Cupid's Match

by Lauren Palphreyman

  I force both Cupid and James out of my head, taking note of our surroundings. After a while, buildings and bright lights start to pop up around us as we drive through L.A. I look back at the letter.

  “Who are the Arrows?”

  Cal gives a disgusted huff. “They’re a group of cupids, very hard core, very devoted to the old ways. They mostly come from the European branches. Some of their methods are a bit more . . .

  extreme.”

  “But why do they want to kill me?”

  “Because a cupid cannot be matched.”

  All this time Cal’s been insisting that we shouldn’t be matched because Cupid’s dangerous, but I remember the writing below the statue in the Matchmaking Service. No cupid should ever be matched. I wonder if that is a rule from the old days. Does he agree with the Arrows? Does he think I should be terminated?

  Cupid smiles, revealing a gentleness I haven’t seen before. “You’ll be fine. If they can’t get you, then they’ll just go for me instead,” he says, catching my eyes in the mirror. “And we won’t let them get you.”

  I look back at the letter. “What’s the Finis? I think I’ve heard that word before.”

  “No, you haven’t,” says Cal abruptly.

  Cupid’s face darkens—or maybe that’s just the shadows. “The Finis is the last arrow.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Cal turns around. “It was an arrow forged thousands of years ago. Other cupids can be killed by the black arrows, but we—my brother and I—are the original cupids. Finis means final—that arrow is the only one that can kill us. It looks like the Arrows intend to put an end to Cupid once and for all if he doesn’t turn you over.”

  He shoots a sideways glance at his brother, and I wonder whether he would be pleased if Cupid was gone for good.

  “It’s been lost for centuries, though,” says Cupid. “Supposedly.”

  Suddenly he pulls to a halt on the side of a busy boulevard. Palm trees loom over the road, and a number of noisy clubs line the sidewalks. In the distance I can see the lights from Santa Monica Pier. Cupid clasps his hands together and stretches, catlike, his forearms skimming the roof of the car. Then he turns to me and grins.

  “We’re here.”

  18

  A steady flow of people in party clothes stream around Cupid and Cal, who are already standing on the pavement. I get out of the car. The air here is humid and smells like perfume and car exhaust.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” I ask as the two brothers walk down the colorfully lit boulevard.

  “Cupid knows someone who may be able to help us,” says Cal, but a hint of distrust remains on his face.

  A few hundred feet down the road, we stop outside a club bearing the word Elysium in glowing pink letters. A low beat vibrates from its open doorway, and the line to enter extends all the way down the street.

  I look at Cal. “We’ll be here all night. Can’t he speak to his friend by, I don’t know, phone or something?”

  Cupid looks over his shoulder. “We’re not going to the human part of the club. And Selena doesn’t have a phone—cell reception is terrible at the bottom of the ocean.”

  I shake my head. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask.”

  Cupid’s face breaks into a wide grin as he walks toward the two tall bouncers guarding the front. When we catch up to him, he’s whispering to the suited female. I see her pass him something that he places in his pocket.

  “They’re with me.”

  She allows us to pass. As we step inside, she catches my eye with an amused expression. There’s something not quite human about her—her pupils are too big, and her skin seems to shimmer. I breathe in sharply. Unreassuringly, Cal looks equally tense, and his posture is even more rigid than usual.

  He’s not happy to be here either.

  Cupid leads the way down a dark corridor filled with flashing strobe lights and pounding music. Before we reach the main room, Cupid veers off to the left and stops at a small, unremarkable door. He leans against the wall as he waits for us to join him. As I reach it, I notice that music notes and the image of a three-headed animal have been carved into the rotting wood above it. A dog, maybe?

  Cupid grins, the brightness of his smile catching me off guard. I wonder for a moment what it would feel like to run my fingers through his dark-blond hair. And then I blink hard, forcing the feelings away. James might not be enough to make me feel guilty—Especially now that James has a reason to feel guilty himself, I think darkly—but Cupid is clearly trouble. He’s the one who has put me in danger.

