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ONE WEREWOLF JACKSON'S OVERLAND LIST OF THINGS TO AVOID IF AT All POSSIBLE, WEDDINGS WERE NEAR THE TOP.
It wasn't that he hated seeing other people happy or that he disliked cake or an open bar or dancing-well, all right, dancing was mortifying unless one was very drunk, which the open bar took care of, it was that he felt like a terrible person every time he went to one.
He raised his champagne, swaying slightly. The postceremony dinner was wrapping up and it was speech-making time. Another mortifying activity best practiced by drunk people or those who didn't have an anxiety disorder.
In vino confidence, he thought.
Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert, the newlyweds in question, looked at him expectantly from the sweetheart table. One witch, one demon: both people Jack cared about and didn't want to disappoint with a terrible speech.
"Rapunzel," he said, addressing his longtime friend and employee at his garden shop, Jack's Plant Emporium, "it has been a privilege to work alongside you and watch you thrive like the plants you care for. You've always given your time, love, and support to everyone around you, and you deserve to receive that love back a thousandfold."
Jack was sweating. He nudged his gold-framed glasses up his nose with his free hand, then peered down at the note card on the table that held his talking points.
"Now that you have Eugene by your side," he continued, "you shine more brightly than ever, and I'm happy to see it."
It was a clumsy speech, but Rapunzel didn't seem to mind. The brunette witch was beaming, looking radiant in a white dress with lacy cap sleeves and a full skirt embroidered with vines and flowers. Next to her and wearing a black suit that matched his usual stark aesthetic was Eugene-or as he had once been termed, Eugene the Ruthless. The soul bargainer had been on Jack's shit list for a long time before he'd realized the demon was actually considerate, thoughtful, and utterly besotted with Rapunzel under that gruff exterior.
The normally surly Eugene was now grinning widely, with lines of joy stamped beside his eyes. Those marks deepened with every year on Earth now that Eugene was mortal, and Jack felt a surge of longing laced with envy. Not because Eugene was marrying Rapunzel in particular-marrying Rapunzel, Jack's tipsy brain repeated, delighting in the alliteration-but because they were happy and in love.
This was why Jack didn't like weddings. He should be unconditionally delighted for his friends rather than sad about his own single status. He shoved down the shameful envy and glanced at the card again.
"Eugene," he continued, addressing the brown-haired, black-horned demon, "as you know, I wasn't sure about you at first. It isn't every day a demon comes portaling to Earth demanding your friend's soul." The crowd chuckled at that, and Jack felt a surge of relief. Thank Lycaon, progenitor of werewolves, he wasn't messing this up too badly. "But I saw how hard you fought to protect Rapunzel, and since then your love has grown and deepened. You prove that love with actions, not just words, which is the measure of a good man. It's an honor to know both of you and to be invited to give this speech."
He wasn't sure why they'd asked him to give a speech, but the reception had been speech-heavy so far, with family and friends of the bride and groom spouting impassioned, brilliant toasts that were all far better than Jack's.
"My skills are in gardening, not public speaking," he said, wrapping things up, "so I'm going to sit down before I embarrass myself." Another few chuckles at that. "In lieu of the brilliant oratory you deserve, I present you with a plant." He nodded toward the side of the room where another of his employees, a naiad named Moony, stood holding an orchid. She strode forward, grinning confidently in the way of well-adjusted people who didn't want to shrivel up and disappear in front of a crowd, and presented the plant to Rapunzel.
Rapunzel gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth. "Jack, are you serious? You found a Winter Sunrise?"
The Winter Sunrise orchid was rare, found only near the top of a magic-laced mountain in France where the ley lines allowed flowers to bloom through the snow. Its petals were snowy white blending into soft pink, the edges lined with orange, and the golden stamen glittered with magic.
"A rare flower for a rare friend," Jack said. He'd had to trade away a substantial selection of aphrodisiacal plants from his shop's inventory to get it, but he didn't regret the transaction.
