Cupid's Match

by Lauren Palphreyman

  “So, this will happen if we’re matched,” I say. “But what counts as a match? We already went to the dance together.”

  Momentary amusement flashes across his face. “It takes more than that, lovebug.”

  I look at him, feeling heat rise to my face. “Oh!”

  Cupid laughs. “No, not that. The match is made when both parties develop feelings—feelings beyond a superficial attraction. It’s made when they begin to fall in love.”

  I frown and shake my head. “I really don’t want to bring back an ancient goddess so that you can kill her.”

  Cupid looks at me seriously. “Don’t fall in love with me then.”

  I think back to last night—the urgent need I felt for him, the fire in my veins. And then I feel rage boiling in my stomach, knowing that he used me, that he put me in danger for his own needs. I fix my eyes on his.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  The words come out coldly enough, but I don’t know if I mean them. Despite everything, as he sits there, his ocean-like eyes fixed on my face, I still want him. I can’t help it. I still want him.

  “Okay, good,” he says, “and I’ll try to do the same.”

  “God, Cupid. How could you do this? Everything that’s happened, it’s all your fault.” I abruptly rise to my feet, letting the stool fall back on the floor behind me. A couple of the waiters turn to look at me but I ignore them. “I’m done,” I say. “I’m done with all of this.”

  If we continue to spend time with each other we will fall for each other—that is what Cal was trying to prevent all along. And if that happens, it could mean the end of the world.

  He jumps to his feet, and I see the regret in his expression. “Lila, please . . .”

  “No, the match cannot be made. I need to stay away from you.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe I started to actually feel something for you.”

  Cupid makes as though to reach for me, but stops when he takes a good look at my face. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t expect to feel this way. I never intended to put you in any danger. I thought it was the only way to free my people, to return home.”

  I glare at him. “You used me to try and resurrect an ancient goddess!” Something suddenly occurs to me. “That’s what you told Selena, back at Elysium. That’s the big secret. That you were going to use me to bring back Venus. That’s why Selena tried to turn me into a cupid.”

  He takes a deep breath then nods. I want to walk away from him yet something in his eyes holds me in place.

  “When I get the Finis I’ll leave, I swear it,” he says. “If that’s what you want. But please, stay with me until then. As long as we don’t develop any more feelings for each other, Venus can’t come back—but the Arrows are still out there. You’re in danger, Lila.”

  I shake my head again, a tornado of anger and sadness rising through my body. “I need to go.”

  I spin around, barging right into Cal’s hard chest. For a moment he looks like he’s going to tell me off for not looking where I’m going, but then he sees my face and shuts his mouth. His silver eyes flicker to Cupid, looking lost behind me, and a grim satisfaction crosses his face. Then he turns his gaze back to me.

  “Charlie got in touch,” he says. “I know where she is. I know where they’re keeping Crystal.”

  41

  “Where are they?” I ask.

  “Romeo’s,” says Cal. “Just around the corner. Come on, we need to go. Now.”

  He turns on his heel and heads back out of the Love Shack. I race after him, feeling Cupid fall into step beside me. I try to push my feelings of anger away; I need to focus on Charlie.

  “Will they be okay?” I ask Cupid, trying to keep my voice even.

  “Charlie will be fine. Crystal . . . I don’t know. After this amount of time, well, it’s hard to say what state she’ll be in.”

  We catch up with Cal in the alleyway and burst into Forever Falls square. The run-down diner stands there as usual in the corner. It looks unusually dark inside.

  “Weapons?” asks Cupid.

  “Three black arrows and a Capax in my backpack,” Cal says.

  Cupid nods and we head toward the building. When we reach the diner, there’s a sign on the door reading Closed for Maintenance. I recall James saying earlier that it would be closed all week. It would be the perfect place for the Arrows to set up base without being detected. The phone signal has always been bad there, which is why it took Charlie so long to get in touch. I wish I’d thought of it sooner.