  He reaches into his pocket and brings out whatever the bouncer handed over to him.

  “Stay close to me,” he shouts over the deep thud of the bass, “and put these in.”

  He hands Cal and me two small, foamy shapes.

  I look down at the palm of my hand. “Earplugs?”

  Cupid nods. “You’re going to need them,” he says as he pushes open the door. “Welcome to Elysium.”

  Once we’re inside the new room, the loud throbbing music from outside ceases, replaced by a woman singing a cappella. Her voice is strong, soothing, and peaceful, and for a moment, it’s all I can focus on. Then I look around.

  A vast space full of happy, reclining people stretches out before us. The green, grassy ground is peppered with checkered picnic blankets, and a paved walkway lit by small solar lights cuts through to a bar serving drinks in the center. Rope netting dotted with white fairy lights hangs over the transparent ceiling—every few seconds the lights twinkle and add to the stars in the night sky. The air smells sweet, like honey and sugared lemons.

  I just want to lie down among the people and sleep. I feel like I’m in heaven, and Cupid knows it; he’s watching me with a knowing twinkle.

  “Earplugs, Lila,” Cal says tiredly.

  I turn to him, confused. He looks hazy and ethereal, his eyes dancing silver below his blond eyebrows. Still, he looks annoyed.

  “Earplugs.”

  Grinning, Cupid grabs the foam shapes from my hand and gently slips the two buds into my ears. I stare at him a moment, the reflection of the fairy lights dancing in his eyes like fireflies. And then I yelp and take a step back in horror.

  The room has changed.

  The walls and floors and ceilings are concrete, not grass and stars. The picnic blankets are dirty, worn rugs, and the people atop them look out of their minds—lolling into one another, drool stringing from their gaping mouths. I can smell the stench of stagnant seawater.

  The singing still resounds around the room, but it’s less beautiful than before— more American Idol auditions than Met stage.

  “This is a siren-owned club,” Cal says disapprovingly.

  I’m about to ask what he means when a suited, dark-haired man approaches.

  “Not here to indulge?” he asks, noticing our earplugs.

  “Not tonight, friend,” says Cupid. “Will she see us?”

  The man nods. “She will make an exception for you, Cupid. Come with me.”

  “Are these people . . . human?” I ask as we follow the man through the dimly lit room.

  “No,” Cal says. “The people who run the club are sirens.”

  I frown. “As in women who sing songs and lure sailors into the rocks?”

  “Well, that’s the myth that humans tell. It’s true, the sirens’ power is in song, but it’s not just women—men can be sirens too. And while they’re powerful, not all are killers.”

  I don’t feel reassured as we pass more groups of people gormlessly swaying to the music.

  “What about them?”

  “Cupids, mainly.” His face contorts. “Djinn, too, sometimes, and the Oracles come from time to time, though they’re usually smarter. The odd human sometimes slips through the cracks, but they don’t last long under this kind of a
ddiction.”

  We pass a tall dark-haired woman in a figure-hugging green dress singing on a podium. Her eyes follow us as we walk toward the far wall, and I can feel the power radiating from her.

  “They’re addicted to song?”

  He nods solemnly. “The sirens who set up here give doses of their music in exchange for secrets,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “It’s corrupt, and the Matchmaking Service ought to shut it down.”

  “Why don’t they?”

  Cal’s eyes warn me not to press the subject anymore.

  “Because they have your secrets,” I whisper, answering my own question.

  Anger mixed with discomfort passes across Cal’s angular features. I’d meant Matchmaking Service secrets, but from his reaction I wonder if they have something on Cal personally. What could Cal’s secrets be?

  As we approach a door Cupid turns to us, looking suddenly pained.

  “By the way,” he adds, “about the, er, friend we’re about to meet. She may not be too pleased with me at present. Just a heads-up.”

  Cal turns to stare at him. “I thought you said it ended amicably.”

