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“I’m so glad I used that opalescent dye. You look amazing. White with just a touch of that lilac.” Dahlia smiles, impressed with herself. She’s the island’s top hair stylist, with some pretty intense clientele. Magia Island’s main attraction is Augury University, but there are some celebrities who live here too. If it weren’t for Dahlia, I’d look less like them and more like a wet mop.
“You did a great job. I wish I was in the Potions Department,” I say, because it’s true. I’ve always wanted to be a potions mage, but it wasn’t in the cards. Dahlia and my coworker Alitha have been working together to experiment on different hair potions, and I’m their favorite test bunny.
The bartender places both shots down on the table, and we clink our glasses together before throwing them back. The alcohol only intensifies my heady desire. My blood, like my throat, is on fire at the sight of this woman—at the look in her eyes as I shift in my seat to get another look at her. I turn around and get out my phone. I start typing out a text to Alitha when I feel a warm, towering presence behind me. Dahlia’s face is like a deer in headlights, with her deep brown eyes suddenly widening.
“Well.” She coughs. “I’m actually meeting someone here tonight. I’ll catch you later.” Dahlia walks away, her hips swaying in her orange two-piece, long dark hair flowing down nearly to her butt. She’s leaving me alone with this woman? Oh boy.
The orcling sits down next to me, a mass of muscle. Her scent is intoxicating, some kind of woodsy cologne with hints of orange blossom. I love being an elfborn, however distant my lineage is, because I can make out the specific scents that cause her to smell so…alluring. I have to shut my mouth to stop myself from drooling. What the hell kind of mind-altering substance is in her cologne? Whatever it is, I’m addicted.
She looks at me and raises a hand, her forearms flexing as she places her thumb near her lips and licks it, seductively staring at me while motioning towards my face. “Your mascara is smudged; let me get it.”
The cold wet feeling of her thumb rubbing against my skin is oddly appealing. Normally, I would feel icked by a stranger’s touch, especially their saliva, but not this stranger. I’d let her do whatever she wants with me. In fact, if I knew this was going to lead to her touching me, I would have fucked up my makeup a lot sooner. The bartender comes by and nods, waiting for our orders.
“Could I get an Irish Coffee? And the lady will have…?” She gestures to me, waiting for my response.
“Oh—uh—I’ll have a… sex on the beach.” I’m so used to douchebag guys at the bars who order for me that this is refreshing. Still, I wish my favorite drink didn’t have such a weird name. It’s uncomfortable to say aloud, and I feel my cheeks heat. I don’t know if other people experience the same amount of embarrassment that I do, but moments like this make me want to curl up into a ball and die. This is the kinda stuff I need to bring up in therapy.
“I’m Vega, but you can call me V, if you’d like,” she says, and I take her in. She’s huge. Broad, athletic shoulders lead to swollen biceps. I think she could crush my head in her arms, and maybe I’d let her. She’s tall too. We’re seated, but I’d bet money she’s well over a foot taller than me. V has seductive golden eyes and green skin. Not green like a Christmas tree, but more of a mossy sage. Her black hair is tied back in a bun, with shaven sections on either side of her head. I could look at her for hours, counting every freckle on her body.
“I’m Indie. It’s nice to meet you.” Indie is the nickname only my family calls me, but I’m not sure I wanna tell her my real name. Most people don’t recognize me by look or even name… better to be safe than sorry though. I reach out to shake hands before realizing how weird I’m being and flinch it back.
She chuckles, her voice much deeper than mine, and fucking hell. This woman is so hot, and I amsoawkward. I don’t know how to talk to the people I’m interested in. My latest hook-up last weekend, on Halloween, was with a guy dressed as a Mandalorian from one of the old Star Wars shows. I didn’t look much different from my typical day-to-day vibe, donning a black dress as a vintage witch. He didn’t wanna talk, and I was totally fine with the helmet staying on.
“You’re quite cute,” she says. “Tell me about yourself.”
This is the part where everything goes sour. I’m going to say I’m a professor at Augury University, and she either won’t believe me; or shewill,and she’ll want information on some kind of research we’re doing. That, or she’ll be totally normal until she finds out who my sister is, and then she’ll just use me to try and get to Iris. I don’t want this to be about my job or my family; I want this to be about me. Unfortunately,Iam a nightmare. I realize I’m zoning out when the bartender places our drinks in front of us.
“Or don’t. How about this, how about we give each other no specific details? Keep everything vague and just talk as… beings.” She takes a sip of her irish coffee, and the smell drowns out her cologne. Bummer. I guess I’ll have to get close if I want to smell her again.
“That sounds lovely,” I say, feeling as though she read my mind. No specifics. I can do that. “Do you practice magic?”
“A bit. My focus is charms,” she says and leans in close. “Though I’m just as good with my hands, no magic necessary.” Her breath is hot against my neck, and I squirm in my seat, pressing my thighs together.
I clear my throat. “Me too, although I’m secretly passionate about potions.”
She tilts her head, and I notice the gold hoop in her nose. I’d never been into piercings much. Suddenly, I feel much different about the subject. V licks her lips. “Why not do what you’re passionate about?”
“Because I’m better at charms, and because—my—it’s complicated.” I frown, playing with my straw. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Normally, I obsess over something unrealistic, anxious over things that’ll likely never happen, but this anxiety feels… warranted. I could really fuck this up and lose her interest.
She bumps me with her shoulder, her taut, bare skin brushing against mine for a split second. “It’s okay. I think it’s cool you do a little of both. What potions do you enjoy making?”
V sounds genuinely interested, and it makes my chest warm. Many people think magic should only be done for work, never recreationally. “I just make potions for fun, so it’s nothing life saving. Mostly stuff with food and cosmetics.”
“Like what?”
“Perfumes, oils. Right now I’m working on a potion that enhances an individual’s pheromones,” I say and take another sip of my drink.
“What’s your intended goal?” she asks, her voice like honey.
I shrug. “A lot of things. It can help someone sense danger more easily, or—”
“Or attract others,” V says as she finishes her drink. She stands up suddenly, the movement unexpected. She walks towards the exit and leans against a wall.
Am I supposed to follow her? Is that what she wants?
I look around for Dahlia and spot her in a corner with an elfling. He’s got his thumb resting against her jaw, and I figure I should leave them to it. Assembling all of my courage, I strut up to V, and she grabs my hand, bringing me out of the building. She’s intimidatingly tall, at least six foot five. Some small fragment of my instincts is fearful, telling me to run, but every other part of me wants to climb her like a tree.
Before I can even take a breath of the late night air, V pushes me against the outside wall, her lips against my neck. Something lightly pricks at me, her tusks, and I shiver. Her stature is overwhelming—I want to melt into her, for our bodies to form together as one.
