Cupid's Match

by Lauren Palphreyman

  I navigate to the recycle bin. A jolt of relief passes through me: a file named “Records of the Finis” is at the top of the list of recently deleted PDF files. I click on it and the scanned pages of the book fill the screen. Luckily, it seems that the Arrows’ technology skills are just as modern as my grandmother’s.

  “I can use a computer fine,” mutters Cal. He nudges my arm in a battle for dominance of the mouse. Moments later, a whirring sound fills the room as the printer on the filing cabinet behind the armchair springs to life. “But it’s not like I grew up with my face glued to a screen like you kids today . . .”

  “You just grew up shooting arrows and playing with abacuses, I guess.”

  “Abaci.”

  “What?”

  “The plural of abacus is abaci.”

  My lip twitches and he flashes me a grumpy look. Seconds later, he crosses the room and swipes the printed document from the tray.

  “Want me to delete the file permanently?” I ask.

  He inclines his head as he skims through the pages. When I look back at Cal, his usually steady hands are trembling.

  “Cal? What’s wrong?”

  “We need to get back,” he says, his face paling. “The Arrows might be there already. Once they’ve found out where she’s put it, they’ll kill her.”

  I frown. “What do you mean? Who was the last cupid to have the Finis?”

  Cal looks at me, panic in his silver eyes.

  “Crystal,” he says. “It was Crystal.”

  Part 3

  The Finis

  31

  An extract from Records of the Finis

  Whitechapel, London, 1888

  An account by Crystal Brodeur

  My search for the Finis led me to London.

  It was said that there was a beast in these parts—part man, part something else entirely—that had stolen the final arrow and hidden it within his abode.

  A thick fog was in the air when I arrived during the dead of night. I’d had to dress the part, and my long, blue skirts made a scratching sound as they dragged across the pavement. I was afraid it would be hard to fight dressed in this way, and I clutched at the special sword that hung under my cloak for comfort.

  As I navigated the roads, I wondered whether the humans who had built these streets realized they had unknowingly provided him with a labyrinth. I had to marvel at his power—he had made them do it; he had made them create a vast maze out of terraced houses, shadowed alleyways, and dead ends.

  It was a place where it was easy to get lost, and impossible to escape.

  The beast had always liked a labyrinth.

  I progressed onward. I knew that his home would be at the very center. That’s where he would keep the weapon that would kill anyone who shared the blood of Cupid. I hid by a wall as two police constables in tall helmets passed by.

  “The Ripper is still at large,” I heard one say, their voices muffled in the fog. “Four murders and counting.”

  I hurried on, clutching the sword even tighter. The humans thought a man had committed the grisly killings, but it was no man.

  It was the beast.

  The one we knew as the Minotaur.

  It was over an hour before I realized I was getting close. The alleys and snicketways grew closer together and before long I reached a tall, wooden fence. At the foot was a pool of liquid. I bent down and studied it.

  Blood.

  This had to be it.

  I pulled myself over the rotting fence and landed on a carpet of dead leaves that led to a mansion. It was tall and foreboding, the roof crumbling in parts. I doubted any human had ever set eyes on it; it was too far hidden.

  I took a deep breath and made my way toward the large, wooden door. I had just grasped the cold metal knocker when it opened of its own accord, permitting me entrance into a hall lit dimly by oil lamps. The air smelled damp and musty. I moved forward through the doorway ahead.

  Then I stopped still in my tracks in front of a room with a roaring fire.

  A long table stretched across the room. On top of it, a feast of food had been laid. At the end was a figure leaning back in his chair, his booted feet resting on the table. His face was hidden by shadow.

  The Minotaur.

  “Crystal!” he said, his voice as smooth as silk. “How nice of you to drop in.”

  Then he leaned forward and revealed a face I was not expecting.

  The face of a man.

  His skin was dark and smooth, and his eyes were a hypnotizing brown. I suddenly felt exposed despite my layers of clothing.

  He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves torn off, revealing black tattoos that covered his bare, muscular arms. His hair was shaved close to his head, and across his left cheek and eye I could see a long, ugly scar that did nothing to detract from his overall beauty.

  In a sudden movement he swung his legs off the table and grabbed a jug. He looked at me and smirked.

  “Wine?”

  Without waiting for my response he poured red liquid into a nearby goblet. I approached the table and sat down beside him.

  “How did you know I was coming?”

  He cocked his head to the side, and I turned to see a wall of monitors depicting areas within his London labyrinth.

  He, like the cupids, had access to technology ahead of the time.

  “You’ve come to kill me,” he said, grinning and exposing bright white teeth, “but first, let us dine.”

  He made an exaggerated sweep of his hand to gesture at the food before us.

  I looked at him curiously. He had an eccentric air, and I was close enough now to notice the black liner accentuating his eyes.

  “You’re not what I was expecting,” I said.

  “You were expecting part man, part beast?” He wagged a long finger at me. “Tut tut, Crystal. You should know that is the stuff of fairy tales.” A dark look crossed his face then. “But this is no fairy tale. And there is a beast within me,” he said quietly. “One that I cannot control.”

