Eros’s eyes filled with sympathy. I know your heart suffers.
He handed me the arrow. This is the arrow commissioned by the woman who was once the consort of Damen De Santis.
The fact my father called Marisol Damen’s consort was less disturbing than the fact he used the word commissioned. “Someone paid you to use this on Damen’s love?”
Eros shook his head. Not on Marisol, but on the one her heart truly desired.
Not many people in their lifetime could say they’d ever met Cupid or been struck by the point of his arrow. As I held it in my hand, it whispered. It was like an antenna between the two people it connected. If the arrow’s direction didn’t point true, the shaft would snap, and the spell wouldn’t last long between the two people. If the arrow was struck true and the hearts connected, the arrow sang.
“Marisol asked you to strike Arthur to make him fall in love with her?”
“She asked me.” Giles stood back in my dream. He told the truth. No other satyr could look that guilty without telling the truth.
I sat, and there was a chair underneath me. The best thing about dreams, things appear when you need them. I looked at the arrow, my mind swirling with questions, trying to figure out what to do with this knowledge, as it grew dense and foggy.
Eros was beside me, his hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t understand. Does Damen know this?”
Silence. Giles avoided looking at me. Eros’s lips pressed firm together.
“He does.” That was the weight on my chest, the thing I couldn’t push away all this time. “He knew, and he took me hostage to try and make you reverse it anyway.”
Sad and angry emotions filled me at the same time. Sad for Damen’s loss. Marisol hadn’t been struck with the arrow, Arthur had. Not only that, Marisol was the one to ask for it. She chose someone else. She broke Damen’s heart.
While I couldn’t blame him, my heart ached in understanding, and anger flared as deep. Why didn’t Giles save me from Damen? Why didn’t they come to get me?
What were they waiting for?
“If you give me another arrow, I can use it on Damen.”
My arrows cannot penetrate the darkness. Chaos was very careful after she went down into the abyss with me to avoid seeing the light. Her offspring are the same; she chose from within the darkness.
“How can this be? I saw Damen’s light.” I saw it in the blue of his eyes.
As I have seen your heart, child. Take the arrow. Your sisters and Giles can’t help you with this matter. I must go now.
“Wait!”
Eros had started to fade.
“What am I supposed to do? You can’t leave me with him. I’m your daughter. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Of course. You are my Joy. Follow your heart. Everything you need I have given you. Send a feather, and I will come if only to guide you.
“But I don’t have my wings. Do I?”
I tried to make them pop out, walked around in circles. When I came around again, no wings and no Eros.
I stood alone, with a dull, used arrow in my hands.
“Father! Giles!”
15
I woke to the sounds of my three sisters singing “Happy Birthday” over and over in my head. I was back in the pink room. When I left this place, I swore I’d never wear or go into another pink room again.
If they didn’t stop singing, I would end up with this song stuck in my head. Great, I realized I’d been humming the tune along with them.
What should have been the best day of my life had turned into the most depressing, and I hadn’t even been awake for long.
Enclosed in my fist was the arrow Eros gave me. I tossed it and heard a scream, then a crash.
Fully awake, I sat straight up. Agatha was hunched down on the floor, and my breakfast was scattered over the rug.
“Agatha! I’m so sorry!”
Flipping, flopping, rolling across the large bed, I made it to the floor beside her. She’d gone white, and her eyes were bugging out. “Were you trying to kill me?”
Her eyes went to the arrow stuck in the wall. Again, I said, “Mi dispiace. I’m sorry.”
“Well, you’ll have to come downstairs for breakfast now, and I’ll not guarantee you it be all organic, if you know what I’m saying.”
I helped clean up the mess I’d made. “I’m not really a breakfast kind of girl.”
My stomach didn’t agree with me, and Agatha shook her head. “Well, get dressed. Jace left his post an hour ago. You can keep me company in the kitchen.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll use any more sharp objects?”
