First Quiver

by Beth C. Greenberg

  “No, Pan. I told you, I was cool.”

  The reporter threw an arm around TV Cupid and smiled at the camera with two perfectly matched lines of chalk-white teeth. “Well, folks, you heard it here first. Mr. Arrows saved the day, thanks to Speed Racer. I dare say, I will be buying this game for my two teenagers. Sadly, we’ve learned the truck driver was DOA at Tarra General, but thanks to your, no offense, freakish reflexes, eleven adults and six children walked away from this tragic scene unscathed. This town owes you a huge debt of gratitude, Quentin Arrows. Back to you, Brent.”

  Pan clicked off the television and collapsed with a heavy sigh next to Cupid.

  Gratitude was the very last thing Cupid deserved. If not for his long string of misdeeds, Mia’s boys would have been snug in their beds and not at the center of the wreckage. For that matter—

  No! The enormity of his guilt landed squarely on Cupid’s chest like one of his stepfather’s anvils.

  “Pan, you don’t think . . .” Cupid’s voice faltered, but his anxious tone had already caught Pan’s attention.

  “What?”

  “Did that truck driver die because of me?”

  “No, Q. That is not on you.”

  Cupid wanted to believe him, but the note of desperation in Pan’s voice undercut his emphatic delivery. Perhaps Pan was feeling a little bit responsible himself.

  “Please don’t start lying to me now. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but a man’s life is . . .” Cupid’s head shook side to side, picking up momentum until his entire upper body was swaying. “I could never forgive myself.”

  “Whoa.” Pan gripped Cupid’s shoulders and held him until he settled. “Q, you know how this works as well as I do. Clotho spins the thread of life for each newborn, and Lachesis determines its length. When that life has run its course on Earth, Atropos cuts the thread.”

  “Yes, but even the Fates can be overruled by Zeus. What if Atropos was ordered to cut that man’s string tonight because of me?”

  Pan set a gentle gaze on Cupid, but what could he say, really? If they were meant to know the truth, Mercury would have delivered it. The rest was pure conjecture. Pan’s grip loosened, and his hands fell away from Cupid’s arms.

  “We can’t change what’s happened, and it won’t help to dwell on what we can’t understand.” He offered Cupid an encouraging smile. “Besides, you’re the town hero tonight. If anyone else had been at the front of that line of cars when the light turned green, there definitely would have been more deaths.”

  “Mia sure doesn’t see it that way. I don’t think she’ll ever speak to me again.” The word “goodbye” hadn’t passed between the two of them, but even blinded by the headlights, Cupid recognized the haunted look in Mia’s eyes for exactly what it was.

  “Well, we both know that is not going to happen.” Good ol’ Pan. Right back to business.

  “I don’t see what any of this still has to do with me. As fudged up as tonight was, I did bring Mia together with her Right Love.” Saying it out loud caused Cupid’s heart to spasm all over again. It wasn’t the directional pulse that had repeatedly led Cupid back to Mia, but the out-of-control beating of a heart forced to accept the finality of the soul-crushing truth: there would be no happily ever after for Cupid with Mia, not ever.

  “Right. That cop who drove her home,” Pan said.

  “Yes.” Mother had followed through on her promise to provide Mia’s true mate, choking off the last breath of Cupid’s fantasy that perhaps, if he exhausted every other possibility, Mia might somehow beat for him after all. “So, I’ve fulfilled my punishment, and I’m done, thank you very much.”

  “Need I point out the obvious?” Pan answered Cupid’s defiant scowl with an equally stubborn eye roll. “Okay, I guess I do. You are still here; ergo, your work here is not done.”

  “The gods mean to exact a heavier price from my heart?” What’s left to take?

  “Apparently, there is more to your task than simply facilitating a meeting.”

  “Simply?”

  “You told me before that Right Loves don’t always recognize their moment. Do you know if either of them felt something?”

  “There is no way Mia could have acknowledged any beat with all I put her through tonight. Plus, she was already beating for her stupid date.”

  “Your clone?”

  “What’s a clone?”

