Love Spells & Late Fees Read online

  Despite all that, I’d come a long way in a short space of time. I’d even claimed my dad’s old wand, thought lost for years, and I’d done far braver things than asking the Reaper to dinner since my induction into the magical world.

  My phone buzzed with a message. I retrieved it from my pocket, expecting the text to be from Xavier, but instead it was from Laney, who’d been my best friend since before I’d moved from the library.

  Are you doing anything fun on Valentine’s Day?

  I rarely thought of my old life before the library these days, except when Laney messaged me. While I’d alluded to my new relationship in my messages to her, telling her I was dating the angel of death would not be a good idea. And not just because telling normals about the magical world was frowned upon at best. Still, I hated lying to someone who’d once been the only friend I’d had.

  I think I’ll have a date, I responded.

  With the dreamy guy you like? When can I meet him?

  I hesitated to respond. While mentioning Xavier was the one way I could keep my best friend updated on my new life without having to lie, having her meet him in person was something else entirely. I’d need to think about that one.

  “Danger!” yelled a shrill voice. My crow familiar, Jet, tapped on the window from the inside.

  Frowning, I walked over to him. “What is it?”

  Estelle dropped the notebook on the desk and hurried to join me. “What’s the issue?”

  “Something outside, I think.” I moved to the oak doors leading outside and pushed them open.

  On the doorstep, Cupid lay flat on his back, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. Silence fell as Estelle crouched over his body for a moment, then straightened upright.

  “He won’t wake up,” she said tremulously. “I think he’s dead.”

  2

  Cupid lay sprawled on the steps, his wings splayed at odd angles and the arrows from his costume scattered all over the ground.

  “Did anyone see who did it?” I scanned the town square, of which the library covered an entire side, but it was before nine in the morning and few people were outside. “Was it one of his own arrows they shot him with?”

  “It looks the same,” Estelle said. “I’ll call the police.”

  As she ducked back into the library, I had little choice but to stay beside the body on the steps and cross my fingers that the square stayed deserted until the police showed up. Estelle had wanted to draw more business to the library, but a dead body on the doorstep wasn’t what any of us had had in mind.

  Jet flew down to land on my shoulder. “Arrows!”

  “Did you see who did it?” I asked my familiar.

  “No, partner,” he said solemnly. “Is he dead?”

  “I think so.” I drew in a breath. “Can you fly around town and tell me if you see anyone carrying arrows or otherwise acting suspiciously?”

  “Of course, partner!” He took flight in a beat of wings, the undercurrent of air lifting the hair from my forehead. A rattling noise sounded as one of the arrows tumbled down the steps onto the ground.

  Hang on a second. There was no blood on the arrow that’d hit Cupid, nor any visible signs of an injury—and besides, the arrows were props bought from a costume shop. They shouldn’t be able to deal someone a fatal wound.

  “I don’t think he’s dead.” I called over my shoulder. “Estelle?”

  No answer. She must already be on the phone to the police. I pushed open the door to the library and called, “Aunt Adelaide? Can you help me out here?”

  My aunt hurried into view. “Someone was shot, Estelle said. Who is he?”

  “Harris Jones. The guy we hired as Cupid.” I indicated his sprawling body. “Look at the arrows. They aren’t real.”

  Aunt Adelaide crouched down beside Harris, while I took his wrist in my hand, feeling the unmistakable flutter of a pulse. “He is alive.”

  “Estelle!” Aunt Adelaide called. “Were there any witnesses, do you know?”

  “I sent Jet to scout around.” I pointed to the dark shape of the little crow flying over the town square.

  “Those arrows aren’t sharp enough to cause more than a papercut.” Aunt Adelaide carefully picked one of them up. “Unless magic was involved.”

  Estelle reappeared in the doorway, her phone in her hand. “Did you say he wasn’t dead?”

  “Someone spelled him,” said Aunt Adelaide. “Or spelled the arrows, at any rate.”

