HOLLY
“Wanna get lucky?” a deep voice asked, barely audible over the clamor of music and conversations vibrating throughout O'Malley's Pub.
I recognized the phrase and smiled brightly at a blonde man with thick-rimmed glasses who’d just unknowingly entered himself into a game of luck by reading the gold letters sprawled across my chest.
“I'm a leprechaun.” I grinned and spun around to lift my long brown hair, revealing the echoing phrase printed on the back of my green shirt.
The man chuckled and raised his beer to his lips, hazel eyes flicking back to the letters on my chest. This time, though, I knew he wasn’t reading them. His gaze lingered, holding a fraction of a second too long to be innocent. Usually, I’d find such blatant ogling irritating, but tonight, the brazenness worked in his favor. This was exactly the kind of man I was looking for—gullible and predictable.
“Are you now?” he asked, his grin widening into a cocky smile that probably landed him more than a few phone numbers on a good night. He extended his hand. “I’m Ryan.”
I gave a soft, noncommittal hum and shook it. His palm and fingers were soft, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he did for a living. Computer scientist? Massage therapist? Gynecologist? It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t see Ryan past tonight, so I brushed the thought away.
I had one goal for him and one goal only. “Want to play a game, Ryan? Leprechauns love games.”
“Do they?”
I nodded, flashing a bright, flirtatious smile of my own.
“Ok. I’ll play your game, but let’s get a table first.” He reached for my hand and I felt nothing, just the lingering chill of his mug. No spark of attraction or even a warm hum of curiosity. It was like my heart knew that no matter how handsome, and Ryan was classically handsome, there was no place for love on a night like tonight.
What I did notice, though, was the prickling sensation of my magic stirring under my skin, eager to play with its next victim.
Ryan chose a recently vacated table in a quiet-ish corner and casually set his half-empty mug down as if this was a normal part of life. Him flirting with a girl. Me—said girl—doe eyed and smiling, falling into every one of his practiced charms.
He leaned in, positioning himself as close as possible without us actually touching. It was a calculated move. One I appreciated. I liked that Ryan was interested but not pushy. If tonight were any other night, I might’ve struck up a conversation and given him a fair shot despite my first impression.
But I wasn't looking for a hookup.
My magic only worked one night a year—March seventeenth, St. Patrick’s Day—and I needed to play as many games as possible.
“Tell me a secret,” I said, my voice hovering just above a whisper. “And I might grant you a wish.”
“What kind of secret?”
“That’s up to you.” I leaned closer until our arms touched. Heat radiated off Ryan in uncomfortable waves. I wanted to retreat to the patio where the crisp Nocatee air would cool me off.
Unfortunately, this trap was already set and the clock was ticking. My magic wouldn’t let me walk away until Ryan either refused the offer, I rejected the secret, or the deal was complete.
Meaning I was stuck.
“But the darker, the more twisted your secret, the better your odds are of having your wish granted.”
Ryan rubbed his chin, brushing his fingers over the short, uneven stubble. I could practically see the gears in his brain spinning. I’d easily bet a hundred dollars that he assumed my game was some form of roleplay gimmick, and he probably thought playing along would bring him one step closer to getting laid.
That look, the one confirming every stinking one of my suspicions, told me I was right. Ryan was, in the most basic of ways, just like every other participant in my game.
I tried to remember the last time someone took me by surprise and made the game fun. It had been a long time. The first few years of tapping into my magic were the best. I enjoyed the rush of finding people to play with and seeing my magic change lives. Granted, the things people wished for were usually superficial, but I loved it nonetheless.
That was almost ten years ago. Now, my magic felt more like a burden than a blessing. The secrets I harvested a tithe to be paid each year or else…
Truthfully, I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t use my magic. It could wither away. It could eat away at me, literally taking my soul and strength until I was a tattered shell of myself and eventually died. Not using it could summon my father, which would be worse than actually dying. Or I could be suckedinto the Otherworld, forced to be a slave to an unruly creature as penance for my disobedience. Mother was clear in relaying the warnings when my magic matured.
And she was just as clear with the loophole.
I was half-human. If the day ever came that I found my soulmate and fell in love, I could leave my lineage behind and live a normal life. I used to think the idea of being like everyone else, being truly human, was a fate worse than death. Now, I found myself considering it more nights than not.
“You know, I’ve always wanted a Viking beard. Can your magic grant me that?” Ryan’s tone was playful and teasing. He didn’t believe I could grant his wish. I tilted my head, pretending to think about my answer. This was the cat-and-mouse part of the game, the only part I still found to be fun.
