by Ashley McLeo
Vivienne’s face paled, and a few of the other women shifted on their heels nervously.
A smirk attempted to creep over Selma’s lips, one she had to work to hold back. Word was certainly spreading about her high society dates to have elicited a reaction so quickly. Glances were cast all around as each woman questioned what to say. Predictably, Vivienne spoke out first.
“How dare you compare yourself to us? Why are you even here?” Vivienne hissed. “We’ve earned our position as women in high society! I worked hard for years in a celebrated law firm before marrying Andrew. I’m nothing like you, some hussy immigrating from God only knows where, traipsing about hoping to catch the eye of any man that breathes.”
“Ah, yes, I am sure you worked quite hard for your position, Vivienne. Clearly, you have no other assets besides your work ethic and brains.” Selma raised her eyebrows, and half the group gasped.
Now to lay it on thick and get out of here.
Vivienne opened her mouth, a cutting retort no doubt fresh on her tongue, but Selma held her palm face out, effectively stopping her. Another gasp rose from the women surrounding them.
“You’re right, I am an immigrant Vivienne, but you are quite wrong about merely hoping to catch the eye of any man who breathes.” Selma paused for effect, ensuring she had each woman’s attention before turning to survey the scene behind them. As she suspected Andrew was staring at her, his martini glass sideways in his hand, mouth wide open. And that wasn’t the half of it. Everyone was watching, even the young polo players on the pitch had stopped playing. It was an impressive show of magic, if she had to say so herself. Much better than even she’d bargained for. Hiding her surprise, Selma whirled back around and leveled her eyes with the circle of women, all of whom looked horrified to see their men blatantly staring at Selma’s backside.
“ANDREW!” Vivienne screeched. She plowed through the center of the circle and made to shove Selma aside.
But Selma, who had been expecting Vivienne’s violent reaction, slid out of the way just in time. Still, the force behind Vivienne’s shove had to go somewhere, and Vivienne was the recipient. She went crashing into one of her friend’s arms with a grunt.
Vivienne’s face grew red, then, she pulled herself up and lurched at Selma, closing the space between their noses to inches. “Leave. You don’t belong here. Get out!”
Selma let out a trill of laughter as she raised her hands in a sign of surrender. More hormones leapt off her skin.
A man moaned behind her and a woman in Vivienne’s circle cursed.
Once again, Selma smirked. “I can see I’m not welcome. It’s for the best, this crowd is a touch uptight for me. Perhaps you should take lessons from your men? They seem quite relaxed.” She glanced pointedly at the men behind her, staring slack-jawed and dazed before whirling about and strutting back to her car.
Ice Queen Strikes Back
Selma swept through her apartment door.
“You’re back earlier than I expected,” Mary said, shutting an old, dingy book she must have picked up at the Sisters of Salem coven house. “Did you change your mind?” Her tone was more hopeful than questioning.
Selma frowned. Mary’s attitude about all this was exasperating. The pair of them had broken rules and let loose plenty of times in the past. Why couldn't Mary let this go?
“No. I did what I needed to do and left.”
“Oh.” Mary bit her lip. “No one got hurt, right?”
“Of course not!” Selma shook her head. What a ridiculous question! “There’s just a field full of horny men and a few angry women somewhere in upstate New York.” She shot into her bedroom so she could kick off her heels and slip into something more comfortable.
“Your friend Abby called.” Mary said, from the living room. “Something about meeting up tonight? She left a message on the machine.”
Selma mouthed the words “thank you” to the heavens above. With Abby around Mary wouldn’t be able to harp on her.
“I’ll call her back. We can meet her after dinner. Perhaps Kayla will come, too.”
“Ugh,” Selma groaned and turned to find Mary, snoozing at her side, her blonde hair a mess. The henna-like body paint Kayla had applied at the corners of Mary’s eyes was smeared all over Selma’s pillowcase.