"It's perfect," Rapunzel said, beaming at him. The orchid leaned forward in its pot, brushing its petals against her cheek. Rapunzel wrinkled her freckled nose. "Hi, baby," she whispered to the flower. "You're going to love my greenhouse."
Plants always behaved that way around Rapunzel. She was brimming with so much nature magic, the world came alive around her and plants acted downright enamored. Jack was a bit jealous, since werewolves didn't have any magic other than the truly unfortunate monthly transformation into a feral creature, but he couldn't deny it made her a heck of an employee at the garden shop.
Eugene looked at Jack with obvious gratitude. Thank you, the demon mouthed.
Jack nodded in acknowledgment. Then, glad to have the speech over with, he plopped back into his seat.
His sister, Emma, nudged him with her fork. A fork that unfortunately had residual sauce on it, leaving a greasy smudge on his navy coat sleeve. "Good speech, bro."
He blew out a heavy breath. "I'm just glad it's over."
"You're a great public speaker. I don't know why you hate it so much." Emma shrugged and tucked back into her pasta.
His sister was twenty-nine years old to Jack's thirty-four, though he claimed she acted ten years younger and she claimed he acted eighty years older. They were both taller and more broad- shouldered than average and had the same thick brown hair and brown eyes, but personality-wise, they couldn't have been more different. Emma was an extrovert who loved parties and public speaking, while Jack preferred time alone with his plants, books, and knitting.
Tonight Emma was wearing a gold dress with her favorite pink Converse, and glittering piercings marched up her ears. "Thank Lycaon you're not wearing a sweater vest," she'd said when she'd spotted his navy suit earlier that day. "Someday you'll let me take you shopping."
That was an "absolutely not," and what was so wrong with sweater vests? They were sophisticated yet cozy, wrapping around his torso like a hug.
Or maybe like one of those ThunderShirts worn by quivering dogs, his judgmental inner voice said.
Jack drained his champagne.
Thankfully, the speeches wrapped up soon after. They'd gone well, all things considered. He'd had a brief moment of worry when Rapunzel's mother had spoken, but Arianna had spent the last two years repairing her relationship with Rapunzel and attending therapy. She wasn't perfect, but she was vastly improved from the pre-Eugene days.
With speeches and eating done, it was time for dancing-and an open bar, thank the neurosis gods. The event space had a ceremony room decorated with stained glass, a large dining room, and an open-air courtyard where the rest of the festivities would take place. Magical light orbs drifted over the stone courtyard, and the trees enclosing the yard had been draped with rainbow fairy lights and gauzy swaths of fabric in bright colors. The night sky was thankfully clear-never a guarantee in the small town of Dreamney Falls or western Washington State in general-and the mid-August temperature was ideal. If the temperature or weather had been bad, though, one of the attending witches or warlocks would have taken care of it with a microclimate spell.
Jack smiled as Eugene tromped his way through the choreographed steps of the couple's first dance with the grim concentration of a general approaching battle. Rapunzel didn't seem to mind the demon's straightforward but less-than-graceful ballroom style-she laughed and spun in his arms, dress flaring like a blooming lily. After Eugene dipped her low and delivered a decidedly PG-13 kiss, the assembled guests cheered.
Then it was time for the father-daughter and mother-son dance. This had been an object of concern during the year leading up to the wedding. Rapunzel's relationship with her father was still strained from his years supporting Arianna's absurdities, though they'd made progress in family therapy. The more difficult issue was that Eugene had been taken away from his demoness mother at a young age in order to be trained as a soul bargainer and hadn't seen her in hundreds of years-hadn't even known her name or if she was alive or dead. But Eugene's childhood mentor, Kristoff, had made it his mission to atone for his part in that tragedy by finding her, and now Elwenna the demoness stood at the edge of the dance floor, hands clasped to her mouth. When the music started up again and Eugene held out a hand, eyes glistening, she took it, and more than a few guests started weeping outright.
