A Cupid roast

"Boss.. I am really not sure it's that good an idea after all..."

A gentle rustle of wings to his left made him jump but he only managed to catch a brief glimpse of movement from the corner of his eyes. They were fast, way too fast, and too many. Never the old man would manage. Again this sound, so similar to dove's wings beating the air, coming nearer and nearer. He could see them in his head, circling him like so many vultures around a carcass.

"Boss!"

The dull sound of the detonations echoed through the last swirls of mist and the ground vibrated under the impact of the five bodies landing around him, followed by a gentle tumbling rain of feathers.

"Pick them up, my boy. We still have a lot of things to do so hurry."

With a half disgusted, half appreciative twitch of lips, the young man set to work, putting on the heavy protective gloves that were required in such a line of work. His boss had still a great aim for his age, he had to admit that at least: each of the cupids had been shot straight through the heart or very near, delivering a fast clean death that would also insure the taste of the meat wouldn't be spoiled for their customers. He got rid of the small barbs, so similar to little arrows they had sprouted all those legends of "angels of love" and carefully tied the wings along the back to avoid damaging the long, delicate feathers. Those were avidly seeked by some collectors who were ready to pay a hefty price for freshly plucked, carefully preserved pieces.

"There are only five bodies and I heard six shots. You're getting rusty, old man."

"Are you sure, my boy?"

Emmanuel did nothing to restrain his heavy, jaded sigh as he plucked the bodies off the ground in a limp display.

"Three to my right, two to my left. Those make five. You missed one. You're getting old, granddad."

"Emmanuel, how dare you! I am a duty sworn aetherocryptozoologist, the best there is..."

"You're a state working, vermin hunting wizard, that's all..."

"The way I say it has more character."

"I'm sure it makes you the most interesting guest at parties."

André snorted in laughter, winking salaciously at him. "You've got no idea, boy. How do you think I snagged Sylvie's mother?"

The old man turned the bodies around to check on them, taking great care of the mouths where small needdle thin and sharp fangs were distorting a snout whose colours reminded of a pouty human mouth from afar. That close, those creatures hadn't a lot in common with the chubby humans toddlers the vast majority of the population had been comparing them to for centuries.

The body was covered in a short silky fur, varying generally from light brown to creamy beige, the snout a curious mix of monkey and pig featuring a turned up nose with wide nostrils. The ears were high on a narrow skull covered with a thick curly pelt and the neck and shoulders were unusually large, supporting the muscles of the long powerful wings that allowed the creatures to fly long distances in a blink of an eye.

"You're right, though. One of them did escape us. We will have to be extra careful, those nasty little critters are a revengeful bunch and communicate quite well."

"I know that, boss."

"I know that you know, yet I say it again. Now let's get going, we have a long day ahead of us."

In the car driven by Emmanuel, the old hunter leafed through his notebook, jotting down the location and the exact number of catches along with a few details on the day and weather. Hunting for cupids was a dangerous but necessary job: two decades ago the govermenent had declared open an elimination campaign on those little monsters. Their numbers were growing at a steady, fast pace and the rise of the attacks were causing many deaths in the humans populations. The particularly gruesome death of minister's wife had been enough to turn this small, back of the drawers project into a worldwide cause.

A very few people were bold enough and taught enough to accept that job and André was the best. Every year, during that small period when cupids were breeding, parasiting humans with their eggs and embryos, André would hunt relentlessly the small creatures, culling their numbers down. He received consequent grants from the governements and in addition, could sell the results of his hunt to private individuals. Cupid's meat, in addition of being exquisite, had the reputation of being a powerful aphrodisiac, a fantastic boost of confidence and inspiration, a well of leadership and creativity. It made that rare food the priciest in the world and the high and mighty were fighting to buy some from André and his partners. What part of those stories were true and what parts were only legends, Emmanuel didn't care: he knew that Cupid's meat was delicious and that he would get his fare today, and it was enough for him to be eagerly happy for the evening. The mere idea of this tender meat after a hard's day of labour, of this crispy skin bursting with flavour, was enough to make him drool in advance.

"I think we will have time to check three more gathering points before the night, Emmanuel."

The young man nodded, smiling at his mentor. André was already busy reloading his guns, checking on their gear. Despites his flaws, his reputation was well deserved. Emmanuel knew that he would learn more in the three years he had enrolled for with the old man would teach him more than the seven he spent at the university, even if the old man teaching's methods were unusual to say the least.

Their next stops allowed them to catch almost two dozens of the creatures; André had set traps on two different locations and they had worked perfectly, snaring the cupids in strong nets. Those would only be used once: the venom of the cupids was very dangerous and their numerous biting and gnawing to set themselves free had soaked it into the fibers. André and Emmanuel were very careful when retrieving those, folding them and storing them into airtight bags they planned to burn as soon as they were home. The sun was barely starting to get lo on the horizon when André called it a day: mostly cupids were inactive at night but they always had a flurry of activity at dusk and he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks.

Bouncing and bumping on its tires, the old jeep driven by Emmanuel took them back home, an unelegant but nevertheless quite charming house whose walls were disappearing behind vine and wisteria.

The kitchen there was a well lit, long room. Sylvie was already busy with the preparations of the meal when André entered, followed by Emmanuel. He gave his daughter a perfuncterily kiss on the cheek as he laid down the two plumpest catch of the day on the bench.

"I leave you with Emmanuel. Show him how to prepare those nice and well, that too he needs to learn. I have to make sure the others cupids won't spoil and I have a few phone calls to make."

