Realizing I’m not going to get back to sleep, I get out of bed and walk over to my window, scanning the street for any signs of Cal. He’s gone.
I don’t expect Dad to be up when I creep down to the kitchen, but he’s fully dressed and standing over the kettle. He starts when I step on the stair that creaks.
“You’re up early!” we say in unison.
Dad grins, though I notice a strain around his eyes. He passes me a cup of instant coffee as I sit down at our small wooden table.
“I’m meeting Eric for breakfast,” he says, “before I play with his bowling team this morning.”
I’d passed on Eric’s message from the Love Shack and told Dad it would be good for him—but I hadn’t actually expected him to go along with it. “That’s great, Dad!”
He smiles, but then looks down at the flowered mug in his hands and leans against the counter. “Yeah. Listen, Lila. I know . . . I know I’ve been no fun lately.” He meets my eyes; his are a pale, washed-out gray. “I forgot the pancakes. I’m sorry.”
I attempt to shrug off the uncomfortable moment. Dad and I don’t share feelings. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is,” he says, face serious. “I feel like since your mom left us, time’s just . . . stood still. But I want to get it moving again. I want to try.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I know how he feels.
He squeezes my shoulder, then gulps down his coffee and puts the mug in the sink. “I was also thinking of asking Eric if he could get me a trial shift on the door at the Love Shack. Apparently, they’re a person short. But I know you kids hang out there. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
I grin at him. “As long as you don’t do any dad-dancing I think we’ll be cool!”
He chuckles. “Can’t promise anything.”
As he’s pottering around, my phone buzzes on the table. There’s a text from an unknown number. My heart skips a beat. Cupid?
I read the message.
Come outside.
“I know that smile,” Dad says. “Tell James I say hi. Have a nice day, sweetheart.” Dad kisses my forehead then heads out of the kitchen. I hear him close the front door.
And then a horrifying thought hits me: Is Cupid outside? What if Dad runs into him? I really don’t want those two to meet.
I hurry after him, lurching onto the driveway barefoot. Dad is already halfway down the street. When I see the yard is empty, I feel a wave of relief, although a bit of disappointment too. I’m just about to head back inside when Cupid’s Aston Martin appears. He pulls up to the end of my driveway and rolls down the window.
“I thought that you might have taken off, fled the town.”
“That probably would be the sensible thing to do,” I say, “but then I thought if anyone should leave, it should be you.”
Amusement glints in his eyes. “I’ll win you over yet, Lila Black,” he says. “Now go get your shoes on and get in the car.”
“And why would I do that?”
He leans toward me. “Because it would make me feel bad if something were to happen to you.”
“Not enough for you to leave town, though.”
He smirks. “I told you—it’s not that simple. Now come on. Cal and I will be combat training until our little meeting this evening, and you’re going to join us,” he says. “You’re going to learn how to fight like a cupid.”
Twenty minutes later Cupid drops me off at the front of his house before he goes to park his car in the garage. To my amusement, Cal is standing at the kitchen stove flipping pancakes when I enter. He’s still dressed in his clothes from last night—dark jeans and a skintight turtleneck that emphasizes the slender muscles in his back. He must have come here straight after his patrol outside my house.
I grin as he turns around and I take in the flour-covered apron. Cal and pancakes are not a combination that I ever would have put together.
“Morning, Lila,” he says.
“Morning, Cal,” I say, taking a stool at the breakfast bar.
“Breakfast,” he says, looking at the frying pan.
“I love pancakes. My mom used to make them for me.”
He gives me an embarrassed half nod as he plates one up for me. I drown it in some golden syrup he’s left on the counter.
“Your plan to get Cupid to leave worked well then?” I say sweetly.
He narrows his eyes. “I have no intention of getting rid of him until we’ve dealt with the Arrows. And besides, I knew you would both be incapable of following simple instructions and staying apart. That’s why I’ve had to disrupt my day to supervise the pair of you.”
“He said we’re doing combat training so I can fight like a cupid,” I say. Elbow on the granite bar, I pick up my fork and point it in his direction. “Getting people to fall in love is aggressive work, is it?”
“We have always trained in archery. It is traditional.” His chest puffs up a little, a hint of pride in his tone. “And as the largest global organization of paranormal beings, we are also called upon to police the rest of the mythological world. Being a cupid is about more than matchmaking.”
“Okay. If you say so.” I shrug, chewing on a forkful of pancake.
He narrows his eyes. “I do.”
He grumpily whisks up some more batter, the metal of the whisk clanging loudly against the bowl. I wonder for a moment if I should tell him about my conversation with Charlie but decide against it. He seems to be in a bad enough mood as it is—I doubt he’ll be happy that another human now knows about the cupids.
“I thought it would be messier here . . . after the party, I mean,” I say, attempting a different conversation.