Jack had always been a crier, and now he wiped away a tear, sniffling. He couldn't imagine being separated from his family for that long.
He also couldn't imagine the day coming when he could spin his wife around the dance floor in front of their families... though he could easily conjure a memory of the last time he'd talked with his mother on the phone and she'd hesitantly asked, "So, I know you're busy, but have you given any thought to dating?"
Yes, Mom. Arguably too much thought. And the moment "anxious, workaholic werewolf" appeared on someone's vision board, she'd be first to know.
But tonight wasn't about him, so Jack gave his full attention to the two pairs spinning (or aggressively marching, as the case may be) across the dance floor, applauding and cheering them on.
Once the formal dances ended, Rapunzel grabbed a flute of champagne and raised it high. "Let's party!"
Music started blasting from the speakers as people of a variety of species rushed to the dance floor to begin gyrating with an enviable amount of confidence. Jack sidled up to the bar. It was manned by a centaur named Hiccup he recognized as the bartender at a dive bar, Le Chapeau Magique. They had brown hair and bright green eyes, and their roan coat had been shaved with heart designs to commemorate the occasion.
"What's your poison?" Hiccup asked.
"Whiskey," Jack said. He normally wasn't much of a drinker, but if he was going to dance-and Emma would certainly drag him onto the floor if Rapunzel didn't first-he needed to drown his self- consciousness.
"How about an old fashioned?" At Jack's nod, Hiccup started mixing ingredients, tapping their hooves rhythmically. The centaur was a member of an Irish step dance troupe as well as a popular ClipClop influencer (as Emma had informed him, being far more social media savvy than he was). Hiccup presented the drink with a flourish, and Jack thanked them, slipping money into the tip jar.
He downed the old fashioned in under a minute, then held the empty glass out.
Hiccup raised their eyebrows. "Dang, are you trying to get wasted?"
Jack gestured to the dance floor. "Social anxiety," he said succinctly.
"Ah."Hiccup nodded knowingly. "Well, don't party too hard, all right? I'll have to cut you off if you get rowdy."
Jack wanted to laugh at the idea. The rest of his extended family was noisy, chaotic, and prone to brawling, as most werewolves were, but the number of times he'd done something that might be classified as "rowdy" could be numbered on one hand. "Don't worry, I'm a sad drunk," he said.
Hiccup rattled the cocktail shaker before pouring him a second drink. "Weddings can be tough," they said. "Especially for single people."
Was he that transparent? Jack grimaced. "They shouldn't be. I just need to be a better person." He slipped another tip into Hiccup's jar.
"It's nothing to do with being good or bad. Being sad or lonely or even jealous is normal-the thing that matters is how you treat people, and as far as I've seen, you've been very kind." Hiccup patted his hand. "And who knows? Maybe you'll meet your soul mate here."
Jack doubted it. His life was consumed by running a small business, and what kind of woman wanted to be saddled with a werewolf who didn't even like howling at the moon?
But Hiccup was being patient and understanding in that bartender/therapist way that involved emotional labor they didn't need to be doing, so Jack mustered up a smile. "Thank you," he said. "Maybe tonight's the night I find her at last."
🩸🩸🩸
DID JACK HATE DANCING?
He didn't remember. All he knew was that the world was tilting, the glow-orbs overhead had doubled, and he was flailing his arms to a pop song he didn't know the name of. Around him, other guests wiggled or stomped or flapped their wings in similarly chaotic fashion.
"I love this song!" shouted the pixie hovering a few inches off the ground. Tinkerbell was a Pixtagram influencer and a good friend. Her naturally blonde hair was bespelled purple and pink, and her iridescent wings shimmered. Along with Emma, she'd been one of the instigators of the Get Jack on the Dance Floor campaign.