She grinned, remembering scenes from the night before. It had been a fun night; dinner was fabulous as expected, and Selma’s plan of inviting Kayla and Abby out as barriers during post-dinner shenanigans had worked. Sure, Abby had acted a little strangely, shorter and quicker to sour than usual. But Selma didn’t think it was that unusual. Tom had probably harped on Abby that morning about one thing or another and she still hadn’t let it go. Even with her friend’s bad mood, Selma was grateful Abby and Kayla were present. With them around Mary had fewer chances to shoot Selma disapproving glances, even when a man she’d enchanted at the polo match earlier that day stumbled into the bar and made his way to her, like a bear to honey.
Selma lifted herself out of bed. There was no way she’d fall back to sleep, and coffee and ibuprofen were a must right now. She pulled on a pair of workout pants and top before slipping out of her bedroom.
Once the coffee pot was running, Selma made a trip to the bathroom to assess the paint Kayla had drawn on her. Her reflection declared it was smudged beyond repair, which was unfortunate. She’d wanted to wear it one more day. Running a washcloth over her face, Selma leaned closer to the mirror to remove the art and stopped short.
Are my pupils dilated?
She stared back at herself, her head turning this way and that as she tried to decide if her pupils were in fact, abnormally large or not. The coffee pot beeped and she sighed.
I’m probably just dehydrated.
She was pouring herself a cup of coffee when the door to her apartment buzzed. Selma tilted her head, it was eight on a Saturday and she wasn’t expecting anyone.
Selma pressed the button, “Si?”
“Uh, hello? Package for Miss Selma de Avila?”
“That’s me. Come on up.” She ran into the bathroom and grabbed her robe to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d barely tied the sash around her waist when there was a knock at the door.
Geez, is this guy an Olympic stair climber?
Selma opened the door to find a delivery man holding a bouquet and an envelope in his hand. At his feet were more flowers and wrapped boxes.
“I didn’t bring any of these,” the man gestured to the flowers and gifts on the ground. “And this was at the top of the stairs. Looks like whoever brought the rest of this stuff kicked it over there.” He handed Selma an envelope, smudged with dirt along with the bouquets he was delivering, asked her to sign for the flowers, and left.
The process of bringing the dozens of flowers and gifts inside was laborious. Especially when Selma wished none of them existed. Their presence pretty much ensured Mary would bring up that she’d enchanted too many people. Perhaps she’d be able to bribe Mary with chocolate? It was her best chance to avoid a reprimand. There was a sudden sound of shuffling in her room so Selma set a box of luxurious chocolates on the table and pried the lid off in preparation.
“What’s all this? It smells like a flower shop in here.” Mary appeared in the doorway of Selma’s room, pillow-lines on her face.
“Gifts. Come have chocolate.”
Mary obliged, side-eyeing the flowers and wrapped boxes dotting Selma’s apartment floor. “From who?” She took a seat on the sofa next to Selma.
Selma shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. “This one didn’t have a name. And the rest I haven’t looked at yet.”
“People you enchanted who felt you had a connection.” Mary bit her lip. “How sad.” Her gaze shifted to the envelope Selma had yet to open. “Maybe that will tell you who some of this is from.”
Leaning forward, Selma grabbed the envelope and ripped it open with her finger. The page inside was typed and quite long. Words such as occupying property, vacate, and judicial
proceedings popped out at her and Selma’s jaw tightened.
“It’s an eviction notice. Effective immediately.” Mary leaned over Selma’s shoulder. “You pissed off the wrong woman, Sel.”
“Vivienne . . . pardon me, I have to have a word with Andrew.” Selma shot off the couch, grabbed the phone, and slammed the door to her room.
He answered on the first ring.
“Selma,” Andrew whispered. “I can’t talk right now, but I’ve been trying to reach you. Can we meet later?”
“How dare you ask me such a thing!” Selma roared into the phone. “Do you know what I woke up to? An eviction notice. No doubt courtesy of your wife!”
The silence on the other end of the line was all the answer she needed.