“I have a party cleanup service on speed dial,” Cupid says as he wanders in from the hallway leading to the garage and tosses his car keys onto the side table. He slips his sneakers off and pads around barefoot. He’s taken off the leather jacket he wore on the drive here and his white T-shirt clings to his hard torso. I hurriedly bring my gaze back to my plate to stop myself from gawking.
“Of course you do,” I say.
The corner of Cal’s lip quirks upward before he resumes his cold demeanor.
“Mmmm, pancakes,” Cupid says, sliding onto the stool beside me and ignoring the waves of irritation coming from his brother.
“Thanks for looking out for me last night,” I say to Cal, trying to distract him from murderous fraternal thoughts.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns to Cupid. “What weapons have you got?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Not many,” Cupid says, shrugging. “Just my bow from back in the day, some training weapons, and a few black arrows.”
Cal throws him a stern look. “You shouldn’t have any weapons at all—you’re banished. But still, that’s not enough.”
Cupid raises an eyebrow. “Well, Brother, I think that’s where you come in.”
Cal’s silvery eyes flash irritably but he nods. “Fine, I’ll go get my bow and stock up on arrows. I can probably get hold of an old Sim as well. Just . . . don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
He looks pointedly at me, then, still wearing his apron, turns on his heel, heads out of the back door, and strides down the footpath. Cupid and I watch him in silence for a moment, then my supposed Match turns to me and grins.
“So, Lila, what kind of trouble shall we get into?”
I roll my eyes and shrug. “Drinking coffee wouldn’t be last on my to-do list.”
Cupid laughs and slides off the stool, then makes his way over to a metallic contraption on the counter. He pushes a white mug into the coffee maker and presses a button. A whirring noise sounds and moments later the smell of freshly ground coffee fills the room.
“You didn’t sleep much?” he asks as he swaps in another mug and presses the button again. When I sha
ke my head, he nods knowingly. “Too busy thinking about me, I’d guess,” he says. “I don’t blame you, I am pretty dreamy.”
“Yes, there’s nothing dreamier than a guy who turns you into a target.”
He places the mugs on the bar and looks at me thoughtfully.
“I guess it’s a lot to take in,” he says. “Cupids, sirens, matches . . .”
“Arrows turning into ash, people trying to kill me.”
“Not to mention your boyfriend hooking up with your best friend.”
I groan and place my head in my hands. “You’re really not one for tact, are you?”
He slides onto the stool beside me again. “No,” he says seriously. “It’s never been my strong suit.” He pauses then adds, “If it makes you feel any better, you’re handling the situation remarkably well.”
I look up—noticing the way his tousled hair is brushed back and up from his face, but a strand still flops onto his forehead. I meet his eyes. “It doesn’t make me feel much better,” I reply, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”
He leans toward me, resting his arm on the surface of the breakfast bar. “Your boyfriend was no good for you. You deserve better than that. I don’t know what Cal told you about matches, but being matched with someone—it’s stronger than that. People fall in and out of love all the time, but when you meet your match, it’s different. It’s two souls pulling toward each other, their fates tied. The matchmaking agents help those souls find each other, but they will always try to seek each other out on their own. Your boyfriend wasn’t your match, Lila—you could never have been happy with him.”
I’m suddenly aware of how close he is. I can feel his warm breath on my face, see the outline of each of his eyelashes. My heart is thudding against my rib cage.
Is he right? Is my soul being pulled toward his? Is that why I feel this way?
I think about Cal and the Arrows; the insistence that we should not be matched.
If it’s because our entwined souls would create some sort of combustible force, it wouldn’t surprise me. Right now, I can feel fire pumping from my heart, racing through my veins.
“Why is everyone so set against us being matched? I’m expected to just go along with all this, but no one is telling me anything.”
He drags his gaze away from mine and takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s nothing. It’s a breach against the Matchmaking Service company policy, that’s all. These cupids take their rules very seriously.” He grins. “Me? Not so much.”
The spell breaks. There’s something he’s not telling me, but before I can press further, Cupid rises to his feet.
“Follow me,” he says. “I have something to show you.”
I look at him curiously then jump down to the ground, clasping the coffee mug as I follow Cupid down a hallway to a door on the left. Inside is a black spiral staircase leading toward a basement.
It’s pitch black at the bottom. It smells old and musty down here, forgotten. For a moment, I feel a pang of unease, despite my instincts telling me that Cupid isn’t as bad as everyone is making him out to be.
“Do you often take girls down to your dark, creepy basement?”
I hear him fiddling around with something on the wall and then suddenly the room is filled with light.
Cupid throws me a sideways look. “Just the ones I want to train in combat.”
I release a breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. We are standing at the edge of a large space that must stretch beneath the entire house. Its décor wouldn’t look out of place at the Cupids Matchmaking Service, with large stone slabs for a floor and grand, templelike columns supporting the ceiling. Deep-pink gym mats cover the center of the room and there are a number of black and fuchsia targets surrounding them. Beyond a row of weights, I notice a large bow mounted on the wall—much like the one Cal showed me back at school—and a display case of arrows.