  Before he can continue, a suited man opens the door and we are confronted with a billow of hot, ocean-scented steam. For a moment I find it hard to breathe. Nevertheless, I push forward to ask Cal, “Wait. Tell me what we’re doing here? Who are we going to see?”

  Call looks at me, stone faced.

  “Selena. Queen of the L.A. underworld, owner of Elysium, and”—he scowls—“Cupid’s ex.”

  19

  Cupid looks over his shoulder at me. “I know, I know. Past girlfriend meeting the future girlfriend—ever the uncomfortable situation.”

  “I’m not your future girlfriend.” I direct an accusing glare at Cal. “You said cupids can’t do the whole love thing.”

  “Cupids can’t be matched. It is forbidden for us to fall in love—”

  “Selena wasn’t my Match,” Cupid interrupts, “but being immortal can get a little tedious if you don’t let yourself have a bit of fun every now and again.” He throws a pointed look at Cal. “Though some of us choose not to.”

  “You said she won’t be pleased to see you?” I ask as Cal studiously ignores Cupid’s dig. “Are we in danger?”

  Cupid pulls a face. “You saw the power of the sirens back in the other room, you felt it yourself. It made you see things that weren’t really there, made you feel things that were out of your control. Well, Selena can do that, and more. Now, imagine you’ve upset her and she wants to wage full-scaled vengeance from hell against you . . .” He shudders and Cal looks marginally alarmed.

  “Just how bad was the breakup?” Cal asks sharply. “Is it really a good idea for Lila to be here?”

  Cupid looks at us thoughtfully. “Well, there was that time that Selena made that girl—” He stops talking then waves his hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine. Maybe best not to mention Lila’s my Match, though.”

  Cal looks exasperated. He touches my arm, clearly ready to take me back out, but Cupid gives a small shake of the head.

  “The Arrows could be out there, Brother. We need Selena on our side if we’re to protect Lila. She’s safer here with us.”

  Our guide leads us along a walkway that arches over a steaming indoor pool. I feel a pang in my heart as I look down at the water. It makes me think of Charlie and James; we used to hang out together in James’s parents’ hot tub all the time. I long for those days again—the normal days: before the Arrows, before James’s betrayal, before Cupid’s wild ocean-like eyes. I long for James’s stability, Charlie’s laugh, mocktails in the Love Shack, and eating hot dogs by the beach.

  But I push the feelings away. Those days are over. Now I’m being hunted down by a group of crazed cupids, protected by two immortal brothers, and on my way to meet a siren crime lord who might be able to help save me.

  We turn a corner, and suddenly we’re in a lagoon-slash-

  cabaret bar. Hazy figures in elaborate swimwear perch on stools at tables just above the water level, and dark rocks loom on each side. Up above I can see the moon through a skylight.

  “This way,” our guide says, leading us to a VIP area cordoned off by black rope. There is a picnic blanket laid out by the pool and covered with an array food. Whoever Selena is, she’s not here yet.

  The man who was leading us bows slightly and disappears.

  “Well . . . sit down,” Cupid says, dropping to the ground and grabbing a chunk of bread from a basket.

  Hesitantly, I do as he says, then cast a glance at Cal, whose distaste is clearly etched on the angles on his face.

  “I don’t like this,” he says.

  Cupid rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t,” he says, between mouthfuls. “You don’t like anything. But just sit down, will you, Brother? You’re making me nervous.”

  Instead of answering, Cal looks toward the lagoon. I see the flash of uncertainty cross Cupid’s face.

  “Oh God, there she is,” he mutters.

  A woman is watching us, half submerged in the water. The steam twists and turns around her torso as though she is wearing the mist itself. Cupid swallows, getting rid of both the bread and any hint of his previous joviality.

  As the siren moves toward us, I realize she may be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Water cascades down her flawless black skin, though it doesn’t seem to touch the dark, flowing dress that skims her legs as she walks up the stone steps of the lagoon. Her eyes flash with the brightness of stars.