She gave me a look. “I’ll send the maid up to clean the carpet. If that is what I think it is, you’d best hide it from the Count unless you want to lose it. And for future reference, I won't be needing any help with it striking my heart.”
I only heard half of what she’d said. “The maid?”
She laughed. “You don’t think I keep this house all on my own, do you?” She patted the bed, and a feather floated down from it. “Get dressed. And I’d be putting that anywhere except under the mattress.” She winked.
I snatched the feather midair before she saw it, too. Gold, one of my father’s. He’d left me another feather to contact him. I held it behind my back. Agatha retreated, and I took a deep breath.
I pulled the arrow from the wall and locked it and the feather in the bathroom with me while I prepared for the day. My hair was all but standing straight up. Oh yeah, it was going to be one of those days.
Half the day was gone, and I hadn’t left my room. It was my birthday, and I’d straighten my hair if I wanted to. My father’s feather was tucked close to my heart. Wandering down the hall, I counted the doors to remember which one mine was. Part of me was curious, so without Jace or Agatha, I sneaked a peek into the next room. It was beige and white and decorated from the sixteenth century. I moved on to the next; it was yellow. And the next was ivory. Why, with all these rooms, did mine have to be decorated in pink?
Each room had its own theme, and as I sneaked a look in each, they were all unoccupied. I went around the corner and came to a staircase, but itwasn’t one I recognized. This one went up, and I wondered where I got lost.
Back home, our house had three stories and two staircases. This one must lead to the servants' quarters. Going up wouldn’t help me get out. Someone in my mind whispered I should go up anyway. Underneath my skirt, I tied the arrow to my thigh with a cord I broke from the dangling ropes of my ceiling light. There was no way I was taking a chance of losing it. My father gave it to me for a reason.
At the top of the stairs, a large foyer-type space greeted me right before a set of tall doors. These weren’t servants’ quarters. In the open space, full windows and a skylight allowed the sunlight to pour in. Tall tapestries hung between the panes. Each one was a scene from ancient Rome, a battle, a god raising his hands with death spilling at his feet. I shuddered, a cold chill licking at my arms despite the knit material of my sweater dress.
On the far wall, with no windows, were books and a desk. Black onyx chairs and a dark rug decorated the corner. This was Damen’s study. Standing over by his desk, looking out the windows across, I saw the back part of the gardens of the house and another tapestry.
This one was a woman. She was both beautiful and unnerving. In the light, her form was outlined; she was like nothing I had ever seen. Without the light against the different shades of black and gray and gold, one might miss this wasn’t a simple black piece of cloth.
I stood in a place where my shadow from the sunlight didn’t obstruct the view. Her hair was twisted and braided in long rows and curled above her head. Strands blocked sections of her face, but her nose and lips were distinct.
This wasn’t Marisol.
This woman was poised in a graceful stance of power, her chin notched to show no fear.
With a start, I felt Damen’s presence behind me. “Eris. She’s beautiful, i
sn’t she?”
Strife. Discord. This was what Eris was. “Relative of yours?”
“Close.” He stepped near the tapestry. Brushed his hand over the dark threads. “Mother of my mother.”
“I can’t say I see the resemblance.”
“Not all features of our inheritance are meant to be seen from the outside. Take you, for instance. Joy. Your name means happiness and harmony. You are a product of love. While his features are fair and golden, yours are darker. Take your hair, like the rich soils, if I were to dig down in the earth.” He touched my hair, running his hand down the tangled length at the side of my face.
“I get that from my mother.”
“Your lips, rose, both soft and prickled with poison.” His thumb moved to brush across my bottom lip. “Do those come from your mother?”
“No.”
Mesmerized by his words, his touch, I forgot what brought me up those stairs. My mind drifted to the last time I kissed him. Glancing into his eyes, the effect lingered in the thin rim of blue around his pupils.
“What was she like? Your mother?”