A collection of computer monitors dominates one corner of the room, while what I assume to be a statue haunts the other. An old sheet has been placed over it, concealing it from view.
Something about it gives me the creeps. Cupid sees me looking but doesn’t say anything, just walks toward the center of the room. I follow him and see that the entire wall to my left is a mirror.
“Welcome to my combat training room,” he says as I approach the pink gym mats, still clasping my cup of coffee. “When my brother returns, he should have a Sim. It’s what they use at the Matchmaking Service to train new recruits. I can program similar conditions to what we’ll be facing later today and we can have a run-though. You can stand in for Selena.” He steps onto the mat, his eyes flashing excitedly.
“Now, you want to learn how to fight like a cupid? Take off your shoes. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
“You want me to fight you?” My gaze involuntarily darts to the muscles in his arms.
His face cracks into a grin. “Yes.”
23
“Fine,” I say. “I’d like nothing better than to kick your butt.”
I slip off my shoes and place my coffee cup on the stone floor. Taking a tentative step onto the pink mat, I look squarely at Cupid.
“Kick my butt, huh?” he says as he begins to circle me. “You know, the day I met you, I broke into the principal’s office.”
“Probably not the strangest thing you’ve done since you got here,” I say. “What’s your point?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your file.”
“That’s private,” I say as I move in step with him, the mat spongy against my bare feet.
“You were a model student up to a couple of years ago,” he says, not taking his eyes off my face, “but something changed.”
He pads slowly around me, his movements more elegant than I would have imagined for someone so solidly built. His face is thoughtful, curious.
“Your grades dropped, you withdrew, and there were even a few accounts of antisocial behavior—apparently we’ve both tangled with your school quarterback, Jason. What changed?”
When I don’t answer, he continues.
“It was because you lost your mother, wasn’t it? I’m sorry,” he says.
I don’t want to talk anymore. Not about this. I want to fight. I clench my jaw and lurch toward him, attempting to strike. He jumps out of my way and I overstep. When I spin back around, he’s looking at me thoughtfully.
“You were hurt by love,” he says, “and so you withdrew from love. I’d wager that’s why you ended up with James.”
I raise my arm again but he grabs my fist, spins me around, and pulls me back against his chest. I can feel his steady heartbeat thudding against my back and his warm breath against my cheek. I am furious, rage pumping through my veins, but there’s something mixed with it—a fire.
“How strange it is then,” he whispers into my ear, “that I, Cupid, should be the one to find you.”
For a moment I’m frozen in his arms. Then I regain my senses and pull away; spinning around to face him. His eyes are watching me and the rise and fall of his chest quickens.
“You’re mad at love?” he says. “Well, fight me then.”
I stare at the person who knowingly put me in danger, mocked my relationship with James, and delved into my personal files, and yet at the same time, makes my soul feel alive. I fly at him, throwing my arms around his waist with my full force. He stumbles back a few steps but doesn’t fall—he’s too strong, too steady on his feet. Instead, he grabs my shoulders and lifts me up. I cry out as he slips a bare foot behind one of my legs and slowly tips me off balance. I grab his upper arm as he gently lowers me to the ground.
For a moment he is leaning just inches from my face. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as his eyes linger on my lips.
Then he pulls me quickly back up to my feet and steps backward on the mat.
“You’ll have to do bet
ter than that,” he says. “The Arrows won’t be so easy on you. Fight me.”
I swing for him but again he dodges, grabbing my arm and twirling me around as though we are dancing. He laughs when I spin back, and I feel a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips despite myself. He gives me an encouraging nod.
“Use my weight against me,” he says. “Do what I just did, knock me off balance.”
I feel an energy in the air, an electric crackle between our bodies. I run at him again but this time he doesn’t dodge away. I grab his arms like he did mine and they tense beneath my fingers. Quickly, I hook my foot around his leg and pull while pushing at his torso.
Cupid doesn’t resist, and falls back against the mat, bringing me tumbling down on top of him. For a moment we stay there, my body on top of his. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest and smell the light scent of fabric softener mixed with the intoxicating scent of danger.
I’m surprised to see a new openness in his eyes.
Then, before either of us can speak, a sharp cough comes from the entrance of the underground room. Cal is standing by the stairs, emanating disdain. A large brown satchel is slung over his shoulder.
We scramble to our feet.
“Glad to see you two are taking this whole thing seriously.” He gives Cupid a look and walks toward us, throwing the bag onto the floor beside the mats. Then he thrusts what looks like a small USB stick into Cupid’s hand.
“I thought you were going to L.A.?” says Cupid, his tone a little accusatory.
“No. I stored an old Sim and some arrows in my school locker last week in case there was trouble,” Cal replies. “And I knew that you couldn’t possibly be trusted on your own for the next few hours if I went to the Matchmaking Service.”
“We were just training,” I say quietly. For some reason I feel a bit guilty.
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