I feel trapped in his gaze for a moment, but the words he is saying . . . I know they’re not true. The Arrows want to kill me because us breaking some corporate rule will force a change in leadership. But I still don’t understand why that’s such a bad thing. Or why Cupid seems to want it to happen.
“That’s what Crystal said too,” says Charlie. She looks at me, the hate behind her eyes slowly dying. “I just . . . I feel like . . .”
“Brother, some help here,” says Cupid, clicking his fingers impatiently at Cal, who, though still holding the arrow, has a glazed look. He blinks, then drags his gaze toward Charlie.
“You feel like your blood is boiling in your veins,” Cal says, “like you need to attack—to protect the cupids, to stop what the Arrows have told you will come to pass. That’s natural for a new cupid. But we’re not your enemy. Neither is Lila. In the next twenty-
four hours or so you’ll feel yourself again.”
Cupid wiggles his eyebrows. “Only cupid-ier.”
She looks warily at the black arrow then at the three of us.
“Why did you stay here and wait for us?” I ask suddenly. “If you really hate me this much?”
“Crystal’s my friend,” she says. “Before I went to camp we hung out a bit while she was working at the diner.”
While you were hanging around my boyfriend, I find myself thinking.
“And I don’t hate you,” she adds, holding my gaze. “What I did—hating you didn’t come into it.”
Cupid nods and gives what he clearly thinks is an encouraging smile. “Well, that’s a start. Why don’t you take a seat and tell us what happened?”
Neither of us moves for a moment; we are frozen in the firelight, me straddling Charlie on the ground. Then she gives a small nod. I take a breath then slowly stand up.
Cupid looks at me and I see the question in his eyes: Are you okay?
I nod, though my head is throbbing from where I just smacked it into Charlie’s face. I step over a broken stone ornament of two figures riding a wolf, and a tipped-over trinket box marked by an engraved P before taking a seat on one of Cupid’s leather couches.
Cupid pulls Charlie to her feet.
“We don’t need to tie you up again, do we?” Cupid asks.
Charlie gives him a withering look but shakes her head.
“Know that to try anything else like the stunt you just pulled on Lila would be very . . . unwise.”
He nods at the armchair, and Charlie tentatively sits down. The brothers take a seat on either side of me, Cupid sinking back into the cushions while Cal perches on the edge, spine straight and stiff. He twirls the black arrow vacantly with his long fingers, his eyes focused on the smear of blood on the wall.
“Cal,” I say sharply, hoping to snap him out of it.
“I should have told her,” he mutters, staring at his feet. “I should have told Crystal we were looking for the Finis.”
“You couldn’t have known, Brother,” Cupid says, his tone unusually gentle. Then he looks at Charlie. “Now, I could use a Capax arrow on you, but I imagine you’ve had enough of being treated like a human pincushion. If at any point I think you’re lying, though . . .”
“Okay, I get it,” Charlie says. “Now, do you want me to tell you what I know or not? Because I think they’re going to hurt Crystal, and we need to get her back.”
Cupid nods. “Go ahead.”
“We were talking when Crystal had me tied up—thanks a bunch for that, by the way . . .”
“No problem,” Cupid says.
“And there was a noise outside. Crystal went to check it out. When she ran back in, she looked scared and shut the door. Then she looked at me and said something . . . weird.”
Cal leans forward, suddenly alert. “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘I wasn’t always a receptionist.’”
“Does that mean anything to you?” I ask Cal.
He shakes his head, frowning. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly. He looks back to Charlie. “Did she say anything else?”
Charlie shakes her head. “Three people burst through the door—two girls and a guy. One of them grabbed Crystal and she fought him. She threw him into the wall.”
Charlie gestures at the streak of blood with her head and I see a half smile appear on Cal’s face; he seems satisfied that she at least caused some damage to her kidnappers.
“I thought they would attack me, too,” Charlie continues, “but they ignored me. There was a struggle and they dragged her out of the room. Then one of them cut through the rope binding my hands together. She told me to get out of here, and that she’d be in touch when she needed me. She said they had an assignment for me.”
“What assignment?” Cal asks sharply.
Charlie pauses, an internal struggle evident on her heart-shaped face. “I think they expect me to bring Lila to them at some point, on their orders.”
I cast a look at Cupid, who’s suddenly wearing a triumphant smile.
“Charlie?” he says. “Would you like a coffee?”
Charlie looks surprised, but she nods. “Sure.”
“Lila, Cal—come help.”
He gets up and walks out of the room. Cal and I share a look then follow him into the kitchen.
“Subtle . . .” I say.
Cupid shrugs. “Subtlety has never been my strong suit.”
As he leans over the breakfast bar, his arms on the counter, I find myself staring at his shoulder muscles. He catches me looking.
“So,” I say, before he can make any kind of remark, “you think that the Arrows are going to contact Charlie?”
“Yes. And we can use her to lead us to Crystal. We’ll just need to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t revert back to her murderous tendencies.”