  “The lookalike, the guy she chose because she couldn’t have you.”

  “Yeah, him.” Cupid’s nose wrinkled. “Reese.”

  “What about the cop? Do you think he got it?”

  “I can’t say I was really paying attention to the lieutenant’s feelings,” Cupid said, the words raising a sour taste in his mouth, “but I seriously doubt even the lowest of low would’ve been thinking about his love life at a time like that.”

  “Fair enough. We have to assume neither has a clue what’s going on,” Pan said. “If it’s your job to make sure these two ships don’t pass in the night, what’s your next move?”

  “You didn’t see how she looked at me, Pan. She’s not exactly going to be begging me to come over for a consultation.”

  “Well, somebody’s gotta get my car from her house.”

  Cupid stared at Pan for several long seconds. “I hate you.”

  Slapping his hand down onto Cupid’s knee, Pan answered. “Don’t shoot the messenger, bro.”

  “I don’t see any wings on your shoes . . . bro.”

  “Would you like to feel my tail again?” Pan asked brightly.

  No, Cupid hardly needed the reminder of how everyone around him was suffering because he couldn’t seem to carry out his assignment. Cupid bowed his head and moaned.

  “Look, Q, I know this sucks, but you’re positive this Lieutenant Goode is the guy, right?”

  “Yes, the beat could rival your snoring.”

  “Funny,” Pan deadpanned. “Then you don’t have a choice. You just have to make it happen this time. You might not get another chance.”

  “Yeah, no pressure there.” Cupid clutched his chest.

  The two men rose, awkwardly close and neither pulling away. Pan wrapped an arm around Cupid’s shoulders and drew him in for a hug.

  “Hang in there, man. We don’t know how this will end.”

  39

  Goodbye

  With the clarity of morning’s light, Pan understood he’d made a terrible mistake. He should have insisted Cupid get a decent night’s sleep rather than matching him beer for beer while rehashing the highlights of their unnaturally long childhood. Even as the vapors of the late-night hours bled into early morning, Pan told himself just one more story/beer/hour until the sun eventually rose.

  To say Pan had mixed feelings about this morning was perhaps the biggest understatement of the century. Bottom line, neither man had a choice. Their little slumber party was a lovely parting gift from the gods, but Pan knew better than to imagine there might be more where that came from.

  Cupid’s mission was clear. The moment was now.

  The two men eyed each other across the kitchen counter while they loaded up on coffee and courage. Cupid’s fingertips traced a familiar circuit over his heart, slowly at first, then faster as his signal grew more intense. Pan watched silently until the inevitable could no longer be cheated. “We should go.”

  Cupid answered, “Okay,” with a quiet resignation that plucked Pan’s last heartstring.

  They set off wordlessly in Pan’s Titan. Swallowing over a lump the size of a small country, Pan watched Cupid dial the number from the lieutenant’s business card.

  “Hello, this is Quentin Arrows, from last night . . . Yes, I might have some new information for you. Would it be okay if I stopped by the station? . . . Okay, see you in about—” Cupid glanced at Pan, who mouthed the missing number “—eight minutes. Goodbye, Lieute
nant.”

  True to his word, Cupid strode into the squad room eight minutes later with Pan glued to his side, where he had every intention of staying. The lieutenant opened his office door and stepped out to greet them. Clearly, Goode lacked Cupid’s panache—who didn’t?—but the lieutenant had a genuineness about him, something that struck Pan as sturdy, and he liked that for Mia. Maybe Aphrodite wasn’t completely off her rocker.

  “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Arrows.” Goode offered his hand to Cupid, and after a pause that lasted one beat too long for Pan’s sanity, Cupid reached out and shook it.

  “Everyone calls me Q,” he replied. “Lieutenant Goode, meet Pan.”

  Goode shifted his attention to Pan and seemed to be puzzling out who he was in the grand scheme of things. “If you’ll excuse us, please, Pan, I’d like to speak with Mr. Arrows in my office.”

  Oh, hell no. “We’re a package deal.” Without waiting for an invitation, Pan followed Cupid through the doorway into the lieutenant’s office.