  His eyes glazed over for a moment, and then, with a sudden swipe, he pushed my goblet of wine across the table toward me.

  “But let us worry about that later,” he said. “Drink.”

  Cautiously, I took the goblet and sniffed the liquid within. And then, for some reason I cannot quite explain, I drank.

  That was my first meeting with the Minotaur.

  I dined with him on each of the three nights that followed.

  Though I knew him to be dangerous, there was something that made me yearn to be around him. We talked about life, and death, and politics, and gods, and I learned more about him in that short space of time than I believe I have ever learned about anyone.

  It was on the fourth night that we knew this charade had to end—one way or another.

  “So, are you to kill me?” he asked over a feast of meats. “I deserve it, you know.” Then he leaned forward and lifted one finger in an exaggerated fashion, as though he had just had an idea. “Though perhaps we could come to some sort of . . . agreement.”

  I waited, saying nothing.

  “I have something you desire,” he said, “and you have something I desire. I know what you keep hidden about your person,” he said, cocking his head toward my body. “You got it from the Oracles, I presume: the Sword of Aegeus. The one sword that can kill me.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “You would swap the Finis for the sword?”

  “Yes.”

  I nodded sharply. “Then the deal is done.”

  That night, we made the exchange and I took the Finis from London.

  I hid it in a place where no one would expect to see it.

  A place where I could watch over it.

  A place where the Arrows would never find it.

  “We need to get back,” Cal says ag
ain. “They’ll kill her.”

  He takes off without another word and I sprint after him. When we reach the reception area, we halt in our tracks.

  Curtis is no longer sitting at the high stone desk. He is standing in the center of the floor, blocking our only exit from the Matchmaking Service, and pointing a black arrow straight at us. A quiver full of more arrows hangs over his shoulder.

  “Find what you were looking for?”

  32

  Curtis’s eyes skim over the pages tucked beneath Cal’s arm, but his arrow remains pointed at us.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? The Records of the Finis?” When Cal says nothing, he continues, “I’ve been watching you from the surveillance room over the past few days. The others may have trusted you with preventing the match, but I knew you’d betray us for your brother. I’ve seen you—helping him, entering Elysium together, hanging out at his house. Why else were you looking for the Finis other than to make sure he was unstoppable?”

  Cal takes a step in front of me. “Curtis. You don’t want to do this.”

  “Why are you doing this, Cal? Your loyalties should lie with us, not him.”

  Cal stands rigidly, his arm muscles tense beneath his maroon sweater. “The Arrows are here,” he says softly. “They’re looking for it, and they may well find it. Whatever his sins, Cupid doesn’t deserve to die.”

  Curtis’s hand tightens around his bow so hard that his knuckles whiten. “Cupids cannot be matched,” he says. “Reinforcements are on their way. I’m arresting you, Cal. You’ve betrayed us.”

  He turns his gaze to me, his eyes wild.

  “As for the Match, we no longer shoot humans . . . but I’m sure the Service will forgive me in this exceptional circumstance. Two black arrows and she’ll be dead,” Curtis says. “Then the match can never be made.” He raises the bow higher. “Forgive me.”

  Cal pushes me farther behind him as my heart pounds.

  “I can’t let you do this,” Cal says. “What do you think Cupid will do to you if he finds out you killed his Match?”

  Curtis shakes his head sadly. “I have to—”

  “Excellent question, Brother,” Cupid asks from the doorway. He turns to Curtis. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

  Curtis’s eyes widen in alarm and he twists and releases the first black arrow. It plunges into Cupid’s chest.

  “Stay back!” he says. “Stay back.”

  Cupid pulls out the black arrow with a grunt. “You know you can’t kill me with that,” he says as it crumbles to ash in his fingers.

  Curtis swiftly pulls out a new arrow, loads his bow, and releases. This one hits Cupid in the stomach. Cupid grunts again but continues to advance.

  “You can’t escape,” the receptionist says, though there is more than a glimmer of fear in his voice now. “There are more of us than you.”

  I hear movement behind us and spin around. My stomach drops. Three more cupids line the entrance to the office, each with a bow and arrow in their grasp. My heart rate quickens.

  “Cupid,” says Cal sharply, catching his attention.

  There is a moment’s pause before I hear Cupid sigh heavily. “Are we really going to do this?”

  “You could come with us voluntarily,” says Curtis, his voice unsure. “We’ll put you on trial. It will be fair.”

  “As convincing as that sounds, I’m afraid I have other plans . . .”

  In a flicker of movement, Cupid rushes at the agent blocking our exit and spins him in front of him as though he is a shield. At the same time, Cal grabs the back of my neck and pushes me to the ground to avoid the flurry of arrows streaming over our heads toward Cupid.

  Two Ardor arrows sink into Curtis’s chest. As he shrieks with pain, I look back frantically at Cal, who pulls me to my feet as Cupid throws the receptionist into the three cupids behind us. Then Cupid darts back out onto the street. Cal and I sprint after him, staying low to the ground as another arrow whooshes above our heads.