André went down the steps to his study, leaving Emmanuel in front of a smiling Sylvie. The young woman had the same built as her father, lanky and tall but had inherited her mother's facial features, softening the raptor's look her father had.

Emmanuel could feel himself blush to the roots of his hair. He was André's student and had already been faced with his way of treating women but it never stopped him from feeling acutely awkward. This was after all only the third time he had actually met his mentor's daughter and the first one that went beyond simple salutations. Sylvie was still looking at him with that half smile on her lips as if she enjoyed a little seeing the young man fret.

"Listen, Sylvie, I'm sorry that your father just dumped me on you.."

"My father is a little bit old school but he isn't a bad man, you just have to get used to it. Yes, he still thinks that women's place is in the kitchen but he also taught me to read, hunt, and shot before I was seven. As I told you..." she shrugged "You get used to it."

She went to a drawer and pulled a long embroidered apron she tossed at the young man.

"Come on, gear up. Cooking can be a dirty job, especially with those. I do hope you're not squeamish, by the way, cause first step is to gut those little bastards.."

She put on a pair of gloves and gave him some, checking they fitted well.

"Let's get started, shall we?"



A few minutes after, the initial awkwardness had dissipated and they manage to chat amiably as they worked on plucking the feathers before starting on the main task. Sylvie worked with a calm assurance, a fast yet precise pace that reminded André's way of moving to the young apprentice.

"Of course, you have to be extra careful with the poison pouches on the sides and with the green tips of their darts, there. But look at that. If you slide your knife just under there, and follow the line of the muscle, they just get loose and you can toss them away without being bothered."

A sharp flick of wrist got the pouch free from the body and Sylvie opened it to show the still growing bone darts, lined up of the cartilage tissue. Under the clear white light of the kitchen, the small darts had an eerie, pearly glow, making those almost beautiful.

With the tip of a finger, Emmanuel pushed one, noticing how supple it still was. Once it reached maturity, such a dart could pierce several layers of clothes, causing major damages even before the victime realised it, propulsed by the powerful muscles and sinews of the wings. When loaded with eggs, though, it dissolved quickly in the body, leaving the embryo free to reach the heart it would parasitize. He could remember the courses at university, the dull drone of his teacher's voice as he explained, pointing with a ruler to the various spots on the diagrams.

"A cupid infects a human with this dart here. Most of the time, human doesn't even realise he is contaminated, the aetherocunjuctive membrane of the egg being thinck enough to avoid anything leeching out and causing distress to the host. Sometimes, yet, the membrane is too thin or damaged, or the body detect and react against this parasite."

"That's what cause the Broken Hearts syndrome."

"Yes. I have heard that the last experimental treatments can have good results but I doubt it. Human aether is too fragile and a tear through it can heal, but I have never seen anyone surviving without consequences."

"And when it's the egg that get infected..."

Sylvie's voice disappeared in a murmur. Thay had all been witness, at one point of another, of the damages caused by such an infection. The most explosive cases, the most covered too, like this cheerleader snapping during a match and tearing through the ranks of her friends with a machette, had been caught on tape and heavily relayed across the globe. The sight of that snarling pretty blond, covered in blood and gore as she was busy tearing her friends to pieces, were branded in everyone's memory but such cases weren't the worst. The worse cases were the quiet ones, those drowning slowly in madness, the calm and calculationg ones that turned into perfect quiet, discreet killing machines under the influence of the infection. Dozens of corpses, for the most efficient of them, a Methodist minister that had been caught by sheer luck as policemen were patrolling is neighbourhood. Rumor wanted that those three unlucky policemen were still cared for in the highest available level of surveillance in a state mental asylum.

"But you already know all that, I am sorry, Sylvie."

"No, it's okay. I will be able to tell dad you did learn your lessons well."

The young woman shook herself before tossing the offal in the garbage.

"There is a bowl of stuffing in the fridge, can you bring it over? Then we will just have to butter up those little bastards, and in the oven for a hour."


The meal had been delicious. Cupid's meat was as flavoured, as delicate as Emmanuel remembered, the stuffing made by Sylvie giving out the perfect amount of moisture to the roast. He was trying to find what kind of meat it could be compared to. Pheasant? Not really, cupid's meat was way more sweet, melting in the mouth. Veal then, maybe? No, veal had a bland taste compared to the rich aromas of this roast. Emmanuel decided to let go, rather intent on savouring the last moutfuls on his plate. Cupid's meat was a too rare meal: once caught, it would spoil very fast and couldn't be frozen or dried.This was a once in a year occasion and had to be appreciated.


"Early night tonight, Emmanuel. Tomorrow at dawn we have to start again."

"No problem, boss."


Without adding another word, André poured himself a cup of coffee and left to his study to check up again on their gear. This maniac aspect of his personnality was earning him many jeers and teasing from his peers but was also what had contributed to keep him alive all those years.

Left alone with Sylvie, Emmanuel helped her clean the table before moving to the kitchen for his won cup of coffee, followed by a cigarette he went to smoke on the veranda. Night was cold and  quiet, a few stars visible betwen high clouds.

"Mind to share?"

Emmanuel shock his head and handed his still half full pacakege to Syvie who lighted one with a small satisfied sigh.

"Thank you for the meal."

"You're welcome and thanks for the cigarette."

"Welcome too."

They smoked side by side in silence. Emmanuel was about to toss his cigarette butt in the garden when Sylvie stopped him and motionned for the ashtray set on a long wall near them.

He had just crushed his cigarette in the ashtray when he heard it.

The rustling, gentle sound of wings, as soft as doves.

"Sylvie, look out!"



The burst of darts, as sharp as razors, tore through the night, pinning them down.