The Cupid Conundrum

by Lucy True

  With the tips of her fingers, Burgundy peeled back the plastic film covering the food and released the steam. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but we’ve got more important things happening at the moment. Whoever is responsible for this love epidemic came into the library today and I caught him.”

  “Caught him?” Arthur straightened and his tail swished from side to side. “Where is he?”

  “Well...” Now Burgundy couldn’t help but squirm. She looked down at the floor and muttered, “I couldn’t exactly hold onto him, so he got away because he’s much more powerful than I expected.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Your commentary is really useful, you know that?” She brought her food to the table and sat heavily in her chair. After the day she’d had, she didn’t need a fire-breathing lizard to make her feel worse. She remained keenly aware of the fact that the person responsible for the random couplings in town had slipped from her grasp.

  Arthur flew across the room and perched on the chair behind her. Warm breath blew from his nostrils in curls of inoffensive smoke. “Then what are those?” he asked, nodding toward the arrows in the center of the table.

  “That’s how the love is getting spread. I think the arrows are coated with a love potion,” Burgundy explained. She took a bit of the food, which sort of resembled the creamy pasta and spinach on the box. It tasted a little chalky, a reminder of why the frozen meals sat, uneaten.

  The firedrake tilted his head from side to side. “So are you saying our Cupid is a witch?”

  “Sort of. He’s a self-professed warlock and he was adamant about that distinction.”

  Now Arthur blew out a puff of smoke, along with rasping laughter. “Of course he was. Warlocks are a rare, but proud breed. The few sane ones that exist are on the Witches Council. The rest think themselves above the law.”

  That tidbit of information hammered home the fact that Burgundy was woefully behind on her magickal education. Once again, a stab of regret for the six years she’d invested in a college education pierced her. But the last thing she wanted was to spend her entire life being nothing more than the town’s witch. Her aunt had neither approved nor disapproved of the decision. Instead, she sat quietly by while Burgundy pursued a normal mortal education. In exchange for the freedom to do so, Burgundy had promised to devote her free time to witchcraft.

  Now the universe was throwing it in her face, as if to say, “Look at all the things you don’t know. Don’t you feel stupid, now?”

  “Hmm.” The way Arthur hummed told her he was inspecting the arrows more thoroughly, his head still turning this way and that, and his claws digging a bit into her shoulder. “I don’t think there’s a potion on the actual arrowhead. Whatever magick is in play here, it seems to be infused in the arrow itself.”

  “Like... maybe the arrowheads are hollow and filled with potion?”

  The clock above the table ticked the seconds away as both she and Arthur stared at the pair of arrows. “Well,” the firedrake finally said, “are you going to see if your theory is correct?”

  “Are you kidding – touch those?” Burgundy could still feel the magick emanating from the arrowheads. “The last thing I need is to fall in love with you.”

  Arthur recoiled and let out another raspy chuckle. “I’m sure it’s only effective on humanoid matches, Burg. Though I don’t blame you. Safety first, especially with magick.”

  With a hesitant reach, Burgundy finally curled her fingers around the shaft of one of the arrows and lifted it. The arrow weighed no more than a pencil or pen, and well-balanced between the arrowhead and the fletching. She turned it over and squinted at the tip. “I’m no expert, but it feels like it would fly pretty far. You’d think it would have a way to spray out the potion onto whoever it hits, but I don’t see a hole or anything.”

  “Perhaps it shatters upon impact,” Arthur offered.

  Eyes still narrowed, Burgundy shook her head. “No. One of these hit a wall and the other, well, I don’t know what it hit. But they’re both perfectly intact.”

  “Maybe it takes flesh. This could be magick layered on magick, you know. You did say it was a warlock. They can do things far beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better.” Burgundy set the arrow back on the plastic, carefully so as not to hit the arrowhead or jostle the other in case there was a mechanism that might release the potion. Everything about the day was draining her interest in food, conversation, and even the idea of getting up in the morning didn’t sound too appealing. “He said he knew me, that I’m the whole reason he’s here.”