  I run as fast as I can toward the Aston Martin, my legs screaming with the effort. When we reach it, Cupid is already in the driver’s seat, turning on the engine. I throw myself breathlessly into the back as Cal scrambles into the passenger seat. As the car accelerates, I peer through the rear window. One solitary female cupid watches us from the middle of the road, a sour expression on her face.

  Cal peers over his shoulder. “You okay, Lila?”

  I shoot a glimpse behind us again. The road is now completely empty.

  “Yes,” I say. “Why aren’t they following us?”

  Cupid looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know if you noticed,” he says, “but they’re pretty scared of me. They’re probably regrouping, working on a better plan of attack. They know force won’t work when they can’t kill me. Though I guess I was right—Lila isn’t safe from the Matchmaking Service after all.”

  He throws an I-told-you-so look at his brother, then immediately frowns. “What did you find out in there anyway? Please tell me you found the copy.”

  “Crystal,” says Cal quietly. “Crystal was the last cupid to have the Finis.”

  Cupid’s eyes widen and then he steps on the accelerator hard enough that I’m thrown back against the leather seat.

  “What will happen to her?” I ask. “If we don’t get back in time?”

  Cal’s angular face is paler than usual and his jaw is clenched.

  “They’ll start with the Capax,” says Cupid, “to try and get her to tell the truth about where she put the Finis.”

  “She’s a trained cupid, though,” says Cal. “ She’ll fight it. And then . . .”

  He stops, looking sick.

  “The Ardor,” says Cupid quietly. “They’ll torture the answers out of her.”

  My stomach turns as I remember Cal’s reaction in the simulation and the receptionist’s shrieks just moments before. “And then when they have what they need, they’ll kill her so that she can’t tell us.”

  Cupid puts his foot down even harder on the pedal, but it still feels like the hour we spend hurtling down the freeway takes forever. The streetlamps are streaks of white light as we finally race through the town square and approach his home. A terrible thought loops through my mind throughout the drive: What about Charlie? Is she safe? Will they take her too?

  After Cupid skids to a halt in front of his house, we rush out. There is still a light on in the kitchen, and all looks undisturbed as we race in.

  “Crystal!” Cal shouts. “Crystal, are you here?”

  Then we open the door to the living room. My stomach plummets; there’s obviously been a struggle. The armchair is overturned and books from the shelves are scattered across the hardwood floor. Across the far wall, the roaring fire illuminates what looks like a smear of blood. I turn to Cal, whose expression is unreadable even though his silver eyes blaze.

  Then I catch a movement in the corner of the room. I brace myself, spinning to face whatever threat is lurking there. Charlie steps out from behind the bookcase, and her dark eyes meet mine.

  “They took her,” she says. “They took Crystal.”

  33

  Cupid walks up to the overturned armchair, pushes it back on its legs, and sits down. He looks up at Charlie, his eyes narrowed.

  “Why didn’t they take you?”

  The flickering light from the fireplace casts threatening shadows across his hard jawline. Cal takes a step forward, placing himself between Charlie and me, his fists clenched by his side.

  “I would like to know the answer to that too,” he says.

  Charlie shakes her head. “I . . . I don’t know. They untied me, then said they’d be in touch.”

  “She’s lying,” says Cal. “She knows where Crystal is.”

  Suddenly he lunges toward her, but Cupid grabs his brother’s arm. Although alarmed, Charli
e doesn’t flinch. I can see some of my old friend in her stubborn expression, but there’s a strange new power there too; a distance. I want desperately to believe we can bring her back again.

  “Let’s all calm down,” I say. “If Charlie was part of this, surely she wouldn’t have stayed. Wouldn’t she have got out of here if she was helping the Arrows?”

  As Charlie looks at me, her face hardens. For a moment, we stare at each other and then she flies at me, wrapping her hands around my neck and ramming me into the wall. Cupid jumps to his feet, but not before I headbutt her and tackle her to the ground.

  As I do, it releases some hidden emotion in me, something lurking since I saw her kiss my boyfriend at the party. I pin her arms against the maroon rug as she fights me, her dark eyes flashing.

  We stare at each other, breathing hard, ragged breaths. And then the anger seeps away, replaced by sadness at her mask of hatred.

  “Charlie, stop it! Just stop it!”

  Suddenly, the tension leaves her body. I think maybe she’s listening to me, that I’ve reached her somehow, but then I follow her gaze. Cal has a black arrow pointed her throat.

  Cupid crouches down, and I relax my hold on her.

  “Listen, Charlie,” he says, speaking slowly, as though explaining something to a child, “you must be feeling confused right now, angry too. But the Arrows are not the good guys. They’re the ones who did this to you. And they’re the ones who have taken Crystal. Now, we’re going to get her back, but we need your help to do it.”

  She narrows her eyes as she focuses on him; her breathing is fast and shallow. “You can’t be matched.”

  Cupid shakes his head. “They made it up, Charlie. They’ve been trying to kill me for years. And now they’re trying to get Lila, too, because they know that hurting her will hurt me.” He looks at me, his face serious. “I’ve been looking for my Match for a long time.”