Inside, the little dark thread slid through my heart, and I squeezed it out. “I don’t know. I don’t remember her.”
Damen’s hand dropped. “Your father raised you?”
I shook my head. “He took me to my sister. Cherish raised me.” Maybe giving away my sister’s name was a mistake. My heart pushed away the thread, reflected it with a shield. I pressed on, turning to look at him more fully. “Did your father raise you?”
Gods and goddesses have a habit of leaving their kids with their mortal parents to raise. They saw it as a gift of sorts, for the child always outlived the parent. There were always exceptions to the rules. My mother being one of them.
“My father was a British soldier, he died in the Second Carib War.”
“Then your mother?”
Damen waved his hand. “My father had a sister who married an Italian bureaucrat. She could have no children, so I was left at their doorstep.”
“I’m sorry. Do you speak to your mother?”
“Not very, but enough.” Then he smirked. “Your sympathy is not necessary, I assure you.”
“It’s not sympathy.”
He tilted his head the other way.
“It’s love.”
His eyes flashed. I’d cracked the dark a little more. “Do not love me, baby Cherub. It will only lead to your end.”
“Every which way with you is my end,” I said, the goddess on the tapestry staring down at us. Her confidence oozed into my veins. Thinking of the arrow strapped under my skirt, I added, “I’d rather risk the end to love than never love at all.”
That sounded like some old cliché quoted by mortals. It was both cheesy and true. Obviously, Damen thought so, too. He smirked again, waving me off. “Well, you’ve most certainly been taking some risk, haven’t you? Wandering about? You skipped both breakfast and lunch.”
“Skipping a few meals won’t kill me.”
“Plotting with your sisters won’t help you, either. Even if you manage to tell them where you are, and they find you, my wards will keep them from leaving. They won’t be able to step foot outside the gates should they find their way in.”
“But I’ve gone from here with you. Is that it? I can’t leave without you?”
He was wearing all black. It looked rather dashing on him, and I averted my eyes to glance back at the tapestry. The goddess continued to stare at me.
Damen’s hand swept against my hair. “I have to protect my investment.”
“Investment? Is that what Marisol was to you?”
His face darkened. “You are young. You don’t understand.”
“I understand you are lonely without her. As dark as you want me to believe you are, I can see your heart. I feel it.”
“I’m not lonely.”
“I forgot. You have your faun and your housekeeper. I don’t blame you for missing her. Tell me, could she make your eyes light up as I do?”
He tugged me by the hair, tilting my head back. I reached for his wrist, alarmed. It smarted but not as painfully as he could have pulled on it. Then he released me, his hands falling to his sides, and the muscles of his neck tensed. “Jealous?”
“Not at all. Why would I be?”
“Because I can feel your heart, Joy. How long do you think the spell you put on me will last?”
“Spell? I haven’t put any spell on you.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know your kisses are laced with love serum,” Damen growled.
“On a mortal, yes. I can enhance one’s heart’s desire for happiness and harmony. You said yourself, I am Joy. I can’t make someone fall in love by kisses alone. If you can feel our hearts beating in unison, the desires you have, the feelings, they’ve always been there waiting for the right one to come along for you to connect with.”
My nerves dangled on edge, and I smoothed down my dress. “Ask Marisol, it’s the same way she connected to Arthur. You can’t punish others because her heart led her to someone else.”
“Cupid did this. He took her away.” Damen’s eyes flared, licks of red flickering in their centers.
“He only did what she asked him to do.”
“You are too young, an infant angel. You have much to learn about love.” He stalked away, disappearing as I tried to go after him. Up the stairs, Jace trotted toward me.
I passed him on the way down. He pivoted and followed me. “I wouldn’t go back up there anymore if I were you,” he said, escorting me down to the kitchen with Agatha.
I didn’t bother with a remark.