  Arthur’s tongue flicked out and his nostrils flared. “That’s not creepy or anything.”

  “Right? That’s what I said.” Burgundy tapped her fingers against the table and tossed her hair. On the one hand, she was glad to have some answers. However, knowing people were suffering as a result of his actions made it impossible to carry on from here as if nothing were wrong. “I don’t know anyone who would be out to get me for any reason. What about Aunt Iris – could she have any enemies?”

  “Why don’t you ask me if the world could end tomorrow? Of course she could have enemies. Anything is possible, but not anything is probable.”

  As she threw the last of her cheap microwave pasta in the trash, Burgundy thought about the people she’d seen come and go in her aunt’s home over the years. Occasionally, there were strangers, people passing through town or seeking Iris for some magickal reason. Never had there been a disgruntled customer.

  Despite that, it was the only plausible explanation.

  “I see the wheels in your mind turning.” Arthur glided down onto the table, still maintaining a distance from the arrows, and sat back on his haunches to look her in the eye. “What’s going on, Burg?”

  “But why the whole town?” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  Burgundy chewed on her lower lip. “I mean... Okay, say someone is pissed at Aunt Iris. Like, really pissed. Maybe she gave them a potion that went horribly awry or a spell that didn’t have the effect they expected. Whatever it is that made them mad, why would they come into Rock Grove and wreak havoc when she’s not even here?”

  “Ahhh...” Arthur lifted a foreclaw, but then dropped it. “Right. I see your point.”

  “It seems purely malicious to cause this kind of chaos. Then again, ugh, Charlotte would say I’m overthinking things. Maybe I am.” Burgundy reached up to rub at her temples.

  “She would,” Arthur agreed, “but are you?”

  Snapping her gaze back to the two arrows, Burgundy pondered the firedrake’s words. “No, definitely not. If I don’t get the answers I need, people might die. I’m not going to stop until I can make everything right.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  She sent another, pleading email to her aunt, explaining the situation. There wasn’t much more she could do, especially since Burgundy didn’t know how to brew the potions that might or might not counteract the effects of the arrows. She considered trying, but there were too many dangerous variables. Potion-making was a highly specialized field. That was even truer of those meant to alter a person’s mindset or emotions.

  Before leaving for work, Burgundy rifled through her aunt’s stillroom. “There has to be something,” she grumbled to herself. Tucking her brown-blue hair behind her ears, she bent and started opening and closing drawers.

  “What are you doing?” Arthur sounded a tad perturbed and Burgundy realized she’d probably awakened him from a sound sleep. In a way, she thought the little dragon was more cat than lizard – always finding the warmest spot in house to curl up and nap.

  With a helpless flap of her hands, she said, “I’m looking for anything that might help me with this little love situation.”

  “Define ‘anything’ because, once again, you’re asking something too broad.”

  Burgundy straightened and held her hands in front of her, ticking off a list on her fingers. “I’m hoping to find a stas
h of anti-love potions I might have overlooked, threats from an angry warlock, names I don’t recognize, or any other clue that might help me figure out who this person is and why this is happening in Rock Grove of all places.”

  “Tall order.”

  “Quite.” Burgundy folded her arms and turned in a circle, surveying the entire room from where she stood. Her aunt kept it tidy. That was a plus, but Burgundy didn’t know her aunt’s filing system. She didn’t know if there were places with hidden items. There had to be. Witches always had ways of concealing forbidden information or powerful charms. It wouldn’t do to have outsiders stumble on certain secrets. Or maybe the only secret was how her aunt kept the stillroom constantly smelling of patchouli, an odor that seemed to have permeated the walls over the years.

  “Maybe I could try to find Iris for you,” Arthur offered as he slinked around the desk, his delicate snout lifted to the air.

  “I don’t know why you haven’t bothered to try ever since this whole thing reared its ugly head. You’re her familiar. Shouldn’t you know where she is at all times? Don’t you have some sort of spiritual, magickal bond that transcends space?”