  Cupid jumps to his feet. “Look, Selena,” he begins, raising his hands in surrender. “You have every reason to be upset . . .”

  Selena arches a perfectly formed eyebrow.

  “Cupid, honey? Get over yourself.”

  Then she casts her gaze at me and smiles.

  “I’m Selena,” she says. “You must be the Match.”

  20

  So much for hiding that I’m Cupid’s Match.

  Selena takes a seat next to me and leans back on her hands, allowing her long hair to brush the gingham blanket.

  “Hello, Cal,” she says.

  Cal is standing rigidly on the rocks. He nods sharply, his expression clearly indicating his discomfort. “Selena.”

  The siren’s eyes twinkle. “Still a barrel of laughs, I see. You going to be joining us?”

  She looks pointedly at the blanket and he finally sits down, although he keeps his back ramrod straight.

  Selena grabs an apple from the spread before us and takes a bite. “I’m guessing you haven’t had time to eat,” she says to me. “Help yourself.” Then she focuses her attention back on Cupid. “So, how can I help? You know I don’t see just anyone at such short notice.”

  As she’s talking, I grab a few sandwiches and try to work out how old she is. She looks around my age, but then so do Cupid and Cal.

  “I think you know why we’re here,” Cupid says.

  She nods. “I do. But I would rather hear it from you. As far as I see, there is a very simple solution to your predicament,” she says, sliding her heavily lashed gaze over to me.

  I look at her, then the brothers, my mouth full of bread and brie. “Huh?”

  “We’re not handing Lila over to the Arrows,” Cal says sharply.

  Selena looks briefly surprised. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Cal! I never thought it possible!”

  “It’s not like anything,” Cal snarls. “We’re just not handing her over to the Arrows.”

  She smirks, taking another bite of her apple. “’Course not, honey. I wasn’t going to suggest it. I’m merely wondering why your brother doesn’t just leave town.” She raises a questioning eyebrow at Cupid. “If you left and assured the Arrows you would not pursue this . . . endeavor . . . perhaps they would leave you both alone.”

  “How did you know Lila was
my Match? I thought the Arrows didn’t know yet.”

  “Why else would you have brought a human girl here?” she says. “Probably not the smartest move, sweetie. The word is out that you have a Match, and the Arrows aren’t the only ones against it happening.”

  Cupid frowns. “What about you? Are you on our side?”

  Selena tosses the apple away. “Your company’s policies and its consequences are of little concern to me. I will flourish under either outcome, as I have done in the past. For your own sakes, though, why don’t you just leave town?”

  I briefly wonder what she means by “either outcome,” but Cupid interrupts my thoughts.

  “I think it’s a little late for that now.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right,” Selena says. “So, you want our protection? You know our price.”

  Cupid raises his eyebrows. “You’ve helped us without cost before. Do you remember the time in France? Before we dated? The Arrows were after the girl Cal was trying to prevent from matching.”

  Selena claps, delighted. “I’d almost forgotten about that. Cal broke the rules!” She glances at the matchmaking agent, and then at me. “It is probably hard to believe, but he can be a sweetheart sometimes.”

  Cal steadfastly occupies himself with a cheese tartlet, a flush of color on his usually pale face.

  “There was a price, though,” Selena says. “He didn’t tell you?”

  Cupid throws a questioning look at his brother, but Cal only shakes his head.

  “Okay, we’ll pay,” Cupid says. “But maybe you could throw in a little something extra, for old time’s sake. We need protection for Lila. I don’t trust the Matchmaking Service to keep her safe, and Cal and I can’t take on the whole force of the Arrows.”

  Selena nods. “Do you have a long-term plan—beyond getting the Finis, that is? Because without eliminating the entire group, they’ll keep coming for you both.”

  Cupid grins. “I have the best plan ever.”

  “Whoa, let’s back up a minute,” I say, noticing Cal has tensed beside me. “They’re not going to stop coming after me? Why don’t we just tell them we’re not going to get together and be done with it?”