16
Agatha danced in the kitchen, her feet gliding across the tiles while something cooked in the oven. She had a glass bowl of some kind of batter under her arm, and she hummed and danced as she stirred. Her happiness was like a fresh breath of country air, or maybe a bite of something sweet. Because it was the sweet I smelled. She had her hair all rolled up and twisted in a bun at the back of her head.
“There you are. I could have called Sierra if you needed help with your hair.”
I touched my hair. “I thought Sierra only came for special occasions.” Like when Damen wanted to dress me up and prance me around in front of Marisol. He hadn’t said a word about my hair at the winery; he must have liked it. I didn’t want to feel the tickle of delight that brought inside me, but I couldn’t help it.
Agatha set down her bowl and turned to reach the counter behind her. She held out a pair of pink crocheted slippers. “I made these for you. They’re not as nice as the boots he gave you yesterday, but they’ll be a better comfort on your feet for walking the grounds while you’re here.”
“Thank you.” My heart filled with gratitude. It swelled and warmed just under my skin at her thoughtfulness. I could only assume Agatha was the one who chose the pink room for me. Pink or not, I’d keep them forever. Or until Damen or Jace took them away from me. As if I’d allow that to happen. Maybe.
“Go on, try them on.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I tried them on. The yarns were super soft and thick, like a pair of winter socks but better. They had little white bows on the back of the heel, and I absolutely adored them.
I grinned from ear to ear, the effort stretching my cheeks. I didn’t need a mirror, for I was sure Agatha was reflecting my expression as her own. I felt I had made her happy. I lurched forward and gave her a hug. “Thank you. Grazie.”
In my head, Faith laughed and plotted how to get a hold of my slippers. Little did she know De Santis still had not returned her sandals to me. But I laughed out loud to ease the stress that thought brought me, and Agatha took it as my outward adoration of her gift.
I winced, feeling the tug on my heart as if it started to drift away, and the dark thread yanked it back in place. I put the heel of my hand over the spot, as Agatha released me. Her eyes seemed much older. They filled with kindness as she resumed her baking. She poured the batter into two round pans.
Honey and sugar assaulted my nose and made my mouth water.
Agatha handed me the spoon as she finished. She placed her finger on her lips and shushed me. Like a kid, I licked the batter, and Agatha shook her head. “You are like my great-great-grandson. He has such a sweet tooth.”
“Great-greatgrandson?” This caused me to pause. “Agatha, how old are you?” She couldn’t be more than sixty, gray hairs and all.
Agatha placed the pans back into the oven. “Days, Weeks, Years. Life is more than a number, si?”
Then it hit me. “Agatha, your family has worked for Damen for generations, but you’re not mortal, are you?”
“Damen, is it now?” Agatha wiggled her brows.
I took another lick of the spoon. I couldn’t resist the sweetness of honey on my tongue. Then I paused, wondering if there was bindweed. Agatha waved her hand and shook her head as if she knew what I was thinking.
She turned again and went to the refrigerator, retrieving a small thing of milk and pouring me a little glass. Sliding it toward me, she said, “Count De Santis is a good man. He takes care of those in his employ. We live long, purposeful lives.”
“Is it Damen or this place that keeps you alive?” Curiosity made me ask.
Her eyes twinkled with adoration and something else, a secret she didn’t want to share as her lips tightened in a smile. Then I knew, even if Agatha wanted to, she couldn’t. Damen had her locked in a spell.
“It is warm today. Take your slippers. Take a walk. Supper will be served at seven. You like Ribollita?”
I tried not to turn up my nose at the Tuscan bean and vegetable stew. Agatha laughed. “I make fresh bread, it is good. You’ll see. And we have cake, for you, for dessert.”
“For me?” I tried to remember if I’d told anyone here that it was my birthday. In my head, Hope started singing, and Cherish hummed. Faith was giggling, and I knew none of them were snarks to give away the secret to my keepers I was celebrating more than another year of living. Or I had hoped. But now, I didn’t know if I’d ever get my wings.
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