My Soulmate Came with a Return Label

How it begins

The parcel on Lena Sen's doorstep was breathing.

Not heavily. Just enough to make the return label rise and fall against the string.

Lena put down her tea.

"If you're another decorative gargoyle, I've already written to complain."

"I'm not decorative," said the parcel. "Though I was told to emphasize my cheekbones."

She found the knot and loosened it. The wrapping unfolded around a tall man with small dark horns, a travel-worn coat, and the weary expression of someone who had spent too long being described by other people.

He stepped free of the paper.

A gold card drifted to the floor between them.

YOUR PERFECT PARTNER. SATISFACTION GUARANTEED.

Lena picked it up with two fingers.

"I ordered a replacement kettle."

"I applied for a position in regional logistics."

They looked at each other.

"Hugh Ren," he said.

"Lena. Would you like to sit somewhere that isn't packaging?"

In the kitchen, he examined the return label before accepting a chair. It had begun printing new conditions in very small letters.

"May I read that?" he asked.

"You may keep it. It's about you."

He looked up sharply, as though this were not the usual arrangement.

Outside, the morning delivery cart rattled away down the lane. Lena had worked in magical parcels for thirty years. She knew the sound of a mistake being transferred to someone who hadn't agreed to own it.

Hugh smoothed the label on the table.

"Apparently I can be exchanged within fourteen days."

"Apparently their copywriter needs a different profession."

He laughed, quietly.

Lena filled an ordinary saucepan with water. The kettle could wait. So could the company, its guarantee, and whatever glowing thread had started trying to connect their wrists.

She cut the thread with her gardening scissors.

"Tea first," she said. "Then we decide what you want."