Page 9 of Heimlock

Eight Months Ago: The Speed Dating Event

For the most part, I hate men. I know, I know — generalizing is bad. Whatever. But spending six days a week around them, plus hearing the stories of survival from women, they’re firmly planted in my brain as problematic.

So why in the Hells am I at this speed dating event?

Because a tiny, stupid part of me wants love. I’d never had it, but people claim it’s magic.

I wouldn’t mind a little magic in my life.

Rocking on the balls of my toes, I wait in the long line for a nametag with twitching iridescent wings. I wish Orliana could’ve come — she was supposed to come. She chickened out last second, saying she didn’t want to meet strange men at a bar. I don’t blame her — I don’t even like dating — but I’m getting to an age where random hook-ups are wearing on me.

Maybe the goddesses will throw me a bone.

This bar certainly has potential for magic, with its cozy ambiance. The ceiling's dome of fractured glass casts rainbows around the space as the sunset light hits the corners just right. Ferns hang from the ceiling, their leaves swaying gently in a magykcal breeze. Light, relaxing music plays over hidden speakers.

One side contains a long bar, hosting swiveling stools and a wall of alcohol resting on glass shelves. Warm amber lighting behind the bottles lends an upscale vibe.

I shift my weight onto a heel, fussing with the hem of my white body-con dress. I spent a ridiculous amount of time fretting about how to look tonight, finally settling on soft curls and neutral eyeshadow. It isn’t my most bold look, but considering all the stares, I’ve done alright.

“First time?”

I look over my shoulder to find a female Vampyre grinning, fangs long and white. She wears a form-fitting black dress, has bright red hair and gold eyes.

I chuckle. “Is it that obvious?”

She raises the wine in her hand, waving a raised finger haphazardly. “For starters, you don’t already have a drink in your hand. Rookie mistake, because these get wild. Second, you keep looking around like an executioner is about to step out from the bathroom with an axe in hand.”

Smiling, I admit, “I’m really nervous.” I thrust out a hand. “Kyrielle, but you can call me Kyri.”

“Morella.” She shakes my hand, her cool palm a stark contrast to my hot one. After taking a sip of her drink, she asks, “What are you looking for today?”

The line inches forward. I shrug. “I’m not sure. I know I’m tired of hooking up with randoms.”

Morella snorts, taking another sip of her wine. It’s half-way gone already. “Tell me about it. I’m two hundred years old and totally over the emptiness of sex with randoms.”

It’s impossible for me to agree more. “You get it.”

Our shared knowing look is interrupted by a gruff, “Next.”

I turn back toward the table, finding an irritated female Cyclops drumming her blunt nails on the table. Shuffling forward, I give an apologetic smile. “Sorry, got a little carried away. Kyrielle Veritas.”

“It’s just you?”

I frown. “It’s a speed dating event, so yes?”

“You’d be surprised,” she says in a monotone voice, checking off my name on a list. Handing me a name tag, she points to one side of the room, “The women will sit in the same chair the entire time, starting over there. You’ll have three minutes with each man.” She slides a piece of paper with blank printed lines on it. “Write down whoever you want to meet again.” She pauses, adding dryly, “Good luck.”

Giving Morella an encouraging smile, I make a beeline for the bar. It’s already packed. Even with my heels, I’m shorter than most everyone, making it difficult to wave down the bartender. Downsides of being a Sprite.

There’s only one bartender, so I wait patiently for a few minutes. The crush of bodies is quickly becoming overwhelming, though. Being shorter than most citizens of Gondora means people forget to look down.

An elbow lands between my shoulder blades, and I hiss, “Ouch.”

The bartender isn’t anywhere close. Maybe there’s a waitress waiting to take orders? Accepting defeat, I turn … and run straight into a wall of muscle.

“I’m sorry,” I rush out to say, looking up.

A handsome blue Dragon grins, peering at me with one blue eye and one golden, swirling orb. Silky black strands fall into a braid down his back, with the sides shaved off. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place from where.