by Ashley McLeo
“Let her go.”
The man whirled around, smirked, and raised an eyebrow. “You’re hot. Wanna join us, blondie?”
Mary stood before them, a bundle of fury and although the man did not yet realize it, power beyond his wildest dreams. “I said, let her go.”
“Whatever, bitch,” the thin man snarled and pulled Selma toward the alley once more.
“You shouldn’t have done that you asshole,” Selma snapped and before the man could reply, his body seized. Selma yanked herself free and scurried over to Mary.
“Them, too.” She pointed at the men in the circle who were no longer laughing, but staring at them, their faces clouded with confusion.
“Taken care of,” Mary sighed. “Memory charm. They’re getting over your magic and wondering why they’re all together, aroused.”
Selma cringed. Her friend was no mind witch, or ceremens, as the witches called it. Having to perform mind magic on that many people must have been difficult for her.
“What are you doing to him?” She pointed to the thin man who unlike all the others looked to be under duress.
“I body bound him. Now I’m making sure his excitement down there wears off by adding a little heat.”
Selma glanced at the man who would have physically harmed her. His face was bright red, his eyes directed at his own crotch.
“Burn it off,” Selma muttered.
Mary snorted.
The man let out a strangled scream, then squirmed, indicating Mary had released the body bind curse. A second later he turned and bolted toward the nearest storefront.
“Running water will only make it worse but let him try.”
Selma giggled and her friend turned to her, stone faced.
“I know you’re pissed, and I get that, but this is getting really dangerous, Sel. You’re relying too much on your power to solve your problems. I think you need a magical community to help you keep it in check. Think about it, if these guys were this violent toward you, and you had some influence over them, imagine what they could have done to any woman they passed by after you? A women who gave them a nice smile that they, high on hormones and drunk on magic, interpreted as something more?”
Selma’s stiffened, a pang of guilt sliced through her but it dissolved a second later as her magic reared its head once more, flaming Selma’s pride.
Why does it always have to be a lecture? She can’t help but rub my mistakes in my face. What a typical witch move.
“Why couldn’t you have let it go, Mar? You think I don’t realize that? I’m the siren! Come to the hotel with me. Be on my side, a friend not a mother. I’ve been confined to my family’s rules my whole life, but I’m done with others thinking they know what’s best for me—trying to control me.” Selma crossed her arms over her chest.
“I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt because you’re magic is acting—”
Selma whirled to face her friend. “I know what’s best for my body! I’m the one who lives in it. And there’s no way I’m staying at a coven safe house when Andrew is renting me a hotel room! Thanks for helping me, but I’m going to keep walking.”
Mary’s face tightened. “Fine. I know there’s no controlling you when you get like this, but I’d feel better if you at least took this. It’s the address to the safe house, in case you need it.” She held a piece of paper out.
Selma snatched it without looking and shoved it deep into her purse.
“And try to—”
“I know, I know. Keep my magic under control.” Selma turned on her heel and walked away from the witch who had just saved her.
The Bartender
Selma walked about the city, keeping her magic on lock down until it was time to check into the hotel. That time had blessedly come and she walked through the front doors of The Plaza with a sigh.
Home. At least for the next three months.
The hotel was the most lavish she’d ever stayed in, with high ceilings gilded in gold looming above fanning displays of flowers, grand staircases, and thick Persian-inspired rugs. White marble was everywhere, giving a clean, fresh appearance. The clientele was as opulent as the lobby, dressed in designers Selma admired and gems flashing from their necks, fingers, and wrists.
A flush spread across her cheeks. Feeling unattractive by comparison, Selma approached the front desk hoping no one noticed the tattered exercise pants and top she’d thrown on that morning before storming out of her apartment. At least her trench looked presentable and covered up that she still wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Hi. I’m Selma de Avila. I’m checking in today.”
The woman behind the desk stared at her with disdain. “Finally. We’ve been waiting for you to sign for your luggage.” Her eyes traveled to a line of boxes spilling out from behind the front desk and into the lobby. “We’d like to get them out of the way as soon as possible. Sign here please, and then here again for your room.” The woman pointed to two spots on the contract she held out.
Selma took the sheet and signed without reading. She had little of value and anything that was missing she’d simply request Andrew replace.
“Has my friend checked in already?”
“No one has stopped by for your room. Else we would have sent these boxes up already.”
“Oh, OK, thank you.” Selma took the key the desk-attendant handed her and retreated from the woman’s puckered scowl.
The elevator doors shut before she let her lips sag. Where was Mary? Despite their fights it hadn’t occurred to Selma that Mary would not be joining her. Selma’s face grew hot.
It should have after how I treated her. What is happening to me? I’m so combative lately.
The elevator opened into a room, an entire apartment, and Selma released a long whistle. The lobby had nothing on her suite, decorated in luminous white with touches of gold and robin egg blue, the apartment was a work of art. There was a grand piano, stocked bar, and stairs leading to who knew where. From the entryway she saw at least three bedrooms. She walked into the closest one and bit her lip. The view was astounding, overlooking the gleaming lights of the city.
