Chapter Eight

Carl jingled his keys conspicuously as he locked the front door.

“Mom, are you home yet?” He called into the cozy living space.

Silence greeted the dark-haired sophomore. With a grin, he cast his ball cap onto a coat hook and hurried to the kitchen to unpack the prize smuggled in his backpack.

The previous evening at his part-time job was beyond crazy.

As the only son of Puerto Rican immigrants without a lick of athletic prowess, it was drilled into Carl from a young age that he would be earning his way through college–and no, getting a college education was not up for debate.

Clarita and Mateo Burgos, his mother and father, had not sailed to the Land of the Free–practically swam the distance to hear them recount it–to raise a lazy flojo or freeloader. They worked themselves to the bone at thankless jobs to provide for their beloved Carlos, and he was expected to do no less in return.

That was fine, even if juggling nighttime employment, study, and sleep while maintaining a passable GPA was a burden. Carl honestly appreciated the sacrifices his parents made to grant him the opportunity, and their tireless work ethic was apparently genetic.

Sure, the evening catering gig was far from glamorous. Still, every dime went towards tuition, and he held out hope that his experiences serving canapes to the more moneyed set could be wrangled into a laudable tell-all essay somewhere in his sociology degree.

Because, all too often, people forgot that the faceless Latino wearing a monkey suit and pouring overpriced champagne had ears, and sometimes, very rarely, Carl got to see some truly outrageous shit.

“Ah, there you are.” He smiled, sliding the styrofoam box from his bag and gently resting it on the laminate countertop. “My golden ticket to the night of my life.”

Employment and study were all well and good, Carl considered, but he was still a red-blooded male at college. He craved the excitement and range of experiences his fellow students so freely enjoyed. Moreso given that he was enrolled at none other than Madison University; the flagship campus that admitted the beautiful and mysterious Fae into their hallowed halls.

The global turmoil sparked by the Celestial Conjunction and the return of magic to the mortal realm last century had eventually reduced to a manageable simmer. The Folk were back along with all the arcane bullshittery that came with them.

Satyrs, leprechauns, sprites, dryads, and every other variety of mythical beastie could be found carving their nook into modern earth life. Goblins and gnomes, in particular, had taken to the manufacturing industries in a big way, and the average height of an employee in Amazon's distribution hubs was under four feet tall.

Several earth elementals had settled in Yellowstone National Park, disappointing Volcanologists and doomsday preppers with the subsequent drop in seismic activity.

The new postcards featuring gigantic women formed from living lava relaxing naked in bubbling tar pits with their fiery geolithic knockers out were pretty great though. They were an effective hook to draw tourism back to revel in the wonders of the natural world.

The Fae were everywhere, insinuating themselves into human culture at every level. Carl had dropped into the local 7-Eleven last week to purchase a stick of gum, only to find a hulking, cow-horned minotress with udders and biceps larger than his skull squeezed into a uniform apron behind the register.

She had a bashful smile and dewy doe eyes as she rang up his purchase, toying coyly with the brass ring in her bovine nose, asking him if there was anything else–anything at all–she could assist him with.

The Folk were all like that. Enticingly exotic, primarily female, and randier than a caravan of stoats. Apparently, it had something to do with a declining male population in their home realm, but all Carl knew for certain was a lot of them were flocking to the more… adult industries.

In many cases, on actual wings.

Opening the box with slow reverence, he grinned at the baked tidbits within. They glimmered with golden flecks, half a dozen bite-sized quiches procured from the frat mixer last night.

The school was already abuzz with sordid rumors of the party—unbelievable tales of wild sex and unquenchable lust fueled by magics unknown.

Unknown to most others, that was. Carl had been there, hidden in plain sight by virtue of his waiter's garb and a serving tray, blending into the background of the kitchen when the senior brothers of Beta Theta Fi started dusting entire platters of appetizers like fields of corn.

They had been excited about a new party ****, and its effects did not disappoint.

The outright orgy that had followed was the stuff of campus legends. Carl had watched with fascination as young coeds literally busted out of their suddenly inadequate tops and slinky club dresses. Breasts expanding, tummies shrinking, legs lengthening, and butts growing thicker.

He had threaded through the gyrating party-goers, pushing glittery food into hungry hands and viewing acts of depravity that would give a dead man a hard-on. Not that stiff dicks had been in short supply. Even the most modestly endowed males in attendance were sporting eye-gouging boners.

Guys and girls fucked like pornstars. Their altered physiques supercharged to the point of horny madness. It was like a cathouse on crack, reckless and steamy with sticky heat. Nobody cared about risks or consequences, only concerned with getting off in every way imaginable.

It had all been very hot and extremely irresponsible, in Carl’s opinion.

Like any good Spanish catholic, he was leery of witchcraft. Fae magic may have featured in Madison U’s current curriculum, but he kept to the strictly human sciences. As a cautious, type-A personality, Carl didn’t go in for surprises unless they were thoroughly researched and proven, beyond a doubt, to be safe.

That was why he had absconded with his styrofoam container of sparkling treats, waiting patiently to hear the eventual outcome or ultimate fallout from the evening's festivities rather than joining like an impetuous knucklehead.

Apparently, the physical changes were only temporary. Campus security had swooped in and scooped up the worst cases for holding in their magically warded overnight lockup. By lunchtime the next day, most offenders were released with a stern warning, sheepish grins, and appropriately proportioned college student bodies.

At least those whose reputations hadn’t taken a beating. A few key members of the famously stuck-up Delta Xi Gamma sorority had come away with egg–or something of a similar viscosity–on their snobby faces.

With any lingering concerns put to rest, Carl was ready to expand his horizons with a cute coed or two. A few names and faces came to mind—freewheeling hotties who weren’t averse to a good time or his flirtatious overtures. Adding a pinch of gold dust would seal the deal on a spectacular night of magically enhanced boning.

Opening the fridge, he secreted the pastries away behind a brown paper bag of cheese quesitos on the bottom shelf. A yawn creaked his jaw, and the idea of a quick nap before tackling the day's reading material was very appealing.

“I’ll be back for you later.” He whispered before shutting the door.

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