"Me, too!" shouted a demon with pale blond hair and black horns who was gyrating on the opposite side of the small circle they'd formed. That was a Kristoff, Eugene's former mentor, who had been kind of evil before a bout of amnesia had improved him immensely. The improvement was also due to his partner, Anna Tremaine, who had reformed the demon during a road trip nearly two years ago. Kristoff's memories had returned, including the knowledge that he was half human, but he'd remained on Team Good and now lived with Anna on Earth, visiting the demon plane on occasion to help implement progressive societal reforms.
Kristoff was an incredible dancer. He'd spun Anna around the floor in a waltz earlier-only wincing a few times when she stepped on his toes or headbutted him while trying to take the lead-and now he was doing an enviable John Travolta impression. He was also ridiculously handsome and an expert swordsman, and Jack had reflected more than once that the universe needed to spread out its gifts a bit more evenly.
Thankfully, being surrounded by good dancers and internet-famous pixies meant fewer people were looking at Jack. Thus, he was free to flail.
"When are you going to get hitched?" Tinkerbell asked Kristoff, slurring her words. There were little hearts painted on the apples of her tan cheeks.
Kristoff looked toward the bar where Anna was ordering drinks, and his face softened into an utterly infatuated expression. "Neither of us particularly believe in the institution of human marriage, and we don't need a ceremony to be bound together forever."
"Aww," Tinkerbell said. "But what about the tax benefits?"
Kristoff grimaced. "Right. Sometimes I forget humans are determined to suck the money and joy out of everything." He shrugged. "Maybe someday, then, but I'll let her lead the way. I'm just fortunate to be able to love her for as long as I can."
A sharp ache took up residence in Jack's chest. What he would give to be able to love someone with all his neurotic heart... but who could possibly love him back?
Drunk flailing took a sharp turn into drunk moroseness.
Tinkerbell turned to face Jack. "And you? Got your eye on anyone special?"
Jack's eyes were not fixed on anyone special, but they did abruptly grow watery. The ache spread and deepened, and he stopped waving his arms. "No," he said sadly.
Tinkerbell looked alarmed at his sudden shift in mood. She returned to the ground, then wrapped a small hand around his arm. "Come on," she said. "I need a breather."
She didn't even come up to his shoulder, but pixies were stronger than they looked, and Tinkerbell had no problem manhandling him off the dance floor. The world spun, and Jack staggered before face-planting into a tree.
Tinkerbell winced. "Let's sit you down." She guided him to a bench. "Head between your knees."
Jack obeyed, bracing his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. Damn the whiskey. If he were a normal person, he wouldn't need to get drunk to dance at his friend's wedding.
He'd said that last bit aloud, unfortunately.
Tinkerbell patted his back. "Normal is overrated," she said. "But want to talk about it?"
Jack didn't. He really, really didn't, especially not to an internet-cool pixie some ten years younger than him who generally had at least two or three significant others. That was why he opened his mouth and spilled the entire story to her.
"I'm thirty-four and single and haven't dated in nearly a decade. My business takes up all my time, and I like to knit, and I'm not even a properly rowdy werewolf, and who could ever love someone who feels this anxious most of the time? I should like all the howling and biting things, but I just feel out of control, and no one else likes sweater vests even though they're wrong about that, and what if nothing about me is attractive and I die alone in a ditch?"
He sat back up in time to see Tinkerbell blink rapidly. "Wow,"she said. "That was a lot. Uh, let's back up. For starters, what's wrong with knitting?"
"People think it's boring," he said forlornly. "I should have a manly hobby like... like woodworking or sword fighting or hunting elk with my bare hands." The best he'd managed in wolf form was a particularly ornery rabbit, and he'd felt guilty afterward.
"Hobbies don't have genders," Tinkerbell said. "And you don't have to be some stereotypical macho woodsman to be attractive. Also, you're not going to die in a ditch, knitting isn't boring, and sweater vests... uh, I'm sure they have many merits."
"Many," he said fervently. "Argyle is wonderful." Such a pleasing pattern.