  “You don’t have to come inside with us,” Cupid says. “What we see in there . . . it might not be pretty.”

  Cal looks at his brother sharply. “Well, we can’t just leave her alone out here. What if one of them comes out to find her? She’s safer with us.”

  Cupid looks at me awkwardly. “Sorry, scrap that. Looks like you’re coming along after all.”

  “Of course I’m coming. My best friend is in there.”

  Cupid takes a quick look around to make sure no one is about, then puts his hand on the door handle. “Lila,” he says, his eyes burning into mine, “about before . . . I really am sorry.”

  “This isn’t the time for that,” I say quickly, heart pounding. “Let’s just get Charlie and Crystal back.”

  He nods then throws his shoulder into the door. There’s a cracking sound and it flies open. The three of us walk into the empty diner. The last time I saw the inside of this place was when I was in the Sim. I think back to the training and the black-eyed demons within. My hands shake slightly and I stuff them into the pockets of my jacket. I managed to fight the fake Arrows, but can I fight real ones?

  Cupid passes the booths and makes his way to the door behind the counter. Cal and I follow. We enter a narrow hallway that smells of damp. There are wooden stairs leading upward, and a murmur of voices comes from above.

  Putting a finger to his lips, Cupid slowly leads us up the rickety staircase. My heart pounds as the steps creak below my feet. We emerge into another dank hallway lit by a flickering bulb. There is one door at the end.

  The voices are louder now.

  Cupid moves forward. Despite his size, I notice the lightness in his steps. When Cupid stops by the door, Cal silently unzips his backpack and slips out a black arrow. Realizing my eyes are on him, he raises his pale eyebrows in question.

  I nod. I’m okay.

  He smiles thinly and we move toward Cupid. We wait outside the door, trying to listen to what is being said.

  “She’s made it pretty clear where it is,” says an accented male voice. “I’ve let the other Arrows know; they’ll go collect the Finis. Our job is done. Let’s just dispose of her.”

  I notice Cal’s grip tighten on the black arrow.

  “No!” I hear Charlie say and my heart leaps in my chest. There’s an awkward pause. “I just mean, well . . . what if you’re wrong?”

  There’s a murmuring.

  “She’s right,” comes another voice, this one sneering and female. “Our people can’t get the Finis now—there’ll be too much security. They’ll head there at midnight when there’s a shift change. If it really is where she says it is, then we’ll kill her. If not, we can ask her some more questions.”

  As Cupid turns to say something to us, the floorboard beneath him creaks. Silence suddenly falls on the other side of the door.

  “There’s someone outside,” the first voice announces. “Get Crystal out of here.”

  Cupid barges through the wooden door. Instantly, Cal jumps forward and throws the arrow like a spear over his brother’s shoulder. I hear a grunt as it hits its target, then a thud.

  One down.

  Cupid grabs another arrow from his brother’s bag as Cal moves into place. I rush into the room behind them. Charlie leaps to her feet, cat
ches Cupid’s eye, then swipes a gold-and-red Ardor from the floor. She jams it into the nearest Arrow’s shoulder, causing her to scream in pain.

  “Lila!” shouts Cupid. “Get Crystal!”

  My eyes dart about, logging five Arrows: one fighting Charlie, three on their feet by a tattered-looking couch, and a fifth—hit by Cal’s arrow—on the floor. I search the shadows for Crystal as the two brothers rush forward and tackle an Arrow each, Cupid jamming his weapon into the neck of a woman in a sleek, tailored suit.

  The last Arrow, dark haired and wiry, turns around and leaps over the sofa, rushing toward the far wall of the room. I follow him with my eyes and see Crystal slumped over a wooden chair, unconscious. Without hesitation I run toward her, racing the Arrow. He gets to her just before me and turns, a sneer on his face. He doesn’t seem to have any weapons, but he is a good head taller than me.

  “I’ll be back for you later, Lila Black,” he says, his accented voice dripping with disdain.

