by Ashley McLeo
Mary softened slightly. “You know I only want what’s best for you. And working for this man is not good for you. You shouldn’t be around him, Selma, even for a limited time. You’re already making bad choices, what if something more serious happens? Your kind does’t have the ability to fix it.” She took her friend’s hand.
Selma stiffened as her magic, always so close to the surface nowadays, rose to defend her, all repentance and worry vanishing against the rising tide of anger. Why was Mary treating her like a child? Like she couldn’t handle this life she was building here—or make smart decisions? She couldn’t even begin to know how Selma was feeling. Mary hadn’t felt her magic spiral out of control every time she saw Andrew. She didn’t know the half of it. Slowly, Selma turned to level with her friend. “And how would you know about my kind? Not being one yourself?”
Blonde eyebrows furrowed. “Obviously, I'm at least a little familiar with how you feel, and I heard the tales your mum told while I was visiting.”
Her mamá’s stories, of course.
“Don’t start with me about Mamá’s stories, Mar. I mean, come on, the way she tells it sirens were begot from a union between a man and a fish! And I have no doubt Mamá’s wrong about the madness. It’s a tall tale meant to scare sirens into behaving. To stay in our little families and not become ambitious. I was tired of that life. I’ve been living like this for a while now, siphoning off power discreetly in the mornings, and I’m fine. Nothing major has happened in the city either, I would have heard about it.”
“As far as you—”
“No. I am fine and my methods are working just fine. In fact, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re jealous of this new life I built.” Selma shot up as the feelings she’d been fighting since she’d met Andrew spilled out. “I’m so tired of feeling guilty about this! I can’t help it that everyone is jealous a hot, powerful man wants me. And that—yes, I’ll admit it, I’m attracted to him. I haven’t done anything wrong, at least not on purpose. It was Andrew who stole my date and hired me! I didn’t ask for it—but it was given and is it so wrong that I want to accept what he can give? At least for a little while? So what if a few people become a little horny along the way? Or Vivienne is a little threatened? As far as I’m concerned she’s so nasty she deserves it.”
Mary’s face jerked as if Selma had struck her. Slowly, she began to shake her head. “I can’t believe I traveled all this way to visit such a selfish creature. My sister is pregnant, Selma! Don’t you think I want to be closer to Brigit? What if something happens? Wait. Never mind. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. The only person you care about right now is yourself, not who you hurt along the way.”
Mary, slammed her coffee cup on the table and stood up.
“What are you doing?” Selma’s eyes widened as her friend towered over her.
“Leaving. I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this. It’s best I cool off elsewhere. I’ll find the coven Gwenn stayed with when she was here and hang out there.” She threaded her arms through her jacket, grabbed her suitcase and turned around. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” Mary slammed the door behind her.
How dare Mary tell me how to use my own magic? Why are witches such know-it-alls? Why can’t she butt out and let me live my life?
Selma leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms over her chest. A blinking light on the counter caught her eye—her message machine, proclaiming she’d somehow missed six calls. Selma’s brows knit together. She’d been with her only friends all night. Who could have called? She punched the button and cocked her head as an unfamiliar voice flooded her kitchen.
“Hi, Selma. My name is Erik. Your friend Kayla gave me your info. I hope you don’t mind—”
She skipped to the next message, and the next. All six were more of the same. Men, she’d never met who had somehow gotten her number and wanted to meet her. Selma paused, mulling over what to do. It took only a moment for her fight with Mary to return to the forefront of her mind, full force, and Selma’s mouth tightened. The next second surety rushed over her like a stampede of bulls. Why was she even doubting what to do? It was so obvious.
Now that Mary is gone, I have all day and no plans. Why not have fun? Enjoy a little distraction?
She pressed play and picked up a pen.
An Ocean of Men
Selma swept through the bistro door, revitalized after her chats with five different men, three of whom she’d agreed to meet that day. She approached the host and gave the name of the man she was meeting for an early brunch. The host led the way, and a man she didn’t recognize stood at her approach.