"I'm sure it is," she said soothingly. "So you're lonely and want to date, but you're also anxious and not sure someone will like you just the way you are?"
"That's precisely it." How quickly she cut to the emotional core of the matter, like Hiccup had. "Have you thought about being a bartender?"
Tinkerbell cocked her head, looking confused. "Uh, not really."
"You'd be great at it," he said vehemently. "Not the drink bits- or maybe the drink bits, I don't know-but all the listening and shit. Stuff," he clarified. "Shouldn't swear in front of a lady." His mother had drilled that into him growing up, but it was hard to remember sometimes, like when drunk or hanging out with his creatively vulgar cousins and friends.
Tinkerbell laughed. "I fucking encourage swearing. And thanks, but let's go back to you. I think you have many lovely qualities and just need to find the right person who will appreciate them."
That was precisely the problem. "Don't know how."
"Well, you could go to some singles mixers around town-"
He shook his head, instantly regretting it when his brain sloshed in his skull. "People. Bad."
"You interact with people all the time at the Emporium."
"That's different. I know what to say and do there." There were specific rules about interaction in a place of business, and he knew the entire shop top to bottom, down to the well-being of individual leaves. In his sphere, he was the expert and authority. If challenged, he could be brave for the sake of his employees and his business, and if he ever felt uncomfortable, his reputation for being serious and levelheaded meant he could hide his inner turmoil with stoic silence.
At a random public event, much less one designed to spark romance, he'd be a disaster.
"Dating apps, then," Tinkerbell said, pulling her phone from a pocket in her green dress. "You don't have to meet anyone in person until you've chatted online."
"Don't know what to write." Also, having never downloaded more than a few basic apps on his smartphone, he had a feeling he was too out of touch for that. He even kept handwritten ledgers at the office, preferring to practice his calligraphy rather than attempt Excel. Spreadsheets were undoubtedly helpful but lacked a certain artistry, and whenever he heard the words pivot table or conditional formatting he wanted to flee.
"Just give some details about who you are and what you're looking for. Like I'm a werewolf, six foot four or whatever, I like knitting and own my own business. In search of someone who enjoys gardening, blah blah blah. Then upload a nice picture of you. I'll even take it for you!" She raised her phone and snapped a picture of him, then winced as she eyed the screen. "Okay, maybe when you aren't quite so drunk."
"Cake!" someone screeched from across the dance floor. "Time for cake!"
The music cut off and people started moving toward an enormous four-tiered cake being wheeled out-half pumpkin spice for Oz and half chocolate for Mariel.
"Let's put a pin in this," Tinkerbell said, standing up. "But promise you'll at least try to set up an online dating profile." She reached a hand down to help him up.
"I promise," Jack said, staggering to his feet. "Thanks, Tinkerbell."
He watched from the back of the crowd as Rapunzel and Eugene fed each other slices of cake, taking frequent breaks to kiss each other. They were so in love, and Jack teared up again with a mix of sincere joy and longing. He clapped and hollered as loudly as everyone else and accepted a slice of cake from Rapunzel with a grin.
She slid an arm around him in a side hug. "Thanks for being here," she said. "You're the best." Jack certainly wasn't the best, but he would never do anything to dim her blissful glow, so he smiled and laughed and congratulated her again. Later, as the newlyweds exited the venue beneath an archway of sparklers and magic fireworks, he cheered until his throat was hoarse.
Then he took a rideshare car home and threw up in a bush in his front yard. Feeling marginally better after vomiting, he grabbed a glass of water, changed into pajamas, and collapsed on his brown faux-leather couch. Bleary-eyed, he grabbed his phone and started searching for dating sites.
Bumbelina, OkEros, PaganMingle, FarmersMarketOnly, Howly Ever After... none of them felt right. He sighed and switched to browsing something more practical.