“Wow,” Selma whispered. As she walked out of the bedroom, a blinking light on the room phone caught her eye. There was one message. Selma pressed the button.
“Hey, Selma. I know you’re not checked in yet, but they still let me leave a message. I’m sorry, but I think it’s best we have another night apart. The movers came and I have all my stuff. I’ll be at the Sisters of Salem house tonight. Talk to you later.”
The phone clicked off. Selma pressed her lips together.
I should be happy Mary even called after how I spoke to her. She’s right, a night apart for me to cool down is wise. I’ll beg her to come here tomorrow. We can’t end her trip on such bad terms.
There was a polite ding and Selma looked around for the source. A short pause and then two more dings sounded and she realized it was a more refined version of the loud buzzer at her apartment. Five minutes later the apartment was filled with a troop of moving men taking her direction on which room to put the boxes, opening them and unpacking her stuff before her eyes. They were done in a half hour and the apartment was quiet, lonely, once more.
Like her room, the hotel bar was gleaming. All mahogany and brass, the colors complimented the short white dress Selma wore. Soft violin and piano played, a backdrop to murmured voices and laughter. Perfect surroundings in which to run from the oppressive quiet of her room and relax.
She took a seat at the bar and immediately the bartender was there, smiling at her with a billion dollar smile and dark, playful eyes that widened as they met hers.
He looks so familiar.
“What can I get you, Miss?” A deep baritone rumbled from the bartender, sending a thrill through Selma.
“Sangria, if you make it,” Selma said, suddenly desperate for a taste of home amidst all the finery about her.
“Best in the city.” The bartender set to making her drink, cutting up
decorative fruits like guava and pineapple.
Selma breathed a laugh out her nostrils, taking in the fruits that would never be used in Spain. Even something so familiar to her, an everyday sangria, New York had claimed as it’s own.
“Something funny, Miss?” The bartender’s brown eyes twinkled at her.
“Please, call me, Selma,” Selma said, strangely uncomfortable being so formal with the bartender. She pointed to the cutting board. “Only funny to me, I suppose. I was just thinking how we would never use pineapple or guava in Sangria back home. Apples, oranges, lemons, of course but nothing so fancy as those fruits!”
“Ah! A true Spaniard.” The bartender tossed the fruits over his shoulder onto the ground behind him, coaxing a smile from Selma. “Pretend you never saw that, Miss.”
“Selma,” Selma corrected him. “And you are?”
“Rich,” the bartender replied. Rich prepared the rest of her drink within seconds and leaned over the bar to place it before her.
Cinnamon, spicy and warming, filled her nostrils at his nearness and Selma shivered.
“You know,” Rich said. “I feel like we’ve met before.”
“You look familiar, too,” she agreed and then blushed as Rich took her in deeply, his warm, brown eyes narrowing in thought.
Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! You’re champagne girl. I work at North 40 on my days off from here and you came in with a blonde friend. She was Irish. You ordered champagne. Classy choice.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Selma said, leaning into the bar. Rich’s energy was infectious.
“Sorry. Was that weird? I have a good memory for faces but sometimes they get jumbled serving so many people. But yours caught my eye so it was only a matter of time before I remembered.”
Selma waved him off. “You say that to all the girls.”
“No,” Rich’s playful eyes grew serious for a moment. “I don’t.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Oh geez, now that was weird,” Rich rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’m going to skedaddle so I don’t say anything else embarrassing. Hope you enjoy the sangria, Selma. Call if you need anything else.” He shot her a grin and made his way down the bar to a customer flagging him down.
She watched him go. He was attractive, charming, and funny, exactly the type she’d have gone for back home. Selma glanced at the pineapple and guava on the floor, distinctly out of place in the otherwise immaculate hotel and smirked. She stirred her sangria, rejuvenated by the innocent exchange after the events of the morning.
Covertly, she peeked down the bar again and caught Rich’s eyes dart away. He’d been looking at her. Selma bit her lip to hide a laugh and glanced down the bar again. Not bothering to hide her interest she took Rich in slowly, the line of his tapered torso, his strong square jaw, the way his hair glinted in the low lighting There was something about him that called to her. She reclined in her chair and closed her eyes with a sigh.
Add that to the list of things I can’t explain right now.
“How’s the sangria?” Rich’s baritone pitched through her thoughts and Selma’s eyes popped open in surprise as her hands, wrapped around the sangria, jerked, spilling a little from the glass. Rich flashed his dimple sheepishly at having caught her off guard and wiped up the mess.
Heat rose in her cheeks at being caught practically sleeping at the bar, then creating more work for him. “Sorry, long day. The sangria is wonderful. Thank you for not tainting it.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Rich’s eyes locked on hers, steady and clear, seemingly sussing her out.
All the breath flew from her chest. It had been a while since a man looked at her like that. Not enthralled, enchanted, or even high on the magic she’d siphoned off—just interested and a touch desirous. It was its own type of magic.