“Hello, Selma,” he said, pulling a chair out for her.
Selma beamed. “Hello, Srini. Thank you for calling me.”
Her date’s cheeks glowed dusty rose.
“It’s my pleasure. I must say, you had me speechless last night. With all your talk of Spain and how you moved here with so little to start a new life. You’re a brazen woman. I regretted not getting your number after you left; luckily, your friend was still there.”
The date progressed smoothly, and in Selma’s opinion, a little dully from that point on. Srini, while a kind man, had little fire in him, and Selma soon understood why she’d forgotten him. When the server dropped off the dessert menu, Selma pushed it away, realizing she would soon be late for her next date.
Srini paid the check and started to ask if she’d like to continue their date when Selma grabbed his hand, halting him mid sentence. At the touch of their skin, her magic spiked and flowed through her into him. Selma quirked her head to the side, disconcerted by the reaction that had been as unexpected and unstoppable as an earthquake.
Odd, I’m not attracted to him in the slightest.
Her wayward magic made it even harder to shake Srini loose and Selma resorted to concocting a story about visiting a friend in the hospital. They parted with a brief hug in front of the restaurant, and Selma rushed to her next date.
Selma slammed her apartment door closed and fell back against it, her body vibrating. She glanced down at her trembling arms, baffled and a little uneasy. The rest of her dates had been as uninspiring as her time with Srini. Yet, Selma’s magic acted as if she was standing before Andrew Van de Berg, seeping out of her with every accidental brush of her date’s hand or goodbye hug.
She poured a glass of water, glancing at the message machine habitually. No blinking number. Mary hadn’t called. Selma frowned, but pushed the thought of her friend from her mind. She could only handle so much and her shaking arms were certainly more pertinent.
I must be looking at this the wrong way.
She thought back to the first time her magic had acted on its own accord—the night she met Andrew. The event, in Selma’s opinion, that had set her magic down this strange path. But at least that made some sense. There was no denying she was wildly attracted to Andrew, and siren magic was supposed to respond to the siren’s tastes—especially when she’d been depriving herself. Respond and nudge the siren to act, which in the case of Andrew, Selma hadn’t. Mostly, he’d been the one taking action, stealing her date with Farrokh, promoting her, and stopping by her office numerous times a day to flirt. Selma, besides the teensy incident of getting back at Vivienne, had remained relatively passive.
She slammed the glass of water on the counter as the pieces clicked together.
That’s it! I’ve been forcing my magic to act unnaturally since the night I met Andrew, pushing it upon men I’m not interested in. Now it’s leaking out on it’s own. By not allowing it to enchant those I actually find attractive, I must have confused it. It’s certainly confused me. Perhaps, I should go somewhere where there’s a high likelihood I’ll find someone attractive—maybe even act on that attraction? Then my body and magic will be on the same page. It could act like a reset button? She glanced down at her arms, which were still shaking.
And a place where I can hide in a crowd.
Trumpets bla
red. A live band played, surrounded by people twirling, stomping, and shaking their hips to the beat. A quick glance told Selma her instinct had been right. Every single person in here was attractive and best of all, they could dance like demons. She eyed a lean man in the corner staring back at her. The man crooked his finger and Selma bit her lip. He was macho, like the men she’d grown up with, sure of himself and sexy. A type she was used to, and knew she’d responded to in the past. He could be just the person she was looking for.
Selma approached the stranger, her lips turned up in a seductive smirk. “Hola.”
“Hola, back,” the man said, his voice low. He held out his hand. “I’m Tito.”
“Selma.” She took his hand and a shock ran through her at Tito’s touch. Her shoulders loosened with relief, a physical reaction—this, she could work with.
“Care to dance?” Tito asked.
Selma allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. Her hips swayed as Tito parted the crowds before her and the music engulfed her. Tito grabbed her waist with one hand, and she suddenly noticed her arms had stopped shaking.
