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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. Normally 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 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 sucked into the Otherworld, forced to be a slave to an unruly creature as penance to 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… 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?” There was a playful teasing in Ryan’s tone. 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.
“Maybe,” I replied, trying my best to sound mysterious. “It depends on your secret. What’s something no one knows?”
Ryan leaned closer, the tips of his ears reddening as he dropped his voice. “I still sleep with a teddy bear named Mr. Fluffypants and I’m thirty-two.”
I bit my lip to stifle a laugh. I tried to imagine what that must look like and couldn’t help but picture Ryan in an adult-sized onesie, sleeping with his thumb in his mouth. It was impossible not to smile at the sight, but I cleared my throat and forced myself to sound serious. “Scandalous.”
“Embarrassing is more like it,” Ryan muttered, finishing his beer. The flush on his cheeks faded as his confidence returned. “So, now that I've kept my end of the deal, can you keep yours? Or should we find a different currency to exchange?”
My laugh slipped out before I could stop it. I had zero interest in a threesome with this man and Mr. Fluffypants, but his secret was undeniably amusing. I would grant his wish.
I breathed Ryan’s words in, letting them wrap around the strand that tethered me to my lineage. Warmth pooled in my center as the magic spread. It built inside me, slow at first and then overwhelmingly fast until it released in a hot rush that was almost orgasmic. In mere seconds, a long, coarse beard emerged from Ryan’s chin, the thick strands spreading across his face and down to his chest.
“It was nice meeting you,” I said, dismissing him as I turned to leave.
Ryan didn’t argue or even try to convince me to stay. He’d already forgotten who I was. That was the beauty of my magic. My victims didn’t remember their world being different before the wish, if I granted it, or me.
I turned quickly, high on the lingering energy, but barely made it five steps before bumping into a hard body. I jumped instinctively, and nearly fell backward, but was quickly wrapped in the arms of a stranger as the smell of cedar and spice swirled through my senses.
“Sorry,” I muttered, looking into the eyes the color of Montana Sapphires.
The stranger’s lips lifted into a pearly white smile, and I was stunned.
Mesmerized.
The man wasn’t wearing a lavish St. Patrick's Day outfit like most of the people in the bar were. No Kiss Me I’m Irish shirt or a speck of green. Nor was he shirtless and in a kilt like some of the other men in the room, although the strange thought that I’d love to see him like that floated into my mind. Despite not being dressed for the holiday, he looked effortlessly handsome in blue jeans fitted with a long sleeve button down with the top button undone.
And… familiar.
“I’m not sorry,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet.
Something stirred inside me, a pull stronger than anything I’d felt before. I took a step back, instinctively wary. I’d had crushes before and felt sparks of attraction, but this… this was different.
I glanced around looking for my sister, Dahlia—a heart weaver. A gentry with the ability to feel and enhance people’s emotions. Some people might call her a cupid. She loved playing matchmaker though her gift, unlike mine, wasn’t restricted to one day a year. If Dahlia sensed strong enough emotions, she would give people the push they needed to make a move.
I'd never felt Dahlia’s power before, but right now, I wondered if my sister was up to something because this pull tasted like magic.
And if it wasn’t Dahlia meddling, then what kind of trouble was I about to get myself into?
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Lucky in Love

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