Chapter 1

This is my entry for the Literotica Valentine’s Day Story Contest 2026.

The window in the doorframe was black with grease, dust and age. The door handle should have scraped, and the door should have creaked, but they were perfectly silent. If anything else had been maintained in the office beyond the door, it didn’t show. The air was cool, but noticeably warmer than the surrounding Chicago chill as Layla stepped inside.

The building was over a century old, and far too ugly to be preserved, but apparently too unimportant to be demolished in this run-down area. With the kickbacks the Franchise received from the romance-industrial complex, it should be able to afford better premises.

Though the Franchise paid well for piecework, Layla had decided that this was her last year. Seasonal employment had allowed her to pursue her annual objective of backpacking in some remote part of the world, but neither Spirit Halloween nor the Christmas popup she’d worked at in the past year had done much to boost her travel fund.

Working for the Franchise might pay well, but compromising her principles for the traditionalist group galled her. Maybe this year when she returned from her jaunt she’d look into working at Costco. Or maybe she could learn a musical instrument and earn spending money as she travelled. Which? She grinned as she imagined herself backpacking with a tuba.

The woman’s voice broke through her daydreaming. It sounded as dry and dispassionate as each previous year.

“Uh, hi,” Layla replied.

“You’re five minutes late, Miss Haddad,” the starched-looking redhead informed her. “You will need to hurry if you are to take advantage of lunchtime gatherings.” She selected a paper-wrapped package from a box behind her desk, setting it on the surface beside her.

“Uh, yes, I’ll pick up the pace when I leave,” Layla replied. It would have been polite to use the woman’s name, but she’d forgotten that her first year.

“Do you still meet our criteria, Miss Haddad? You are still single? You have not indulged in sexual activity?”

“Right,” Layla said, sighing inwardly. It was very much not true. Well, the single part was, currently. The other wasn’t, except in the Franchise’s eyes. To management, sex involved a penis and a vagina. From their perspective, Layla would die a virgin.

The woman looked down at her handwritten notes. If she could even spell the word computer, Layla would be astounded. “You can change in room six. Use locker twenty-one for your discarded clothing.” She handed Layla a key on a weather-beaten leather thong, then indicated the paper package containing her uniform. “You will collect your weapon as you leave.”

Weapon. Did she really have to use that word?

Layla could have recited the woman’s instructions from her memories of the past few years. She dutifully heard her out again, then sought out room six.

Within the room, she stripped, leaving her warm clothing on the metal table. It and a tall mirror were the only furnishings present. Naked, she shivered in the sudden cold, then unwrapped her uniform, which consisted of a diaphanous chiton with a golden belt and pair of silvery slippers. All three pieces seemed to be sized for a young child, yet each flowed into place without stretching, the chiton only a little too snug in the chest and hips.

The near-transparent chiton, tied at both shoulders, and ending above the knees, did little to repel the cold. She shivered as she checked the mirror, noting that her chilly nipples were hard within the translucent spidersilk top. She tied the belt, then dropped the slippers onto the floor and stepped into them.

Her reflection in the mirror faded. It took, she guessed, a little over a second from being fully present in the mirror to being invisible. The effect was creepy, and, as always, she looked for any kind of ghostly image of herself, but found nothing. She waved her arms around, seeing no change to the view.

As her reflected image had faded, the chill of the room had vanished. The uniform protected her from heat and cold, but as with the invisibility, it only worked when it was complete.

She stared at the mirror again, trying to remember the trick she’d been taught when she was first hired. It took a few seconds, but then she was back in the mirror, though fuzzy, and the chiton didn’t do much to hide her dark olive boobs or black bush. You couldn’t wear anything but the uniform, or you’d appear to be a glinting navel stud or a thong floating in the air.

Among the property owned by the Franchise, it seemed that only the uniforms were high quality. She’d heard they had been created – woven? conjured? handed down by a god? – around eight hundred years ago, when magic still persisted in the old world. Though on her first stint, the redhead at the front desk had told her the work had been over a millenium old even then.

The cloth was rumored to be indestructible, though she’d never had the desire to test the theory. When she wore it, light passed straight through her. Which should mean she was blind, of course, but the uniform’s magic had its own rules. It allowed her to see, and even to see what it turned invisible, with the right effort.

The uniform could also be summoned. With so little magic available, it took a ritual, but when that was performed, the clothing would instantly return to the Franchise, leaving the hunter suddenly stark naked and freezing in a crowd. Layla had been warned that if she broke the rules, that was a fate she would suffer. She’d heard rumors that the punishment had occasionally been used.

The fabric was also resistant to dirt, but not impervious, and these days looked somewhat gray and shabby, though as it was invisible when worn, that wasn’t of major importance.

Layla left the room, carrying her clothing. The woman at the desk glanced up at what must appear to be her shirt and jeans floating through the air. She found locker twenty-one, opened it with her key, then folded her clothes as she placed them inside, taking her wallet and phone.

“Don’t forget to collect your weapon,” the woman said, without looking up from her notes. She must have caught the floating phone and key at the edge of her sight.

Layla shook her head as she picked up one of the quivers hanging on the wall. She stuffed her key and wallet in the pocket on the side of the quiver, then shut down her phone and added it. It would be awkward if her phone rang in empty air. She took one of the small horn bows. She could see the bow, faded, but to the woman behind her it would have vanished from sight when she touched it.