This was the fire she’d been missing all day. The daring and sureness she adored in men. She inched closer and swore she heard Tito growl.
They began to move. Hips swaying, breasts heaving, legs stomping to the beat of the music. It was oblivion, a moment in which Selma lost herself to her body’s desires. Tito’s lips, the way his hands pulled her closer, the narrowing of his eyes as she spun before him. Then, he wrenched her to him, leaving not a millimeter of space between them. Her magic flared inside her as Tito’s hands gripped her harder and they dipped and slid across the dance floor.
A euphoric rush came over her like lightening, charging up every one of her nerve endings. It felt so good, so right. She’d been treating her magic like something to beat down since she’d met Andrew. Something she had to sneak out of her before work, to avoid feeling uncomfortable the rest of the day. But that wasn’t what it wanted, nor what it was intended for. It wanted to feel something, just like her. In an effort to rid herself of magic and make herself less attractive to Andrew, Selma had lost sight of what she came to New York for.
A life she’d dreamed of. A passionate love. Freedom. Power.
Why have I been making myself small? I’m not made for that.
The beat changed and Selma followed. Her mind clouded, and she allowed the music to take her over. The music picked up pace and her magic responded, pushing beneath her skin, begging to be let out. Selma let the sensation build, the electricity deep within her tingling, energizing her until she could take it no more. Finally, she released it, and her magic surged through the room to unify an ocean of men, whose bodies moved synchronized with hers.
Siren Song
Elated, Selma climbed the stairs to her apartment. The night had gone exactly as planned. She felt fulfilled, no longer humming with her power on alert in the background, ready and waiting to pounce. Normal and in control. Grinning, she pulled her keys from her purse, rounded the corner to her door, and stopped in her tracks.
Andrew stood next to her door, flowers in hand. His eyes ran up and down her body, soaked with sweat and reeking of the smoke from the salsa bar.
“Why are you here?” Selma asked, keeping her distance. Already her magic was quivering within her, aroused as it always was around him, no matter that she’d just spent hours exhausting it.
“I missed you at the office today. Plus, I wanted to meet your friend.” Andrew peeked behind Selma. “Where is she?”
“We had a fight this morning. She’s staying elsewhere tonight.”
“Ah. Too bad for her. Good for me, though. Now I get you all to myself.”
Selma raised her eyebrows and motioned for him to move. She stuck the key in the lock. Heat from his breath crept down her back as he inched closer. She turned the key and whirled back around.
“You’re married, Andrew.” And your eyes are clear. I’ve been careful around you, so you can’t even use enchantment as an excuse. Maybe a magical high . . . but not enchantment.
Andrew placed his hand on the handle, turned it, and opened her door.
“I know, but there’s something about you I can’t let go of. Could we talk?”
Something in his stormy gray eyes made it impossible to turn him away. Probably it was that she felt exactly the same way. There was something about him that her magic couldn’t resist either—something she didn’t understand but desperately wanted to. She supposed it couldn’t hurt to talk. Maybe, now that they weren’t distracted by others or at the office, she could suss out some clear answers about what was happening. Perhaps it actually was residual magic—a magical high—forcing Andrew to act? Or perhaps his feelings were true, and he really was just this ballsy? At the very least, Selma needed to make clear to Andrew that his uninvited appearances at her home were not welcome. Despite her attraction to him, she needed to set boundaries they could both live with. Pointing to the couch, Selma walked into the kitchen.
“Water? Tea? Wine?”
“Wine, please,” Andrew said, his voice wavering.
Selma shot him a glance and saw, incredibly, that he looked nervous. Was he second guessing himself? She hoped he was. It would make the talk they needed to have easier.
She poured two glasses of wine and took three consecutive sips from her glass. The liquid slipped through her, calming her nerves, though her magic remained a low rumble inside her, ready to ignite at any second. She shoved the cork into the bottle and grabbed the glasses.