Or was Rich just being friendly because it was his job? He was a bartender after all, well versed in the art of light conversation and reading people. But then, there was the chance he felt something between them, too. The sparks in the few minutes they’d shared. Sparks that felt grounding and real. So unlike her fairytale dates or the flippant nature of her magic lately. What would he say if she asked him to hang out after his shift? His company would be a welcome distraction. There was only one way to find out.
Selma cleared her throat, “I was wondering—”
“Is that Selma de Avila? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A booming voice came from behind them and Selma and Rich jumped, the spell between them broken.
Reluctantly, she swiveled around and squinted, taking in a large-chested, middle age man with a developing paunch striding toward her, his eyes glazed over.
Enchanted. Damn. What was his name again? I know I’ve met him at a function before.
“Leonard Schizmit,” Rich supplied softly.
Selma turned to see he was leaning over the bar, whispering in her ear. “Oh,” she said, hiding the shiver Rich’s closeness coaxed out of her. “Thank you.”
In answer, Rich gave her a small smile, excused himself, and walked down the bar to help another customer.
Her stomach sank as he left, though the sensation was quickly replaced by a more jostling one as Leonard clasped her hand in his.
“Selma! Darling!” Leonard’s voice filled the room and heads turned.
Selma clenched her teeth together in a sort of smile. “Hello, Leonard. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Leonard puffed out his chest. “I knew we had something! The way you looked at me at the polo match, well, I have to admit I haven’t had someone look at me like that in years. And, of course, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. The way you walked, held your own against Vivienne and her pack of she-wolves. Woman, you’ve got it all!”
She wished he would lower his voice. She turned to see if Richard had heard, but he was at the other end of the bar, taking orders and chatting with another group. Selma exhaled. “You say you’ve been looking for me? May I ask why?” She extracted her hands from Leonard’s sweaty grasp and reached for her sangria, so he could not clasp them in his again.
Leonard nodded and narrowed the space between them to mere inches. “All day yesterday I couldn’t get you out of my head, and I know what that means. I have to have you. I left my wife this morning and have been searching for you all day. I know we’ve barely spoken before, but I guarantee I can give you more than any of those other fools vying for your hand.”
Left his wife? Did my ears warp sound?
“Excuse me. Did you say you left your wife? And that there are others ‘vying for my hand’.” Her tone was conspiratorial, as if she was in on the joke. “I assure you Leonard, there are no men vying for my attention, let alone my h—”
She stopped. The crowd of men who had circled her that morning flashed in her mind.
Dios mio.
“None who have found you yet, because they are not as connected as I am.” Leonard leaned against the bar, his skin touched hers, and Selma inched away. “Andrew called me this morning saying you needed a place to live and fast. Asked if I had any space available. Of course I said yes.”
Selma’s stomach dropped. Andrew would have called in the favor from a friend instead of booking a room like a normal person. Now, not only did this man, Leonard, think she was into him, but she was staying in his hotel.
“After all, you’ll need someone to protect you from Vivienne, that woman is as tenacious as they come, and nearly as well connected.”
Selma’s eyes widened. “How—”
Leonard grinned self assuredly. “Don’t worry darling, I’m the only one who knows about what transpired between you and Andrew. Thank goodness Vivienne doesn’t know or an eviction would be the least of your worries. I’ll admit, yanked an explanation out of the scoundrel. I simply had to know why Andrew was calling in a favor for you. It wasn’t that I minded. No, quite the contrary. You, in my hotel, I love the thought of it.”
A whoosh of blood flew through Selma’s ears
and her fingers tightened around her glass. Anger ignited within her, sparking to life her magic which had been quelled since that morning. Selma stood. “Pardon me, I forgot something in my room,” she lied. She wanted nothing more than to be out of Leonard’s company, especially if her magic acted unpredictably again. Selma glanced down the bar at Rich, who was watching her. “I’m in the penthouse. Could you charge the drink to my room?”
Rich nodded.
“Thank you.” Selma gave him a genuine smile before leaving the bar.
Unfortunately, Leonard followed.
“Shall I meet you in your suite in say an hour?”
“No,” she said, magic whooshing through her, making it urgent she leave. She sincerely hoped the magic she’d laid on him at the match would wear off by morning and he’d come to his senses. “I have plans with girlfriends. They’re staying over.”
“Ah, then I shall call on you tomorrow. I’ll plan a dinner somewhere special.” He brushed her collar bone.
Selma stopped mid-stride. After that morning, her first instinct was to slap Leonard, but she stopped. It was her magic that had put him in this state, and unlike the men this morning he wasn’t being violent. Not only that, but she was staying in his hotel. Selma took a step back. “I’ll let you know.”
“Always keeping me on my toes! I love that in a woman!” Leonard cried and a woman passing by shook her head. He bent low at the waist. “Until tomorrow, my darling.”
Selma ran to the elevator before he could follow.
False Friends
A distraction was necessary because if she kept thinking about Andrew and how he’d probably told half the city about their fling, Selma would burst. She needed to do something that took her over; to move her body and sooth her nerves. Selma picked up the phone and dialed Abby’s number, hoping her friend would still be home, though she’d usually be out on the town at that time. Surprisingly, Abby picked up on the third ring.