  The firedrake leapt up on the office chair in a corner of the room. The chair spun with the sudden addition of his weight. When it stopped, he said, “No. I mean, yes, most of the time. But when she goes on sabbatical, she usually cloisters herself with her coven. They keep their location a secret. By that, I mean they cast spells to keep everyone out. Everyone.”

  “Everyone, except Captain Morgan.” Burgundy thought about the photo she’d received from her aunt. “Could you find her based on a recent photo showing where she is?”

  “Would you please stop watching so much Netflix? I am not a psychokinetic thirteen-year-old.”

  Of all the times to cut off communication with the world, this had turned out to be the worst. Burgundy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Sorry. I just can’t believe she hasn’t even set up some kind of emergency plan with you.”

  “Your aunt anticipates many things. This, however, is beyond what anyone could have expected.” Arthur’s point made sense and Burgundy had to concede. Unusual things happened all the time in Rock Grove, but downright weird things were another story.

  “Fine. I have to get to work. Please do me a favor and see if you can reach out to her. I’d appreciate it so much.”

  It was the best she could do, but Burgundy went to work with tension radiating off her. Her hands clutched the steering wheel and she kept her foot light on the gas pedal, so she could scan the area while she drove. While she didn’t exactly think the warlock would jump out at her and yell “Boo!” she still hoped to catch a glimpse of him. Part of her could envision him skulking around in someone’s flower bed, waiting for the right moment to hit some poor, unsuspecting person with one of his love arrows.

  When she stopped for her usual cup of coffee, Charlotte was not at the diner. Burgundy placed her order with the waitress and then went on to the library, wondering where her friend was. The coffee didn’t seem to taste quite as good as usual, something she was sure was only in her imagination.

  The library was peaceful inside and she waited for a moment inside the front door, not quite sure what she was trying to hear. Turning on the lights made her feel only a little better. When her opening procedure took her downstairs, she hesitated outside Mr. Knight’s closed office door. After a moment, she knocked.

  Little murmurs beyond the door told her both Mr. Knight and Lynn were in there, so she said, “Hi, it’s Burgundy. I’m just letting you know I’m here. We open in twenty minutes.”

  She heard a muffled affirmation that they’d heard her and turned to finish her morning tasks. When both Sylvia and Marian arrived, she pointed at the central staircase and mouthed, “Still here.”

  Both of her co-workers nodded and Marian said, “Walter might come in today. I tried to convince him to stay at my aunt’s house, but I don’t think that will work.” She rolled her eyes and twisted her hair around her finger, clearly annoyed at the effort it took to be kind to a neighbor in need. “So, do you want me to work up here today?”

  “I don’t think so. It should be quiet.” Burgundy looked at Sylvia. “The children’s room needs some TLC. What do you think, Sylvia?”

  “Yes,” the other librarian agreed. “I actually need to do more book ordering, so if you could come downstairs today, I’d appreciate that.”

  “Sounds good, but...” Marian glanced at the door that concealed the antique stairs and, lowering her voice, asked, “How long do you think Lynn will be out of commission?”

  It was the same thing Burgundy was wondering and she shrugged. “No idea and I’m afraid to ask. Mr. Knight made it clear that he won’t tolerate me butting my nose into Lynn’s business, even though this affects the library.”

  Both Sylvia and Marian grimaced at her, but nodded. It was a catch-22 that Burgundy couldn’t see a way out of, unless she somehow reversed Mr. Knight’s new feelings for Lynn. Already, her mind was plotting out a to-do list of the steps necessary to get Rock Grove back to normal. At least, what passed for the supernatural town’s version of it. Stop the arrow flinging asshole warlock. Shake him down for information on how to reverse the spell. Get everything back to way it ought to be.

  Except, while the list sounded good in her head, it would be harder to put into practice. For one thing, she didn’t know where to being when it came to finding the warlock. The only reason she even managed to find him initially was because she was in the right place at the right time. She knew the odds of that happening again were pretty much nil, unless he had a reason to come back to the scene of the crime.

