Candy Hearts

Cindy was sitting at her sturdy mahogany desk, staring blankly at the door to her office, when a sharp knock shocked her out of her trance. Blinking a few times, she smoothed the non-existent wrinkles from her tight black pencil skirt and straightened her crisp white dress shirt so that the scar on her neck was covered. She moved towards the door, opening it slowly, careful to make sure the door hid her unkempt office.

“Good morning!” Cindy smiled cheerfully, the cobwebs swept from her mind. This was her job. She had to be perfectly sharp.

“Yes,” the man answered slowly, looking carefully at Cindy, trying to assess his surroundings.

Leaning on the intricately carved door frame, he continued, “I’m looking for Cindy Locke.”

“Yes! Yes! You have come to the right place.” Cindy said, oblivious to who the strange man is and what he wants from her, but she was sure he was someone she didn’t, couldn’t displease. She opened the door to her office wide, telling the man to come in. She steps gingerly around her desk, taking a seat in her chair and indicating that the man should sit in the chair across from her desk.

The man looked from the doorway confused, not sure what to do next. He had not prepared for Cindy to be so welcoming and kind. He had expected her to be closed. He had been told by his superior that she was the worst of her kind, a threat to their existence. He had not expected a petite, yet sturdy, woman with curly hair the color of ivory; not expected her to sit in an office and work in office clothing that was 20 years out of fashion. The desk looked imposing and expensive. On top of it were piles upon piles of paperwork, a stained-glass vase with dry and shriveled up flowers, and a huge bowl of candy hearts.

Cindy watched the man take in her messy office, embarrassed that she had not thought of straightening it beforehand. Had she known that such an important client would come in, she would have used her fancy office. But for now, she would have to make do with the mess, hoping the client would not have a bad impression of her work.

She was proud of her work. She never failed to deliver what the client needed: fake files to state-of-the art science labs, she has never failed a job. Trying to calm her nerves, she began absentmindedly reaching for her bowl of candy hearts.

He seemed more challenging than her other clients. His crisp Victorian suit artfully concealed knives, which struck her as more sinister than a gun, which requires less training to destroy its target. She found this man more ominous than a bomber or a mad scientist.

Surely he was human, because he was breathing, Cindy thought, how long had she not needed to breathe? How long had she become something less than human? The thought of blood and breathing made her want to cry. How long had she not been able to cry? Trying to push these thoughts out of her head, she turned to the man, now sitting down, done with his survey of her office.

“What will you be needing today?” She asked, as though there were nothing wrong, acting like she was just as human as he was.

The man pulled out a sheet of parchment, thinner than anything she had ever seen. The light shone through the parchment, almost transparent. She could see none of the veins that she usually saw when thin parchment was presented. This parchment was special, it had no inconsistencies that human-made objects had. How did this man get his hands on this? The parchment alone made for a valuable asset, surely he was not giving her that.

“I want you to translate this,” he said calmly, with no emotion in his voice.

“Surely you know better than I do that I cannot meddle in things like that.” Cindy said coldly.

The man looked surprised, a slight twitch of the mouth, betraying his emotions. He was taken aback by how quickly Cindy had seen through his act. But he could not bolt, less Cindy realize who he really was.

Cindy examined the ancient writing on the parchment.

“I . . .” she began slowly, “I could translate this, but it would require you to go on a veritable quest to produce what it would cost.”

“How much?!” he blurted.

Plucking another candy heart from her bowl, she said, “3 unicorn horns.”

His face immediately fell. He felt her stare, knowing full well that it’s illegal to kill unicorns.

“But . . .,” he stammered. He saw the beginning of a tiny, crooked smile on Cindy’s face. She knew full well that unicorn horns were rare and protected. He could get fake horns in the black market.

“I told you, you can’t afford me,” Cindy smiled slyly, enjoying the sight of a full- trained agent squirm under her stare.

The atmosphere in the room grew tense; Cindy reached for another candy heart. “Play” the first one read, “puppy love” the second one said. Maybe it was trying to tell her something.

Returning her attention to the man, she could see sweat breaking out and rolling down his collar. Such a pity, what a wonderful suit he had worn, now it would surely be stained.

Sighing, she decided that she didn’t want to be so cruel today.

“Here, I’ll offer to translate the first line,” she said reluctantly.

“And the price?” he asked, ever hopeful.

Cindy pulled another candy heart from her bowl before answering.

“You.”