He had just turned his back to retreat to the kitchen when the scream tore through the diner.
It was sharp, startled, and cut off in the middle, followed instantly by the sound of a violent scuffle. Marcus spun around, abandoning the tray on the nearest table, the bowl rattling dangerously.
The booth was chaos.
Legs were kicking wildly against the underside of the table. There were shouts in a melodic, frantic language he didn't understand. The older woman had dove halfway under the table, her dress riding up her thighs as she wrestled with something on the floor.
She yanked upward, the muscles in her arm straining, and dragged a creature out into the light.
She held it high by the scruff of its collar, shaking it once for good measure.
"Glimmuck!" she snapped, the word sounding like a curse. "Damn Glimmucks under the table again."
Before Marcus could process what he was seeing, the younger girl let out a yelp of her own and dove under the bench seat. There was more thumping, muffled curses, and the sound of fabric tearing. A moment later she emerged, flushed and breathless, gripping another struggling figure by the ankle.
Marcus stared. His brain stalled, trying to categorize the data his eyes were feeding him.
He had expected rats. Maybe a raccoon.
Instead, he was looking at two of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen.
They were tiny—no more than three and a half feet tall—but they were undeniably alive and shockingly human in proportion.
The one the older sister held was male. He was dressed in a vest made of stitched scraps that looked stylishly rugged. He had tousled, sun-streaked hair and a face that belonged on a movie poster—all chiseled jawline, mischievous charm, and eyes that were a piercing, electric blue. If someone had shrunk a leading man to the size of a toddler, this was the result.
The younger girl dragged the second one up onto the seat. It was a female. She was holding a stolen gold fork in one hand, clutching it to her chest.
Marcus felt the air leave his lungs. The female Glimmuck was… breathtaking. She was a half-sized "blonde bombshell", a perfect miniature of a screen siren. She had platinum blonde curls that bounced as she struggled, pale, luminous skin, and curves that were exaggerated and flawless. Her dress was a scrap of red silk tied to barely contain her breasts and hips.
"What… exactly are those people things?" Marcus managed, his voice sounding thin in the quiet room.
The older elf woman rolled her eyes, shifting her grip on the male Glimmuck's collar as he tried to bite her wrist. "They're Glimmucks. harmless, unless you have gold or easily distracted."
The younger girl piped up, shaking her own captive, who was currently pouting with devastating effectiveness. "Gold sniffers. They can smell it a mile away. And they're… well, let's just say they're very good at getting what they want."
The older sister huffed, dodging a swat from the male. "Manipulative as hell. And hyper-sexual. Don't take your eyes off them—or your wallet. They evolved to be beautiful so you wouldn't kill them when you caught them stealing."
The Glimmucks just grinned. They didn't seem bothered by the rough handling. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying the attention.
Marcus moved in for a closer look, entranced despite himself.
The female Glimmuck—Pearl, though he didn't know her name yet—locked eyes with him. She stopped struggling immediately. She shifted her posture, arching her back to accentuate the swell of her chest and the curve of her hips. Her lips, painted a natural deep rose, curled into a slow, wicked smirk.
She made a deliberate show of running her small, pink tongue along the inside of her cheek. Then, maintaining unblinking eye contact, she let her tongue bulge suggestively against her lower lip, licking it slowly. Her gaze slid down Marcus's body, lingering on his chest, his belt buckle, and the bulge in his jeans, before flicking back up to his eyes.
There was no mistaking the invitation. It was raw, primal, and incredibly confusing coming from someone so small.
Marcus blinked, recoiling a half-step. "Jesus."
The male Glimmuck turned the same look on the older sister, raising his eyebrows and giving a lazy, knowing wink that suggested he knew exactly what she looked like under that green dress.
"They… uh… they always like this?" Marcus asked, heat rising in his neck.
The younger girl grinned, not bothering to hide her amusement at his discomfort. "You have no idea. They're notorious for it. Looks, hands, tongues, all the rest. They use it as a defense. And a weapon."
She paused, then added, "Plus, they're built… well, let's just say, they come equipped."
The older sister deadpanned, her face stony. "Full-size hardware. Don't ask how, you don't want to know. It's part of the trap."
Marcus stared at the female Glimmuck. She batted her thick lashes at him and licked her lips again, this time making a soft, satisfied little hum in her throat. It was a sound of pure hunger. It made his skin crawl and tingle at the same time.
"They don't talk much," the younger girl said, tightening her grip as the female tried to wriggle free toward Marcus. "But they can if they want something. Usually, they let their bodies do the negotiating."
The male Glimmuck let his hand "slip," brushing his knuckles against the older sister's thigh. He grinned up at her, a look of pure, unadulterated trouble in any size.
Marcus took a shaky breath, trying to regain control of his diner. "So… they're here for gold? That's all they want?"
The older sister shrugged. "Mostly. They can smell it, even if it's hidden. But honestly, they'll take anything shiny if you're not careful. And if you are careful, they'll just distract you until you aren't."
"I don't have any gold here," Marcus said.
The female Glimmuck leaned forward as far as the younger girl's grip would allow. Her voice was breathy, a sultry whisper that carried across the table.
"Gold isn't the only thing worth tasting, you know." 1
She winked, open and shameless.
Marcus stepped back, nearly knocking over a chair. "Okay. Right. That's… new."
The older sister sighed, finally dropping the male Glimmuck onto the seat. "Don't worry. As long as you keep your hands to yourself—and your fly zipped—you'll be fine. Probably."
The Glimmucks sat up, rearranging their stolen clothes, looking perfectly pleased with the chaos they had caused. The female kept her eyes glued to Marcus, tracing the line of his jaw with a look that said she was saving him for dessert.
Marcus eyed them warily. They looked half-starved despite the bravado.
"Do they even eat food?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.
The older sister nodded. "Pretty much anything humans eat—or what we eat—they'll eat. They got really excited over that oatmeal smell. That's why they started raising hell under the table when you took it away."
The younger girl chimed in. "They love sweet stuff. Sugar makes them vibrate. But they'll eat anything with calories."
Nodding, glad for a task, Marcus headed back to the kitchen. He grabbed the tray with the rejected oatmeal and poured two more small bowls.
When he set them down on the table, the Glimmucks didn't hesitate. They dove in, spooning oatmeal into their mouths with a breakneck speed that betrayed their desperation, making little moans of pure, gluttonous bliss.
"Little menaces," Marcus muttered, watching the female lick a drop of brown sugar from her thumb with suggestive slowness. He couldn't help but smirk.
With the Glimmucks happily distracted by sugar, the mood in the room finally broke. The tension snapped. The older sister cracked a small, weary smile, and the younger one finally looked at the menu instead of the door.
For the first time all morning, the diner felt like it might actually survive breakfast.