Teghan's Mistake

There came a time in every young man's life, especially one meddling with supernatural forces beyond the ken of mankind, when he had to admit that he'd made a mistake, and ask for help. Teghan liked to think of himself as a rational individual. He was capable of complex logical equations that escaped even the brightest members of his generation. He was widely regarded as the enchanter to watch, with a brilliant academic career stretching ahead of him. Teghan wanted to preserve that image, which severely limited his options, help-wise. It was with great care that he examined the short list, disqualifying each candidate one by one until there was one name left. Teghan sighed. He gathered his notes together, tucking them into his bag, selected the proper jacket for the cool weather, and tightened the laces on his shoes. Opening his door, he inhaled, stepped out, locked it, stuck his keys into his pocket, and fucking ran for it.

The central square of the university flashed by. A few undergraduates were outside, enjoying the sharp autumn sunshine. They cast curious looks at Teghan as he passed. At least the men did. The women perked up like lionesses scenting the blood on a wounded gazelle. Teghan put on a burst of speed, took the corner down Quintlin Avenue, and ran straight into a tour group of prospective students.

Oh dear lord, Teghan thought. Fifteen teenagers and their mothers. He was never going to survive. He shoved through the crowd, muttering apologies, slapping away the hands reaching for him.

“Teghan?” Maris, the pretty undergrad leading the tour, grabbed his arm. “What are you-” She stopped, nostrils flaring, pupils expanding. “Something’s different about you,” she said.

“Can’t talk, got to go, bye!” Teghan shouted, wrenching his arm free. He cut through the mall, panic feeding his speed. There was footsteps behind him. Teghan didn’t look back. One, it would slow him down, and two, it would make him pee his pants and really, the situation was awful enough without a reenactment of his third-grade field day. Veering off the grassy mall, Teghan leapt up the steps of a non-descript three-story townhouse, and beat his fist against the door.

“Letmeinletmeinletmein!” he screamed.

“Who is it?” A deep male voice asked.

“You know who it is!”

“Felire?”

“Teghan!”

“Teghan who?”

“Teghan Black, you unmitigated asshole!”

“Hmmm, I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Teghan Black.”

“Liam, I‘m being serious!” There was a growl from behind Teghan. Spinning around, he faced a crowd of staring, hungry women. He gulped. “Listen,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m sure you are all lovely people, but I’m not interested. Really.”

The woman nearest Teghan bared her teeth in a feral smile. She was middle-aged, chubby, not unattractive, but certainly not Teghan’s idea of his ideal partner. For one thing, she reminded him of his aunt Janta. For another, she looked as though she might bite off his head mid-coitus.

“LIAM!” Teghan yelled. The woman lunged forward. Teghan shrieked and jumped backwards, landing against a warm chest. An arm snaked around his waist, holding him in place.

“Ladies,” said the deep voice. The pack fell back, assessing the newcomer. “I realize it’s hard to keep your hands off the gorgeous piece of man-flesh that is Teghan Black, but please restrain yourselves.”

“I don’t think they understand you,” Teghan hissed through clenched teeth. The chest behind him shifted as the owner of the voice shrugged.

“Well, then.” The hand slipped lower, grasping Teghan’s crotch. Teghan yelped. “Mine,” said Liam in a threatening, thunderstorm of a voice. “Go away.”