“Did you know about this?” Selma hissed.
There was an audible gulp. “Vivienne mentioned it on the drive home last night.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I couldn’t! She was furious about the match. I was staring at you like an idiot, babe. I’ll leave her soon but I have to play it cool for now, so she doesn’t approach her lawyers first.”
“Oh please! I’m not that stupid. You said you’d leave her days ago and then nothing! Not one peep. You’re not going to leave her. But I’ll tell you what you are going to do. You’ll set me up at The Plaza, pay for me to live there for three months, and provide me with a car to and from work. Lastly, I expect a moving crew here today to pack up all my belongings and move them. It’s because of you and your lies that I’m in this position so if you don’t follow my rules I will tell Vivienne. Then she’ll have plenty of time to get lawyers involved.” Selma clenched her fist so her nails dug painfully into the skin of her palm.
Andrew was silent. Possibly struck dumb, she wasn’t sure, nor did she care.
“Is that clear? I’ll be checking in at The Plaza in a few hours. It better be a penthouse suite.”
“Yes. Just please, don’t tell Vivienne. I’m serious about leaving her, but I have to have all my ducks in a row. Divorces in my circles tend to turn nasty fast.”
“Whatever Andrew, book the room.” Selma slammed down the phone.
Heating Up
“What did he say?” Mary asked, her tone laden with concern.
“Andrew is providing me with a new place to live until I can find an apartment within my standards and budget. There will be a moving crew here later, so pack up all your stuff in your bag if you don’t want it to get mixed up with mine.” Selma rubbed her temple and sighed. Her hands were vibrating with anger and magic. The letter had sent her into “fight or flight” mode, and her magic responded quickly, threatening to push out of her skin at any second to save her from a perceived threat. “I think I need to go for a walk and cool off.”
The lock clicked on the other side of the living room and Selma furrowed her brows. “What are you doing? I said I need to go for a walk. Unlock the door, Mary.” She meant to sound reasonable but her voice, strained with stress seconds earlier, came out in an even more alien uneven hiss. Her eyes widened, registering the sound, before narrowing once more when Mary shook her head.
“Just a mo’, Sel. Your power is radiating off you in waves. I’ll let you go, eventually. Believe me, I don’t actually want to suffer the famous de Avila temper in person, but you have to rein it in a little for the safety of others. Until I feel your magic wane, the door stays locked.”
Every word had worked to fuel Selma’s annoyance further and now she clenched her fists, staring at Mary, her body shaking with anger as if she could explode at any minute. Mary stared back, unyielding and Selma knew it was no use. Mary would not be swayed by words. And as for magic, while Selma was strong for a siren, her power was nothing compared to Mary’s.
“You’re unbelievable.” Selma flung herself on the couch and turned her back on Mary. She might not be able to force her friend into doing what she wanted, but that didn’t mean she had to talk to her.
How dare Mary keep me locked in my apartment?
Selma squeezed her eyes closed and began a technique Mamá had shown her to calm her magic, counting the length of her inhales and exhales, lengthening her exhales to twice the count of her inhales. Once she had her breath under control, she commanded her magic to retreat. Her magic growled, a low, rumbling, offended growl. One Selma understood because she felt the same way. All she wanted to do was rage and storm. She wanted to be the sirens of old, whipping water up around her and tossing a song of fury and enchantment in with it—exactly what Mary was trying to avoid. Selma huffed as her power obeyed, drawing back from the boundary of her skin, a human’s largest organ and a siren’s primary means of enchanting. When the last bit of magic ebbed to some place deep within her, a place that even she could not name, she shivered. It was sexuality defined, a potent and primal drug and power.
The lock clicked and Selma opened her eyes.
“If you still need that walk, go for it. I’ll stay here and pack up a bit,” Mary said.
Selma stood, grabbed her trench coat and purse, slid her feet into boots, and left without a word. She flew down the stairs, her anger not as easily quelled as her magic, harnessed and simmering within her.