Ignoring the door, Layla stepped through the building wall. Another feature of the magic. If a door opens and no one passes through, suspicions rise. Especially if the door then closes.

As the dry woman had pointed out, it was lunchtime. Returning to familiar surroundings would reduce her count. She didn’t want to take the time to walk thirty blocks. She’d heard of hunters using public transportation, but staying out of the way of passengers had to be a near-impossible task. So she’d have to find a nearer hunting ground.

She’d noticed a Greek restaurant on the next block. It was a little early to find romantic opportunities at a restaurant but maybe there would be office workers taking an early business lunch. Liaisons between coworkers often needed little assistance.

She jogged to the restaurant, pleased to see that several people were entering the door. To avoid them, Layla stepped through the front window, surprised to find that the restaurant was already quite busy. Surely there would be a potential couple here.

The other gift the uniform bestowed was a degree of empathy. She could detect emotions within individuals and groups, and gain a sense of a person’s status. She couldn’t read minds, but she could tell whether someone was satisfied with their current condition. Were they in a relationship? Single? Looking for a night of hot sex? Seeking a partner? A relationship would earn her a significant bonus after the Big Day was over. Or, if she spent less time contemplating their compatibility, she could target one night stands, trying for quantity over quality.

Case in point – there was a pairing that was guaranteed to be successful at a nearby table, but he was middle-aged and decidedly not single. He was in a position of power over the young brunette with him at the table. Layla sensed that he was planning to add her to his list of conquests. The woman, meanwhile, felt a degree of respect for the man, and was concerned about her career. They were going to end up in bed together without Layla’s assistance, and the thought made her sick. Of course, she could take the easy win, but the idea disgusted her.

At a table beyond those two was a pair who were a better prospect. She was very uncertain about going forward. He was less so, but still nervous. Giving them the gift of romance seemed like a worthwhile plan, and she’d get her Valentine bonus. She moved around the restaurant, avoiding bumping into a group of office staff being shown to their table, until she had a clear line to the woman’s chest, no menus or objects in her way.

Layla took one of the two arrows from her quiver, nocked it, and shot the woman through the heart.

The feelings she sensed with the woman changed immediately. She seemed eager, if unfocused about the reason.

Layla moved to a new vantage, removing the second arrow from her quiver. They were always in pairs, to bind a couple. If she waited more than one hundred seconds, the second arrow would vanish, and she’d be docked for the cost of an unsuccessful shot. She had just over a minute to line up and fire. Eight minutes and twenty seconds after using both arrows, the quiver would again contain two. She knew of no reason for the times, but they were the same for all quivers of all hunters.

Sometimes, even if both shafts landed perfectly, the action would lead to nothing. There seemed to have to be an underlying attraction for the magic to work. There was no penalty for a failure, but neither was there a reward. She didn’t think that would be a problem here.

The waitress had moved up to take the couple’s order. She wasn’t an obstacle, though, so Layla raised her bow and loosed.

A fraction of a second before she released the arrow, a large man at the table beside her pushed his chair back into Layla’s hip. She had to dodge out of the way of the chair, and the man, who wore a confused look. When she turned back to her targets, the man was unaffected, but the waitress’s cheeks had flushed, and she was staring at the woman with eyes that seemed to glow.

Same sex relationships were not approved by the Franchise operator. Layla was not certain whether the rules were global, or the local Franchisee was especially conservative, but they’d been strictly instructed that targets must be a man and a woman.

“Did you just shoot the waitress?”

The soft, hissed words came from behind her. Layla jumped, feeling her skin crawl. Every short hair on her arms twisted away from her body. She managed to remain silent, but it was a close call. She turned slowly, expecting to find that a restaurant patron had somehow penetrated the magic.

Instead, she found a slender girl with wild dark curls, as ghostly as herself, a horn bow on her back. Layla could see the table behind her through the hunter, though her body was clearly visible to Layla, the translucent chiton revealing small, eye-catchingly shapely breasts, narrow waist, hips only a little wider, and dark, close-cropped fur between her thighs. Layla realized she was gawking and attempted to focus on the girl’s eyes, discovering that they’d been wandering too. Her cheeks were as tinged with pink as the waitress’s.

Damn. The waitress. She’d been distracted from her fuckup. She turned back to see that the short woman was gone. “Uh, yeah, I did,” she whispered. “My aim was off.”

“Cool. That’s how you want to play it?” the girl whispered. “I don’t think they’ll buy the excuse. I’ll stick around so I can get an eyeful when they summon your uniform back.”

“If you’re here to creep on me, you can at least tell me your name.”

“Layla.” She didn’t turn to the girl, watching the woman at the table as she rose from her seat.

“Follow her, O soon to be naked one,” hissed Carmen.

“That’s wishful thinking,” Layla said. “I hope.”

“I hope, too.” There was amusement in the girl’s tone.

“I think we’re hoping for different things. Also, you’re an ass.”

Ivy’s heart was racing. She’d never done anything like this before. She’d caught the waitress’s hungry look, and her glance towards the restroom. Poppy was the name on her enameled badge, which she wore against her white shirt, against the swell of her breasts. Nice round breasts in a short, rounded body. Maybe the best breasts she’d ever noticed. Mostly because she’d tried to avoid noticing breasts before, being straight.

She wondered if Poppy was straight, too.