  Then he scoops Crystal off the chair and makes his way toward the door. I look about frantically, trying to find assistance, but Cupid, Cal, and Charlie are all fighting a small but fierce Arrow who has picked up an arrow and has Charlie pinned to the ground by the couch.

  I stand frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then I notice something shimmering by the wall. Stacked in front of the peeling wallpaper is a bow and a quiver full of red-and-gold arrows.

  Ardors.

  They must have been using them on Crystal, I think with a wave of nausea.

  I grab the bow and an arrow, pulling back and aiming at the back of the cupid carrying Crystal. He’s moving quickly and I can’t afford to miss. I take a deep breath then let go. There’s a whoosh as the arrow hurtles through the air, then a thunk as it plants itself in his back.

  I feel a wave of satisfaction as the male lets out a strangled cry and falls to his knees, dropping Crystal unceremoniously onto the floor. Cupid, having just knocked out the remaining Arrow with a swipe of his fist, looks up at me, impressed.

  The four of us rush toward Crystal and the screaming Arrow. Cupid places his fingers against Crystal’s throat, checking for a pulse. He nods to himself, satisfied.

  She’s alive.

  “It’s too late. We know where it is!” shouts the Arrow in his thick accent, his words laced with agony.

  Cupid reaches into Cal’s bag and pulls out the pink-and-silver Capax. He jams it into the already tortured male.

  “Where is it?”

  The cupid only laughs. “You really think the truth arrow can make me talk?” he pants against the pain. “I’m a trained . . . Arrow. I serve Her. I’ll never tell you where the Finis is. More of us are coming, and you’ll never get away.”

  Cupid sighs and scoops up Crystal. “I believe him. He won’t talk. Time to go.”

  Cal looks down at the writhing Arrow and gives him a contemptuous look. Then he punches him square in the jaw.

  “That’s for Crystal,” he says as his target thuds backward against the floor.

  Cupid raises his eyebrows. “Nice punch, Brother.”

  Cal nods rigidly, but I notice the half smile on his face. “Thanks.”

  Once we burst out into the square, we don’t stop running until we reach Cupid’s car. Piling inside, Cupid lays Crystal down over Charlie’s and my laps in the backseat. He starts the ignition and we race toward his house.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Charlie.

  She nods but I notice her trembling hands and smudged makeup. She’s still wearing her magenta evening dress but the fabric is creased. Her jet-black hair is no longer in its updo, but messily tumbling down her bare shoulders.

  “I kept trying to make excuses to leave but they weren’t having it. They clearly didn’t trust me. I couldn’t tell whether they knew I was on your side. I thought they would kill me.”

  I squeeze her hand then look down at Crystal. Her skin is clammy and there are red smudges around her swollen eyes. Her closed eyelids flicker and every few moments she moans. “Will she be okay?”

  Cal looks over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “I hope so.”

  Cupid catches Charlie’s eye in the rearview mirror. “So, where is it? Where is the Finis?”

  Charlie shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says, looking momentarily queasy. “Crystal just kept saying the same thing over and over again. It was like she was trying to tell me something without telling the rest of them, only they must have figured it out.”

  “What did she say?” Cupid asks.

  “The same thing she said to me back at your place: ‘I wasn’t always a receptionist.’”

  42

  Once we’re back in Cupid’s living room, we lay Crystal on the couch opposite the fire. Cupid goes to make us coffee and Charlie, after her traumatic evening, goes upstairs for a nap.

  Cal crouches beside Crystal as I perch on the edge of the armchair. He brushes a damp strand of hair out of her face with surprising tenderness.

  “Crystal? Wake up,” he says. “You need to wake up.”

  Her breathing seems to steady, but she remains in her weird, Ardor-induced coma. As Cal continues to entreat her, Cupid enters the living room. He passes me a mug.

