My first date with a nonhuman woman went as well as can be expected. I didn’t really go into it with a heart open for love, because I was of the last generation that did not grow up with the Magics as an integral part of society; the vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, magically talented humans, Elves, Eudemons, Archaedemons, dryads, Greymalkin, selkies, garudas, djinn, etc. etc. No, that had happened to me when I was in my late twenties. I realize how that marks me as an unhip oldster, at least for a human, but at least I’m not like those geriatrics who insist on All Humans Here and that “those goddamn pointies” go back into the woodwork where they were for the majority of modern civilization. I’m not prejudiced. I’m just not a natural at interacting with them.
However, two things forced my hand. First, I was running for mayor of Laconia, the small city where the Elves had first revealed themselves and begged for help against the Eudemons. I’m not from around here – coincidentally, I’m from the much-less famous Laconia, New Hampshire – so my election committee thought I should make some gesture to show how I’m in tune with the spirit of the community. Second, I recently divorced, and the American public likes to see politicians at least attempting to have a social life.
There were significant cons to every type we considered, though. Even the most well-behaved vampires get uncomfortable at a dinner date and can’t be anywhere with strong light. I had to schedule the date for a full moon night, since nothing else fit my schedule, so that barred werewolves for anything not disturbingly kinky. Eudemons are peaceful these days, mostly, and every bit as physically attractive to humans as Elves, at but going on a date with one in the thirtieth anniversary year of their defeat by the U.S. Marine Corps might look sleazy for a politician. Personally, I get the willies around a woman who bleeds corrosive acid at any time, even though we have their traditional antidote for the effects readily available. Greymalkin are deaf, and they have a tendency to make cryptic clairvoyant predictions all of a sudden, which derails my small talk skills even with those new Audi-Aider devices that help them communicate with people who don’t know sign language. And they’re kind of…fuzzy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just not my thing. Dryads get into romances with each other but they don’t even have the necessary parts to be remotely sexual, since they’re all gender-she’s that come from trees (I hear there’s a dryad porn industry in Canada; I’m not quite sure what they do). Shape-shifters have a tendency to get upset if you don’t treat them as human whenever they’re in human form. The djinn are only corporeal on our plane of existence if they put a lot of effort into it.
An Elf seemed the best idea. They are the most major of the minorities in Laconia - if we simply count humans as humans and don’t break it down by race – and in general they are a peaceable and pleasant people. I failed to see the thing that doomed me from the start, though. When they were still mythical, one of our names for them was The Fair Folk.
Her name was Verity, and she was lithe and refined, a little black silk dress and dark plum lipstick to set off her coppery skin. She smelled of lavender and spearmint. Her silver eyes were filled with caring. Her walk was almost a dance. I had barely gasped at the sight of her when she burst out laughing. “Oh, you poor man, how long has it been?” she asked, composing herself. “Sorry. I did not mean to be rude. Which table would you like?”
But I blushed like a kid at Prom and slinked away the moment she turned her back to examine the room, driving away as quick as possible. For the Elves can sense your every emotion, and you cannot knowingly lie to them. There was no way I could have excused myself to get a change of underwear without her redoubled laughter haunting me until I died.
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