  Goode registered surprise, but he recovered admirably. Of course the professional investigator would know how to school his features. “Have a seat, then, gentlemen.”

  “How were Mia and the boys when they got home?” Cupid asked before his butt met the metal chair.

  “She was remarkably calm, actually.”

  Cupid’s face lit with pride. “She’s very centered.”

  “You said you had some information for me?”

  The abrupt change of subject drew a frown from Cupid. His fleeting stay on earth had not afforded him the lieutenant’s skill at concealing his emotions. Probably for the best. Dishonesty didn’t play well where Cupid would soon be returning.

  “Yes. You asked me last night about the truck driver, and I couldn’t . . .” The rest of Cupid’s words caught inside his throat, and his shoulders slumped as if sitting up required too much effort.

  Goode leaned forward ever so slightly, sliding his folded hands a few inches closer to Cupid. While Goode’s subtle gesture of support didn’t go unappreciated by Pan, Cupid was still his responsibility as long as he still walked the earth, though that window was squeezing shut before Pan’s very eyes.

  With a reckless disregard of their previously established boundaries, Pan placed his hand at the back of Cupid’s neck and worked his fingers into the knot of muscles. “Take your time,” Pan whispered. He clapped Cupid twice between the shoulder blades before moving his hand back where it belonged—in his own damn lap.

  Cupid lifted his head, half smiled at Pan, and cleared his throat to address the lieutenant. “After I had time to let things sink in a bit, I remembered a few more details.”

  “I’m listening,” Goode said.

  Cupid’s gaze drifted to the wall behind Goode’s chair as he dredged up the painful memory. “The headlights blinded me at first, but then the truck drove under the traffic light, and for a split second, I caught this look of sheer terror on the driver’s face. He slammed on the horn and threw the steering wheel hand-over-hand like a dog chasing its tail. The truck lurched and skidded hard, and that’s when he started to tip.”

  Pan cringed but held his tongue.

  Goode cut in with a follow-up question. “Would you say the driver seemed fully alert and was attempting to stop the vehicle?”

  “Yes, and when he realized it wasn’t going to stop, he . . .”

  “He intentionally flipped it.”

  “I believe so,” Cupid answered quietly.

  Goode tapped his folded hands on the desk. “Your statement corroborates the physical evidence: tread marks, angles of impact, other eyewitness testimony, and such. There wasn’t much left of the, uh”—he paused and shot Cupid an apologetic glance—“body after the fire, but with your account and the tox screen coming back clean, we can cite faulty brakes as the cause of the collision. It may not sound like much, but it should bring some comfort to the driver’s widow. She can lay her head on the pillow at night, knowing her husband died a hero.”

  Cupid took in the information with a sober nod. The mention of the widow wouldn’t help Cupid rest peacefully, that much Pan knew for sure. For all his god-concierging, Pan had to admit he was basically impotent when it came to shielding Cupid from the harsh realities of divine justice, not that he’d done such a bang-up job shielding himself this time.

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. I had to look away at that point because cars were coming at us from every direction,” Cupid added quietly.

  “And that’s when you pulled your Racer Q maneuver?”

  Pan snorted. “More like Chimchim.” Cupid shot Pan a confused look.

  Note to self: teach Q about cartoons.

  P.S. on note to self: too late.

  “I don’t know if you two have heard yet, but they’re calling this the ‘immaculate protection.’”

  Pan shook his head and groaned. “Shoot me now.” Cupid was many things, but the son of a virgin he most certainly was not.

  Goode’s penetrating gaze shifted to Pan. “You don’t think Mr. Arrows deserves the accolades?”

  “Of course he does, but the media gave all the credit to a video game, which is completely irresponsible. My friend here happens to have the reflexes of an Olympic athlete.”

  “Oh yes?” Goode swung back to Cupid. “Which sport might that be?”

  “Archery,” Cupid blurted.