  “Get out of the way, Brother,” he says, putting his own coffee mug down on the table and shoving Cal aside. He shakes Crystal by the shoulders. “Oi! Crystal! Time to get up!”

  She doesn’t stir. He taps her on the face.

  Cal slaps his hand away. “Hasn’t she been through enough?!” he hisses.

  “We need to find out where the Finis is before the Arrows get it,” Cupid replies.

  “Well, your technique is clearly not working.”

  Cupid huffs and gets up, looking unusually irritable as he sits on the edge of the other sofa. Cal begins pacing around the room.

  “Will you sit down, Brother?” Cupid snaps after a few minutes of silence.

  Cal glares at him, then suddenly walks out of the room without saying anything.

  “What do we do?” I ask.

  “The Arrows said they’d send someone to get the Finis at midnight,” Cupid says. “Unfortunately, we can’t ask Crystal where they’ll be going, what with her being unconscious. When they have it, they’ll come straight for us. Not to be dramatic or anything . . . but they’ll kill us all.”

  He smiles weakly. For a moment, despite our earlier fight, I want to reach out and touch him, to tell him that everything will be okay. But then I remember what will happen if we develop true feelings for each other: Venus will come back. And the Arrows are coming for us. So nothing is even close to okay right now.

  I wrench my gaze away from his and glance at the clock on my phone.

  “If she wakes up soon, can we get the Finis before they do?”

  Cupid runs a hand through his hair. “I suppose . . .”

  “We can’t count on it,” Cal interjects from the doorway. He walks back inside and dumps a pile of books, papers, and photographs on the coffee table. Cupid groans.

  “Oh great, your stacks of useless information.”

  Cal’s jaw clenches. “Have you got a better idea?!”

  Neither of us speak.

  “Well?” he says. “What are you waiting for? We have less than twelve hours to find the Finis or we’re all dead. Let’s get to work.”

  We spend the entire day in Cupid’s living room. By ten o’clock, the living room is a mess of papers and documents. I sit on the floor by the coffee table, skimming through the printed pages of The Records of the Finis.

  Two hours until midnight.

  Cal crouches on the floor beside me, flicking through sepia photographs while Cupid slumps in his armchair, his eyes bleary as he looks through an especially thick file marked Employee Details. Crystal is still unconscious on the couch behind us. Dirty coffee cups cover every avail
able surface. After a while, Cal sighs and drops the picture he was examining.

  “Anything?” he asks us.

  “It would help if we knew what we were looking for,” says Cupid, throwing the file down on the floor. “Let’s try and wake up Crystal up again.” He makes a move to rise, pushing his muscular arms against the sides of the chair.

  Cal glares at him. “And what do you suggest we try now?”

  They stare at each other for a moment before Cupid shrugs, slumping back down in his seat.

  “Fine,” he says. “You’ve got me. I have no idea.”

  We fall back into silence for a few moments before Cupid speaks again.

  “Anyone want another coffee?”

  I pass my mug to him and he strides out into the hallway.

  Cal frowns. “There must be something,” he says, going back to the photographs on the coffee table.

  I peer over them. Some are faded and sepia toned, others are bright and new. They all seem to be depicting the same posed shot of a group of cupids.

  “She said she wasn’t always a receptionist. That has to mean something,” he mutters. As he reaches behind me for the file Cupid dropped on the floor, I pick up a sepia image from the top of the pile to examine it more closely.

  It shows the reception area of the Matchmaking Service. The image is faded, but I can make out a male in his early teens standing in Crystal’s place behind the desk. I scan the rest of the picture, trying to find her, but she’s not there. There’s something else about the room that looks different, like something is missing, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.

  I glance down to the corner of the image, where March 1887 is written in black marker. Why does that year mean something to me?

  I frown and pull The Records of the Finis toward me, turning to the earmarked pages that give Crystal’s account of her meeting with the Minotaur. Whitechapel, London, 1888 is written at the top of the page. The year after the photograph was taken.