If witches are so intent on being the bosses of other creatures, they should research other supernatural beings more thoroughly. Apparently, Mary’s power does not respond to strong emotions as mine does. And just to spite being told what to do with her own power, Selma opened the door to her building, pulled her boiling ball of magic from that deep, hidden spot and hurled it down the alley.
As she stormed down the street, her magic continued to surface like a never-ending wave. Its fury was hot, demanding to be acknowledged after being instigated and then pushed down. Selma’s anger matched it, and she was mentally running through the list all the men she would enchant. Men close to Andrew, who would talk of her, and drive him crazy—make him regret the position he’d put her in, when suddenly, a hand seized her wrist.
“Mary, let me—” Selma’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence as whirled about to face who’d grabbed her.
A man held her wrist, his eyes wide and heavily glazed with desire, with siren magic. In her anger, she hadn’t been as careful as she usually was, flinging magic about. And this man, it seemed, has received too large a dose. Instinctively, Selma pulled her arm back but the pressure around her wrist increased.
“Come home with me. I’ll show you a good time.” The man rasped.
Release, Selma commanded her power, and it pulled back through her skin.
Still, the man’s eyes remained round, primal. In that moment, Selma wished sirens had the same degree of power as witches. That they could control minds outright and not just manipulate others’ pheromones and hormone based on the combination they, themselves produced.
“Let go of me,” she said, keeping her voice low and sweet in an attempt to persuade the aggressive man.
The man inched closer and rancid breath filled Selma’s nostrils. She pulled away and the man responded by pulling her into him. A hard bulge hit her leg, and she forced back a gag.
“Stop acting like you don't want me, sweetheart,” he licked her cheek and then his head shot up. “She’s mine! Get away from her!”
Selma glanced up and gasped.
A dozen other men circled them.
“I saw her first!” A blond, attractive man yelled and was promptly punched in the face by the man next to him.
“She’s my neighbor. She's invited me in before. I’ll take her,” a copper skinned male, who Selma actually did recognize as her neighbor but had no recollection of ever inviting over, commanded.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with any of you! Let me go or my boyfriend will hear about this!” Selma bit the inside of her cheek, hoping the age-old tactic of mentioning a fictitious boyfriend would be enough to stave off the group’s interest.
A clean cut, smartly dressed man chuckled. He alone had managed to get close to the man with terrible breath.
Probably because his thin frame and tight clothes threatened no one. “Honey, don’t lie to us you don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve never seen a woman so on the prowl as you were a minute ago. Lucky for you, you caught me. Let me take you away from these ruffians and show you a good time.” He raised his eyebrows.
“I do have a boyfriend. His name is Andrew Van de Berg. He’ll prosecute the hell out of all of you if you hurt me. Now. Let. Me. Go!” Selma roared the last word and ripped her arm from halitosis man’s grip.
Cackles rang in her ears, mocking her. Halitosis man threw his hands to the sky with laughter.
“Thinks she’s a billionaire’s girl!”
“Girl, you’re hot, but who would give up a banging wife like that?”
“If Andrew is your boyfriend, then I’m Demi Moore’s boyfriend.”
The thin man with tight clothes stepped closer. “See? Even these idiots know you’re telling stories. Come with me.” He gripped Selma’s shoulder and yanked her out of the center of the circle with surprising strength.
Selma pushed him away.
The man slapped her across the face and his glazed-over eyes narrowed. “You little whore! You flaunt yourself up and down the street and you’d rather share their beds?” The man grasped her tight around the bicep and herded her away from the circle of men, still laughing.
Selma fought, but the thin man was too far gone in his enchantment and her small stature worked against her. He was leading her to an alley and there was only one reason a man forced a woman into an alley. Desperation clawed up her throat as she ran through a list of her options. She was about to call her magic to her aid again, to try to persuade the skinny man this was a bad idea, when suddenly, he jerked to a stop as if compelled and a voice Selma recognized cut through her fear.