  Pan shot Cupid his best shut-the-fuck-up glare. The lieutenant’s intuitive skills rated higher than the average mortal. Curiosity was his day job, and he had the stripes to prove he excelled at it. Cupid’s flimsy cover story wouldn’t take much effort to unravel, and who was more likely to tug at just the right thread than a suspicious cop? Their best bet was putting Goode onto Mia’s scent sooner rather than later. Love was a highly potent distraction.

  Goode leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers under his chin. “I am inclined to agree with you about the media. Mr. Arrows, Q, last night, you mentioned you were babysitting for Ms. Barnes. Is that your full-time position?”

  “No, I was just helping out. Her mom usually stays with the boys, but she wasn’t available.”

  “So, you have no problem with Ms. Barnes dating other men?”

  He asked what, now? Pan’s antennae shot up. Oh, how very unprofessional of you, Lieutenant Goode. Pan bit back a grin.

  “Nope,” Cupid replied. “In fact, I was encouraging her.”

  “Encouraging?” Goode shifted to the edge of his chair. “Is that what you were doing when you set out to interrupt her date?”

  “I needed to tell her something.”

  “Wouldn’t most people use a telephone in that situation?”

  “She wouldn’t have answered. She was angry with me.” Poor, fudged-up Cupid.

  “And why was that?”

  Surely, Goode knew his questions were inappropriate, yet he pressed on with a dogged determination as if fully expecting to be cut off at any moment. Pan liked him more and more. Cupid, however, squirmed in his chair like a kid caught with his dick in his hand.

  “Despite a rigorous selection process, Mia’s date turned out to be—”

  “A douchenozzle.” Pan couldn’t help himself.

  The lieutenant cracked his first smile, the crinkles at the edges of his eyes settling into well-worn ruts. Serious when he had to be, Lieutenant Goode also seemed like the kind of guy who could knock back a case of Bud and share some laughs with his pals when he was off duty.

  He opened the case folder and ran his index finger down the page. “Reese Harris, fitness model,” Goode said, his voice dripping with scorn. “The guy just couldn’t resist those cameras last night.”

  Cupid’s frown deepened. “He wasn’t my choice for Mia.”

  Lifting his gaze from the page, Goode continued his interrogation. “I see. Does Ms. Barnes normally seek your approv
al of her dates?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Pan guffawed, covering his outburst with a faked cough, but Goode was laser-focused on drilling for answers.

  “Complicated how?”

  Cupid fell silent and glanced at the whiteboard on the side wall. Pan held his breath and stared straight ahead. This was why they were here, basically all the marbles.

  “Lieutenant, Mia and I are not together.”

  Pan turned his head, just enough to catch Cupid’s profile. The signs of struggle were obvious to someone who’d known Cupid since he was a chubby little cherub: the unnatural set of the jaw, the tension across the bridge of his nose, the tightness in his voice.

  Goode’s demeanor softened at once. “But you wish you were?”

  Cupid hesitated again before answering with a sad shake of his head. “We can’t be.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  The awkward silence returned. From the jaw-gnashing visible to Pan, it appeared Cupid was grinding his teeth into dust. Pan could no longer sit idly by and leave his best friend to twist in his noose.

  “Babe.”

  Cupid pivoted toward Pan’s unexpected endearment. Without another word, Pan placed his hand palm-up on Cupid’s knee. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the next county while Cupid shifted his gaze to the invitation and watched, seemingly incredulously, as his own hand spread out over Pan’s and curled into the waiting spaces. Pan’s eyelids touched down for the brief millisecond he allowed himself to melt into the intimate contact, even if it was purely for show.

  “Lieutenant, I’m . . . Pan and I are . . .” Cupid cleared his throat and met the grin spreading across Goode’s face. “Mia and I are just friends.”

  “Yes, I used my police superpowers to deduce that.”

  Pan squeezed the hand Cupid was still letting him hold, and a reluctant smile lifted one side of Cupid’s mouth. Fuck, he wished he could tell Cupid how proud he was of him right now. Stepping aside for another man to take his place with the only girl he’d ever loved? That shit took some serious balls.

  As bold as he’d been with his questions earlier, Goode was almost shy now. “So, uh, is Ms. Barnes serious about this Reese character?”