In the minute she’d been gone, Andrew had regained his composure. He sat reclining with his arms spread wide on the top of her couch, the only seat in the apartment, calm, cool, and maddeningly sure of himself. He’d left a mere two feet on either side of him, making it almost impossible for Selma not to touch him.
“Thank you,” Andrew said receiving his glass as Selma took a seat, hugging an arm of the couch. He opened his mouth to say something, but Selma cut him off as a moment of clarity washed over her.
“It’s best if I begin.” She took another sip of wine to fuel her sudden burst of bravery. Mary’s words, so unwelcome just that morning, rang through her head, making more and more sense with each minute. Suddenly, Selma recognized her idea of boundaries was a naive one. Andrew was a man who knew no boundaries. A man who got what he wanted, and what he wanted—her as his mistress—was something Selma would never desire. No, she had to sever the relationship fully. Her magic roared inside her, trying to fight off the words bubbling up her throat. “While I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, the advancement, the salary, even the date we had no matter how wrong it was.” Selma blushed recalling how she’d felt that night. So inappropriate.
“We both know you shouldn't be here, Andrew. You’re married and I am no man’s mistress. I want my own life and a man to share it with.” She lowered her face, wishing she didn’t have to say the next words. “That being said, we won’t be able to avoid each other if I continue working for you. I’ll be putting in my resignation when I return to work next week.” Her power rumbled in displeasure as the words poured from her.
“No.”
Selma’s head shot back up. “Pardon me? You cannot tell me not to resign.”
“Of course not, but I can say I don’t want you to leave and will do anything to stop that from happening.” Andrew set his wine glass down. The two inches between their legs narrowed to one. “Selma, I don’t know why I feel pained when you’re not there. Or why I stole Farrokh’s date, and promoted you to work under me. And, yes, I am married, but you misread me. I’m here to say I’ll leave Vivienne for you. You can’t tell me you aren’t attracted to me. This feeling—it can’t be one sided. Say the word, say you’ll have me, that you won’t leave and I’ll do it. I’ll leave her tomorrow and we can be together. I promise.”
Selma blinked, taking in Andrew’s earnest gaze. Her power roared in triumph and hormones she could not even think to stop rushed through her,
as quick as her shock. They pushed through the barrier of her skin, begging her to release them. Her heartbeat picked up and blood thrummed in her veins. Her skin tingled and warmed.
Those words, so unexpected, felt amazingly right. In fact, nothing else had ever felt so right or made her feel so alive. It was how she wanted to feel all the time. Her doubts, insistent just seconds before, vanished. Was this what she’d come to New York for and she’d been pushing it away so hard she hadn’t even realized it? Brushed it off as ill fated serendipity and unmanageable emotions despite all the evidence that her and Andrew were really attracted to and enjoyed each other? Had she almost just made the stupidest mistake of her life?
Her gut was screaming yes, but her head still whispered no. She attached to the first question in her mind and voiced it.
“W—what will Vivienne do? I mean, are you sure?” Inwardly, she cringed. Selma wasn’t sure why her first query was for a woman she despised but once the words slipped out she found she desperately wanted to know his answer.
Andrew paused, his eyes dropping to his lap. “We’ve been having issues for years. I doubt she’ll be surprised by the news. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. Other than that she won’t have much choice. I can’t keep living with someone whose heart is frozen over.” He grabbed Selma’s hand, and she inhaled sharply. “I could tell the moment we met you weren’t like that at all. You’re warm, full of fire, determined.” He paused and gave her a sheepish look. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”
Selma blushed and heat trickled through her body, making her feel lightheaded. She looked into Andrew’s eyes, their mercurial gray surrounded by dark, thick lashes. A memory of the night she’d met him, wandering through an enchanted forest came rushing back to her. Their attraction had been there even in the moment they’d first locked eyes. Before all the shit that happened between them. Before her power had seeped from her, taken hold, and made her doubt. That first instant between them had been pure. She clung to that hope, leaning toward her gut’s inclination, her intuition that despite all the odds, this was right. Perhaps she actually had found what had drawn her to New York in the first place?
