moving toward the window and looking out at the view of the city, thunderstruck. “This is a secretary’s office?” She turned to find Tom had disappeared.
In his place stood Andrew Van de Berg. “It’s my secretary’s office.” He said, a sexy smirk on his face.
Selma’s magic flared to life inside her.
Dios mio.
Don’t Bait the Beast
Selma’s power had been strong—no insistent—all morning, a result of being within shouting distance of Andrew. As she walked to meet Abby for lunch, she released a little here and there, relieving the pressure. Andrew’s eyes had been clear as day all morning, telling her he was not enchanted, but being around him for hours with her magic running high could easily change that. There was a fine line between a magical contact high, becoming enchanted, and the most serious—becoming enthralled with a siren. Better to let her power trickle out and latch onto one of the millions of people in New York who she’d never see again, than her new boss.
“Pardon me.” Selma stepped through the bistro door and nearly collided with a man who had stopped dead in his tracks.
The man bowed in response. “N
o. Please, excuse me, my queen.” The stranger opened the door wider and his eyes followed Selma as she made her way to Abby’s table.
My queen? I must be putting out more power than I thought. She tightened her control on her magic. It pushed back and she frowned as she reined it in even more, wrestling it into full submission. The day had started out crazy and it seemed like it wasn’t going to let up any time soon.
Abby raised an eyebrow as Selma pulled out her chair and collapsed into it. “Who was that guy?”
Selma concocted a story of how she’d run into the stranger at the Faerie Ball and he’d called her a faerie queen then. “He was being funny.”
Abby nodded and went back to her salad, already half finished.
“Am I late?”
“No. I was hungry and can't be late going back. Tom is in a terrible mood.”
“Oh, that stinks.” Selma shrugged off her jacket. “So, you’ll never guess where they put me.”
Abby, who had been staring into her salad, lifted her gaze but remained silent.
Something, a vibe Selma could not pinpoint was radiating off her friend. She eased closer to Abby, trying her best to create an atmosphere of friendly intimacy. “I got moved upstairs—to a receptionist position.” Her eyes darted conspiratorially around. “For Andrew. I had no idea he worked at our company!”
Abby slammed her fork down and leaned back in her chair. “Are you serious right now? Andrew doesn’t work there, we work for his company! Of course I know you're his new receptionist. Why do you think Tom is so mad? He’s been trying to get Andrew’s attention for years and move up the corporate ladder. Then you come in and get a sweet office for looking pretty? I mean, Tom didn’t say that, but it’s obvious that’s what happened. And now he’s taking it out on the rest of us.”
Guilt flashed through Selma. She’d been so anxious about working under Andrew, and then joyous over the soaring raise the position came with, and subsequently frantic about keeping her power in check, that she hadn’t stopped to wonder how her old co-workers were taking her sudden promotion. A promotion she knew she didn’t really deserve.
