Jason Sprinkles and the Cupid’s Bow

By Abigail McKenna

Here’s a fact: Santa Claus isn’t one person. He was, once, as far as we can tell, but now, he’s five, and they go by S.A.N.T.A.

Sven, Antonio, Nielson, Tantony, and Archibald—five, because expecting one man to do all they do in one night is ridiculous, even if he did have magic to help.

I know them because I work for them. I like to describe my job as “damage control,” meaning I have contacts in most of the magical factions, and I’m often tasked by S.A.N.T.A. to keep the peace between them. Occasionally it means that I must go visit them in person, which is how I end up in situations like this—up to my knees in water that’s actively rising.

Here’s another fact: public pools in the North Pole are ice rinks, so elves don’t swim.

I slosh forward, pushing my glasses up on my nose. “My ladies, I apologize for not calling ahead for an appointment, but this seems to be a bit much.”

A feminine voice speaks in Italian so rapidly I struggle to catch it. The water recedes, the tile floor magically drying itself. The Cupids, this branch of them at least, have occupied a four-story house in Venice for decades, with pinkish stucco walls and painted blue shutters. It’s a lovely home, though the magical defenses somewhat distract from the charm.

I’m leaning down to squeeze water from the cuffs of my pants when the same voice calls, “Jason Sprinkles! What a surprise! Come on through!”

My shoes squeak against the tiles as I step into the large central courtyard. I dance out of the way of two young Cupids who squeak apologies and carry on. Staircases rise on every side of the courtyard, and most of the Venice branch are present. Some flutter between floors on their white feathered wings while others sit in the sun and prepare arrows. February is their busy season, with Valentine’s feast just around the corner.

Lucia Cupid, dressed in leggings and a maroon leather jacket, is sitting at a wrought iron table with her laptop. She stands when I walk in. Her black hair curls around her ears as she extends her hand to me.

“Good morning, my lady.” I take her hand and offer her a little bow, then follow her request to sit. “You’re looking as lovely as always.”

Her smile says she’s happy to see me, though her eyes narrow in a playful squint. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I’ve been sent to request your services. A bit unorthodox, I know, but the Mrs. Clauses insisted.”

“Our services?” One eyebrow raises. “For whom?”

“Antonio.”

Someone who didn’t know her as well as I do might miss the slight hitch in her breathing, or how the other eyebrow rises to meet the first. I’m suddenly aware of all the eyes in the room, and how they’re all fixed on us. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dropped that information so bluntly.

“Is he looking for someone?”

“Not particularly. But he’s been a bit…” I tap a finger against my lips, trying to find the right word. “…disheartened, lately. I believe it started when you left, as a matter of fact.” There’s a flicker of emotion in her hazel eyes, but I continue. “The Mrs. Clauses thought a new romance might help break him out of his melancholy.”

Lucia hesitates for a moment as if collecting her thoughts. “It’s our busy season, you know. I might not be able to squeeze him in.”

“Of course. They anticipated as much. No rush.” The bustle of the other Cupids seems louder as we’re silent for a moment, then I lean forward. “Lucia, far be it from me to overstep any boundaries, but I do believe he misses you.”

“Do you?” She purses her lips. “He hasn’t shown it. He didn’t even send you, much less show up himself.”

“That’s true, but I must admit something that you can never tell any Mrs. Claus.”

She smiles a little and nods.

“I didn’t feel right coming here without speaking to Antonio first, so I explained, and he asked me to give this to you.”

I reach into the knit bag on my hip and pull out a tangled bundle of ribbon the same maroon color as her jacket. My travels weren’t kind to it but it’s charming in a squashed sort of way. “He didn’t want to pressure you, so I speak in his stead, but he’d be honored if you’d accompany him to the Leprechaun’s Ball next month.”

Lucia laughs, a bright sound that brings everyone’s attention back to us. She reaches out to accept the ribbon. “A Cupid’s bow? Clever. He still can’t tie them right to save his life, can he?”

“That’s why he has us elves, I suppose.” I match her grin, and she clasps my hand across the table.

“Tell him I’m honored, but if he wants me back, he’ll have to come and get me himself.”

“Well said, my lady. I’ll pass the message along.” I incline my head, then stand. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t trouble you any further. Good luck with Valentine’s!”

“Thank you, Jason. I hope to see you at the Leprechaun’s Ball.”

“Likewise. I’ll see myself out.” I turn and start back to the front door, my shoes again making those unsettling squishing sounds.

“Sorry about the water!” Lucia calls from behind me.

I wave at her.

“When in Venice, my lady, one expects to have soggy shoes!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abigail McKenna has been dreaming about magic since she was small. Now she weaves it into stories that are full of hope and the love of life. She can usually be found rereading an old favorite book, watching a mystery show, or dreaming about how to get her characters out of predicaments she put them in.

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