  “He looks dead.” Estelle climbed down the steps alongside Harris’s body. “Which is the arrow that hit him?”

  “That one.” I pointed to the arrow that lay across his chest. “The arrow must have been spelled, or they wouldn’t have been able to do any damage by stabbing him with it.”

  Estelle crouched beside him and lifted the arrow, holding it up to examine it closer. When I peered at the edge, it became clear that a bright pink liquid stained the arrow tip. “There’s some kind of potion on it,” she said, “but I already told Edwin he was dead. He’ll be on his way here.”

  “Since he’s not dead, we should get him off the doorstep before people start gossiping,” said Aunt Adelaide.

  She pulled out her wand and gave it a flick, levitating Harris’s body through the open doors into the library. Estelle and I hastened to gather the arrows, depositing them on the front desk while Aunt Adelaide laid Harris down on the carpet in the lobby. He didn’t move or speak, and his eyes remained closed. No wonder Estelle and I had mistaken him for dead.

  “How do we wake him up?” I flicked through my Biblio-Witch Inventory, though I hadn’t started learning how to undo complicated spells in my lessons yet.

  Aunt Adelaide scrutinised Harris’s body. “You can try a reversal spell, but if the potion is powerful, it’ll require a specialist antidote.”

  Estelle pulled out her own Biblio-Witch Inventory and tapped a word, but Harris didn’t stir. I peered over her shoulder as she pressed her fingertip to the word wake, but again, there was no change.

  “Let’s see if it works if we both do it at the same time.” I grabbed the plain notebook I kept in my pocket and turned to a blank page. “Ready?”

  I pressed my pen to the notepad at the same time as Estelle readied herself to use her Biblio-Witch Inventory again. Then I wrote the word, wake.

  Harris’s eyelids didn’t so much as flutter. Aunt Adelaide pursed her lips. “As I thought. A simple spell wouldn’t have such a strong effect on him, but he’s out cold.”

  “That, or I need more training.” I returned the pen and notebook to my pocket. Every time I thought I was making strides in my magical education, another reminder of something I hadn’t covered yet came along and made me feel like an amateur again.

  “What’ve you done now?” Cass entered the library, a bag from the familiar shop in one hand and an arrow in the other.

  “Cass,” said Estelle. “Did you go to extreme measures to stop Cupid delivering?”

  “What?” Cass dropped the arrow on the desk alongside the others. “What are you talking about? I found this on the doorstep.”

  “Someone put a potion on one of the arrows before using it to stab our Cupid,” I explained. “Harris is unconscious, and we thought he was dead.”

  “Who…” Cass’s gaze fell on the sleeping body of Harris Jones. “You think I did that to him? I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”

  “It was a joke,” said Estelle. “You’ve been talking about how stupid his costume is all week.”

  “It is stupid.” Cass headed for the entryway into our family’s living quarters. “I’m not surprised someone objected to it so much that they decided to shoot the messenger.”

  Estelle approached the desk. “We should make sure the other arrows aren’t covered in the potion, too. Maybe they can give us a clue about what kind of potion was used on him.”

  “Before that, we’ll move him,” said Aunt Adelaide. “We open in less than an hour. I can’t imagine our patrons will want to be g
reeted by an unconscious Cupid.”

  “He didn’t even get around to delivering the letters,” Estelle said ruefully, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of envelopes.

  “Deal with those later,” said Aunt Adelaide. “I’ll take the arrows. You two, take Harris into the Reading Corner and wait for the police to show up.”

  Estelle and I levitated Harris onto a vacant sofa at the back of the ground floor. The Reading Corner was a cosy area containing hammocks, beanbags and comfy seats, surrounded by shelves lined with well-thumbed volumes of escapist fiction. For that reason, it was among my favourite hangouts in the library, and one of the few places which stayed relatively predictable by the library’s standards.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Estelle. “I’m sure your mum will get to the bottom of this. She’s knowledgeable and experienced.”

