“C’mon it’ll be fun, I promise,” Q says.
“It’s Thursday, we have class in literally ten hours-”
“Magical even, please?”
Julia sighs, and really, those puppy dog eyes should be banned. “Fine. But I’m leaving by one.”
Quentin grins, taking her hand. “You won’t regret this. Physical parties are the best.”
Unfortunately she believes him, has heard as much and they’re only two weeks deep into classes. Julia swallows a second sigh and follows her best friend. (So much for getting a head start on the telekinetic homework.)
They aren’t even inside, and Julia can already feel the speakers, faint vibrations in her toes. Quentin turns to her with a grin, his free hand on the doorknob, “This is gonna be epic.”
And it’s such an inverse of their non-magical selves that Julia can’t help a smile. The door opens with a blast of music, revealing a throng of dancing people and more alcohol than can possibly be called for on a weeknight.
A tall man in a vest whisks Q away, one Julia’s fairly sure she’s been introduced to before. It’s tempting to turn around, but she hasn’t had a break since this whole magic business started- could certainly use one. So instead Julia makes her way to a deserted bar, mixing herself a rum and coke.
“Classy, my kind of gal,” a voice says over her shoulder, mysteriously clear over the music and Julia turns to see an unfairly gorgeous woman. One that’s faintly familiar, and Julia honestly doesn’t know if they’ve been introduced before or if she just remembered such a pretty face. (It must be the latter, she would have remembered a name right?)
“Wanna make me one beauty?” And the stranger is speaking too quietly to be heard normally, must be using some spell. Julia can’t help but wonder what it is, even as the woman leans forward with her cleavage.
Butterflies swarm her throat, and Julia hands over the cup before setting about to make another, “All yours.”
She takes a sip and grins, “I’m Margo. You’re new.”
Her cheeks darken for no reason, she is new, that’s a fact. “Yeah, it’s Julia.”
“Well, Julia,” and the way Margo says her name is like a benediction, honey dripping down her throat. “since you are new, would you like the tour of our lovely cottage?”
She throws back the half solo cup full of liquid, alcohol and desire burning in her gut. “I would love that.”
Margo grins, threading an arm through hers, “Excellent. We’ll start with my room upstairs.”