The Emporium had done extremely well in recent years thanks to the quality of the plants, Rapunzel's magic touch, and the rare varieties he was able to get his hands on from international connections. He'd purchased the empty space next door and would soon be opening an adjoining coffee shop and bar, with a goal of eventually adding a small stage for lectures, music, and stand-up comedy. He wanted Jack's Plant Emporium to become a real community destination.
Most of the construction work on the Annex-as he was calling the café space-was done, and he was now sourcing decorations. The current project was a rock-and-crystal terrarium to display succulents next to the muffins.
He'd had some luck finding bulk quantities of unusual stones on eBay, so he switched to the site, squinting through the alcohol haze. Blue sexy rock he typed in, having briefly forgotten the word crystal.
The first listing was for an old rock-blues album on vinyl, which was not helpful. The next was for an outrageously expensive sapphire that would supposedly give the wielder an erotic aura. He briefly considered it, wondering if he would have an easier time meeting women if he had an erotic aura, then decided it would be disingenuous to lure a woman in that way even if he could afford it.
The third entry gave him pause... and then he started to laugh.
Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK
The image was of a small, faceted blue stone that looked suspiciously like plastic, and the starting bid price was $0.99. No one had bid thus far, and the listing was closing in a few hours.
Jack read the description, growing more entertained with every word. Questionable capitalization aside, the poster didn't even know how to spell succubus, and they were trying to position this as a rare, possessed artifact.
This is a dark Vampire Succbus named Elsa. She is 5'7" tallish with beautiful platinum hair and sapphire eyes. Very sexy, comes with her own Knives. Hisses. French. Norwegian.
"... Knives?" Jack muttered, eyeing the photo of the tacky blue "crystal." "Hissing?"
She is very Angry in nature but at least some threats are Jokes! Good friend, maybe good girlfriend I do not know, will do Anything for you-bite vengeance murder Jenga etc, Elsa does All
"Murder?"
Dark Vampire Succbus Elsa angry sexy French BUY NOW but BEWARE you must be firm, she has Attitude but very worth it if you want Assassin, TV watcher, best Friend, maybe-girlfriend, you will not regret it, please pay at least One Million gold doubloons, DARK VAMPIRE SUCCBUS ELSA.
"Dark Vampire Succbus Elsa," Jack intoned to himself in a dramatic voice. Then he laughed, feeling better than he had since before he'd started crying on the dance floor. What a hilarious scam. He was too cowardly to set up a dating profile, but by Lycaon, he was just drunk and easily amused enough to buy a vampire succubus-or succbus-assassin girlfriend in the shape of a plastic rock for the low, low price of $0.99.
He put in his bid, then promptly passed out on the couch, still smiling.
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TWO WEEKS AFTER THE WEDDING AND THIRTEEN DAYS AFTER THE WORST HANGOVER HE'D HAD IN A DECADE, JACK LOOKED DOWN AT THE KNITTING PROJECT IN HIS LAP AND GROANED. He'd dropped a stitch a few rows back.
This project was a scarf for his mother, who had mentioned needing some new warm clothes for the winter. Next he'd make a matching one for his father and a hat for Emma, and that took care of the first part of his holiday gifts.
He was close with his parents, as he was with his extended family in general. Werewolves were inherently pack creatures, and though Jack had long been the introvert of the family, he still had dinner with his parents and sister whenever he could get away from work-rare these days-and he was a frequent visitor at his aunt's dinner. His uncle had married into a Jewish family, and as a result, the extended Overland-Frost clan was rarely without good food to eat or something to celebrate.
Knitting for the entire array of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, and friends so close they'd become honorary Overland-Frost was too daunting a task for a man with only two hands, so for the most part he only knitted for his immediate family. But his second cousin had just announced her pregnancy, so he had roughly six months to make his traditional welcome to the family" baby blanket.
Lots of knitting, which normally wouldn't be a problem... if he wasn't currently preparing to expand the Emporium. His business took up the majority of his time, and arranging the permits, construction, decorating, supplies, and staffing for the expansion had resulted in a lot of lost sleep over the preceding months. But failing to produce gifts for his family was unthinkable, so if he had to cut back on sleep even more, he would.