  In the unlikely event that she couldn’t find the answer, there was always the Book of Questions. But that wouldn’t tell us who had shot Cupid, and why.

  She exhaled in a sigh. “I know, but I can’t figure out why someone would choose to stab him with one of his own arrows. They must have taken the arrow from him and then dipped it in the potion.”

  “They must have had a good shot, then, or they were standing at close range,” I commented. “Which makes it weirder that they disappeared so fast.”

  “They might not have.” She sat down on a beanbag. “He was lying out there for a good ten minutes before I thought to look outside.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” I said. “I didn’t think to look, either. You don’t expect Cupid to get shot by one of his own arrows, do you?”

  Estelle picked up a handful of confetti from the floor of the Reading Corner. “Between this and Sylvester, it’ll be lucky if anyone shows up to the poetry night special on Monday.”

  “We have enough time to turn this around.” It was usually Estelle who reassured me, not the other way around, but she’d put so much time and effort into organising the week’s events that I hated to see it ruined. “Just ask for another volunteer to play Cupid.”

  “Without mentioning what happened to the last one,” Estelle added. “But he won’t be able to name the person who shot him until we can figure out how to undo whatever potion they used on him.”

  “There’s got to be a counter-spell or cure which can wake him up,” I said. “Aunt Adelaide will be able to figure it out if neither of us can.”

  “Mm.” She glanced at the door. “I hope so. Who would even do this?”

  “Didn’t he say someone chased him around yesterday after a bad breakup?” I asked. “Maybe they were hoping he’d sleep through Valentine’s Day altogether.”

  Her eyes widened. “I should have paid more attention. I didn’t realise people would be this antagonistic over Valentine’s cards.”

  The sound of the door opening echoed throughout the ground floor. “There’s Edwin.”

  We reached the front desk to find the elf policeman had entered the library, accompanied by his two troll guards. The elf looked unintimidating compared his two bodyguards, but their brutish muscles belied their affable natures. One of them—a tall grey-skinned troll named Rocky—gave me a cheery wave, and I waved back.

  “You claimed there was a body on your doorstep,” the elf said. “Where is he?”

  “He’s over here, but he’s not dead.” I beckoned him to the Reading Corner. “Our Cupid was shot by one of his own arrows, spiked with some kind of potion that sent him into a coma. We brought him indoors when we realised that he was still alive.”

  Estelle walked into step with Edwin. “I panicked when I found his body and forgot to check for a pulse, but he’s definitely alive.”

  Edwin and his two troll guards walked with us through the library to the spot where Harris lay. The chief of police leaned over his sleeping body. “What kind of potion was it?”

  “Aunt Adelaide is running tests on the arrow he was shot with to figure it out,” I explained. “We don’t think the shooter intended to kill him, but that’s all we know so far.”

  “Were there any witnesses?” he asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I said. “My familiar spotted him lying outside the window. Estelle, Aunt Adelaide and I were in the library and didn’t hear anything outside.”

  “Ah, Edwin.” Aunt Adelaide approached us, an arrow in her hand. “I identified the potion they used on the arrow. It’s called Poison Apple. Very strong stuff. I expect he’ll be unconscious for as long as it takes to brew the antidote, but when he wakes up, he’ll be able to identify who shot him.”

  “Poison Apple?” I said. “What, you mean like from Snow White?”

  “Poison?” echoed Edwin. “Is this a homicide or not?”

  “Despite the name, it’s rarely fatal,” she said. “However, Poison Apple puts the victim into a deep sleep until an antidote is found. Unfortunately, it has only one antidote, and it’s a complex one to make. I’d give it at least a few days to brew.”

  “If that’s the case, I will let the boy’s parents know,” said Edwin. “And I will put out a call for witnesses. Is he the boy who’s been delivering cards for the last few days?”