  Burgundy kept busy enough in the morning, emptying the book drop, checking items back in, and shelving them. Cass showed up early in the afternoon, a floppy straw hat pulled down low over her pretty face and concealing her long, red hair.

  “Cassandra, you know it’s November, right?” Burgundy knew her brows had drawn together in a quizzical expression, but she couldn’t stop herself. The middle-aged fortune teller looked more out of place than usual in a Hawaiian print dress and bulky winter coat. Maybe she really was going crazy as she aged. From what Burgundy understood, being thousands of years old could do that to some people.

  “Yes, Burgundy, thank you for that.” Cass didn’t sound at all grateful. “How else am I going to go about my business with that police officer pestering me for a date?”

  “I don’t know, but I have to say I wouldn’t go near you if I saw you in this get-up.”

  Cass threw her a glare that did nothing to quell Burgundy’s mirth. “Let me tell you, that little potion your aunt made did nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Really? How did you use it?” Burgundy didn’t know how Cass expected to get the potion into Al in the first place. It would have required sleight of hand to do it without him noticing.

  “I poured it in his coffee at the diner the next morning, but he didn’t drink it. Too fixated on me, I guess.” As Cass removed the floppy hat and set it on the desk, she asked, “Do you know what’s funny?”

  “Clowns,” Burgundy answered automatically.

  Now the woman squinted at her, confusion creasing her features. “Excuse me?”

  “Clowns. Clowns are funny.”

  “No, young lady, like you, they are very much not funny.” Color rose in Cass’s cheeks, flushing them a deep shade of scarlet that almost matched her hair.

  “Fine, I give up.” Burgundy threw her hands in the air. “I get it. I’m terrible at making jokes. Why don’t you tell me what’s funny?”

  “Funny is probably the wrong word. I guess I mean ironic. Anyway, this whole thing reminds me of the time all the children left town. Every last one of them, parading through the streets in an obedient little line. You were such a tiny thing at the time, maybe three or four. It must have been one of the most heartbreaking days of everyone’s lives.”

  Burgundy straightened in her chair and searched Ca
ss’s face for signs that she was joking. “What do you mean, left town?” she finally asked.

  “You don’t remember? Well...” Cass gestured toward the unused chair in front of the other computer at the desk, the one where the assistant usually sat. “Do you mind if I take a moment to rest? It clears the mind.”

  “Not at all.” If it would get Cass to tell her story any faster, Burgundy would have offered her a pedicure at that point. Anything to get the woman in the chair and talking about this strange occurrence from the town’s past. An occurrence Burgundy herself had apparently been involved in, yet no one had ever told her.

  The woman eased herself down and groaned. “I’m not as young as I used to be, you know. Thousands of years and more tragedies in my life than I care to recount. Of course, you’ve always been young and will be for a long time to come. But when you were very young, yes, you tried to leave town with the other children. It was peculiar, seeing all of them affected the same way.”

  “Affected by what?” Burgundy asked. Hearing about this made her blood run cold. How could her aunt let her grow up not knowing that, once upon a time, she’d tried to run away from Rock Grove?

  “No one ever knew.” Cass leaned back in the seat, now letting out an “aaah” as she relaxed. “I can see why you wanted to be a librarian, Burgundy. It’s serene and peaceful in here.”

  “Yes, it sure is,” Burgundy agreed, much more eager to talk about the original topic Cass had mentioned. “So what happened? I mean, when did the kids leave and when did they come back? Did all of them come back? Why did they leave?”

  “All those questions. I can see that’s also why you’re a librarian, Burgundy. It’s not only the serenity of the building. You love information, don’t you?” Cass folded her hands and pressed her lips together. “I’m pretty sure you were about three-years-old at the time, as far as the when. Summer of that year, I think. Anyway, one day, all the kids in town up and left. They must have come from all over, even you all the way out from your aunt’s house. The children walked miles before they stopped.”