Jack was reaching for a crochet hook to fix the mistake when the doorbell rang. He set the knitting aside and stood, brushing sandwich crumbs off his T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. It was a Saturday, and though normally he'd be at work, the builders had requested "no hovering" as they finished installing appliances. So here he was, catching up on projects at home while fretting about everything that could possibly be going wrong at the office.
He padded to the front door on bare feet and opened it to see a griffin with a palm-sized package in her beak and a clipboard held between two claws. A brown company vest announced the griffin's employment at a prominent shipping chain.
The griffin spat the box into Jack's hand before holding out the clipboard. "SIIIIIIGN," she shrieked.
Griffins were highly intelligent but struggled to speak non-avian languages intelligibly, considering their beaks. They also smelled downright terrible to sensitive werewolf noses. Jack smiled politely and took the clipboard, ignoring the stench. He might smell equally bad to the griffin, after all.
"I didn't order anything," he said, looking between the box and the paper. The sender was listed as THE WITCH IN THE WOODS, with no return address, and the signature line on the receipt sat beneath text that read, I assume full responsibility for the hellion, no take backs, which struck him as nonstandard language.
"SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGN."
Maybe he'd bought something online for the store and forgotten about it. It was definitely his name and address. Jack didn't want to make a fuss, so he nodded and signed. "Thanks," he said, waving awkwardly at the griffin before she launched into the air to continue her route.
Back in his living room, he sat on the couch and opened the box. Beneath layers of glittery tissue paper was a small plastic bag with a blue faceted stone inside, no bigger than his thumbnail. His brow furrowed. This was vaguely familiar, but why?
The stone proved to be plastic when he pulled it out. He studied the overhead light through it. Why had he ordered a fake plastic jewel? He sniffed it a few times, and whoa, it smelled great. Sweet in a luscious, spicy, complicated way even his rarest lilies couldn't match.
A piece of paper was nestled in the bottom of the box. The paper was fragile and browned with age. On it was written: ELSA.
A vague memory surfaced-something about eBay? He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his email. Sure enough, there it was-a receipt from two weeks ago informing him he had won the auction for Dark Arts Sexy Succbus She-Vampire TALISMAN PARANORMAL POSSESSED BLUE CRYSTAL DARK ARTS SEXY CONJURE ROCK.
He laughed, surprised all over again by the bonkers listing. No one else had bid, and now for the low price of $0.99-well, $4.28, once shipping was included-he owned a plastic rock that supposedly housed the murderous, blonde-haired lover of his dreams. He could only imagine how the seller must have cackled realizing some poor sap had fallen for the scam.
"Well, Elsa," he said, "it's a pleasure to meet you."
The plastic jewel, predictably, did not respond.
Feeling silly and rather sleep-deprived, he dramatically lowered his voice. "Show yourself, succubus."
A sudden wind whipped around the room, rustling the papers on his desk and making the curtains flutter. To Jack's shock, the crystal began glowing electric blue. The wind and light swirled into a tiny cyclone in his palm that grew and grew before spinning to the middle of the room. Then the blue light flared white-hot, making him shield his eyes.
When he lowered his hand, there was a woman in his living room.
And not just any woman.
The most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen.
She had wavy, waist-length platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, and an hourglass figure that defined the term bombshell. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high, and her skin a smooth porcelain he felt the urge to brush his knuckles over to see if it was as soft as it looked. Her formfitting blue shirt was the same shade as the jewel, and she wore black leather pants and thigh holsters containing knives that took Jack back to his formative crush on Lara Croft.
She smelled incredible.
She was also glaring at Jack like she wanted to disembowel him.
"Uh..." he said, confused, awed, and deeply alarmed. In response, she opened her mouth to reveal sharp fangs and hissed.
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