  “He is,” I said. “I heard he had trouble with some of the people he delivered cards to, so it’s possible one of them reacted badly.”

  “Yes, I heard he delivered a private note from a wereferret to a wererabbit which caused the entire local wereferret pack to declare a feud against the wererabbit’s chief,” he said. “They met through the blind dating service. Was that here in the library?”

  “The blind dating service?” I echoed. “That’s not ours. Estelle is organising the card delivery, but it’s Hayley Sutton who set up the blind dating service at the town hall. Do you think this wereferret might have been angry enough with Cupid to want to take him out of the picture?”

  “It’s not my place to judge,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I will call the boy’s family.”

  He walked away from the Reading Corner, while his troll guards left the library through the front doors, perhaps to look around for potential witnesses. I didn’t believe anybody who worked in the town square would have seen Harris being shot, otherwise they’d have let us know. The other shops were too far away from the library to be in with a clear view, and even if the shooter had hidden inside one of them, he’d be long gone by now.

  Aunt Adelaide made a quick call, too, then returned to join us in the Reading Corner. “The hospital doesn’t have any master alchemists on staff, so they’re looking into their options. That potion is notoriously difficult to craft and even harder to counter. My guess is that they’ll have to bring in a specialist.”

  “Did the person who made the Poison Apple brew it themselves?” I asked. “Because if it’s that hard to do, then surely that narrows the list of possible suspects.”

  “True,” said Estelle. “But—if he’s unconscious for days, how is he supposed to tell us who did it?”

  “He isn’t,” said Aunt Adelaide. “I’ll see what the local alchemists say. Can one of you keep an eye on the front desk?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll leave a sign up saying the library’s closed until noon,” said Estelle, resigned. “It’s better than having people walk in and out of here with Harris lying here looking like he’s dead.”

  Edwin returned, a harried expression on his face. “Adelaide, I’ll have to take that arrow, as evidence.”

  “Fine, but make sure nobody touches the end of it,” she said. “We don’t need anyone else rendered comatose.”

  “No, we certainly do not.” He carefully took the arrow from her between his fingertips. “I heard what you said about the hospital. Do any of the books here in the library contain the recipe for the antidote?”

  “We certainly have a number of books containing that information,” said Aunt Adelaide. “However, potions aren’t my speciality. That’s more my sister’s area. I’ll speak to her.”

  “Good luck with that,”
Estelle said in an undertone. “If I were you, I’d hire an alchemist instead.”

  “I guess we’re going to need to hire a new Cupid, too,” I added.

  “I have a few people on reserve,” said Estelle. “It was a fairly popular idea before it all started to go wrong.”

  “I suppose the generous pay makes up for being chased by angry romantically scorned people,” I said. “But—is the new Cupid going to want to go ahead with it after what happened to the last guy? I’m not sure we’ll be able to keep this quiet.”

  Estelle’s face fell. “Good point.”

  “What’s going on?” Aunt Candace walked out of the family’s living quarters. At once, her gaze went to Harris’s unconscious body. “What did you do? Bore him to sleep?”

  “He’s in a coma,” said Estelle. “Someone shot him with one of his own arrows.”

  “Doesn’t look like he’s been shot to me.” As usual, a pen hovered at Aunt Candace’s side, scribbling away in a floating notebook. “What did they shoot him with?”

  “The arrow was spiked with a potion,” said Estelle. “Poison Apple, my mum said.”

  “How unfortunate,” said Aunt Candace. “Someone got angry over his love notes, did they?”

  “So it seems,” said Aunt Adelaide. “You still have those books on how to brew up antidotes for strong sleeping potions in your research cave, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “Why, are you asking me to brew you a cure?”

  “If we can’t find anyone else,” said Aunt Adelaide. “I will continue checking the other arrows to see if they might be covered in the same potion, or if the shooter left any traces of their identity behind.”

  “Excuse me?” said Aunt Candace. “You can’t find anyone to brew this cure for you aside from me?”