“No way,” Charlie says from the doorway. “I’m going home. I’ve had a really bad day.”
Cupid shakes his head. “Sorry, Charlie. It’s not safe, and I can’t risk you doing anything stupid.” He turns to me. “You, too, Lila,” he says. “The Matchmaking Service has shown its true colors, the Arrows are out there, and Selena tried to harm you. You’re not going home either.”
“Fine by me,” I say—though my stomach clenches at the thought of spending the night with Cupid. “Definitely not keen to have my house turned into some mythological battleground.”
“Oh God,” says Charlie. “My parents! My living room! The Arrows jumped through the window.”
“Yeah, they like to make an entrance,” says Cupid. “But Crystal made a few calls when we first got here. It’ll be sorted by now.”
Before Charlie can say anything else, Cal slams his hand against the breakfast bar. “I’m not happy with waiting for the Arrows to get in touch.”
Cupid shrugs and makes his way over to the coffee machine. “What choice do we have?” he says. “Neither of us can get into the Matchmaking Service now. We’re both wanted men.”
Cal scowls. “You’re hardly wanted.”
34
Charlie, on seeing that she doesn’t have much of a choice, calls her mom then reluctantly heads to bed in one of the house’s spare rooms. Cal skulks down to the combat room, presumably to blow off some steam, while Cupid begins clearing his living room of evidence from the attack.
Meanwhile I sit alone in the kitchen, nursing my coffee.
My mind replays the events of the day, which culminate in Cupid’s insistence that I spend the night, here, with him. Given all that’s happened, it should be the least of my worries, but there’s something about Cupid that plays with my emotions; perhaps it’s that expression of longing and sadness that crosses his face when he thinks no one is looking. I’m unsure of what to make of him. I do not think I can trust him, yet every part of me yearns to.
Cupid suddenly appears at the doorway, jolting me f
rom my thoughts. After gesturing that I should follow, he leads me into the living room, which has regained its former elegance; if not for the smudge on the wall, it would be hard to believe that this was the scene of a vicious attack.
Cal has returned from the basement and is sitting tensely on one of the sofas, his pale skin lightly flushed and his hair damp. As I pass him to go and sit on the armchair, I catch the scent of fruity shampoo.
“I take it we’re spending the night in here?” he says, looking at Cupid. “All of us?”
Cupid grins and looks at me. “Well, I have a nice big comfy bed upstairs if . . .”
He trails off as both Cal and I give him a withering look.
Cupid laughs. “Just kidding. I was planning on staying down here anyway, in case Charlie decides to go on a walkabout. If you insist on acting as our chaperone, so be it. I’d say take one of my spare rooms, Lila, but while Charlie still has the Cupids’ Arrow pumping through her veins it’s probably best you stay with me.”
My heart thuds against my chest at the thought of sleeping in such close proximity to him.
“Take the other sofa,” he offers. “It’s more comfortable. I can take the chair.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.” I hardly think I’ll be able to sleep anyway.
Cupid shrugs and stretches out on the couch, his shirt riding up and exposing his hips and lower torso. He catches me looking and grins, placing his arms behind his head.
“Now,” he says, “time for pillow talk.”
Cal sighs noisily and lies down on the second sofa before turning his back to us. “Time for sleep,” he says shortly to the cushions. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
Cupid holds my gaze, the light from the flickering fire dancing around his ocean-like eyes. I know exactly what he is trying to communicate.
I think sleep is the last thing on Cupid’s mind tonight.
It’s not long before Cal’s gentle snores fill the room. I curl up in the armchair, determinedly facing away from Cupid and studying the objects—aside from books—decorating the shelves. There’s an eclectic mix of knickknacks: a small, cheap plastic globe next to a bronze bookend shaped like a temple column; a tiny ornamental Roman helmet tucked beside The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; a toy car that looks like it came from a McDonald’s Happy Meal; and a bunch of James Bond DVDs mixed in with a collection of classic literature.
It’s weird how attuned my body seems to be to Cupid; I can hear his breathing, feel his heat, sense his energy. Even without looking I know that his eyes have not moved from my profile.
After a while he sighs and gets up. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he moves to the curtains, bends down, and picks out three folded blankets from a black cube-shaped footstool in the bay of the window. He walks over to Cal and casually throws one over him. I stare at him, surprised. I thought they hated each other.
Cupid notices me looking.
“Want one?” he says, holding out a blanket. It’s cream colored and fluffy.
I take it, then watch curiously as he resumes his position on the leather couch, places his hands behind his head, and rests his bare feet on the arm of the sofa. He doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“I don’t think you’re quite as bad as you make yourself out to be,” I say quietly after a few tense moments have passed.
Cupid smirks. “I don’t make out that I’m bad at all. It’s my dear brother who likes to do that.”
“You care about him, though.”
Cupid shrugs. “He’s my brother. He’s a pain. But he’s my brother.”
“He thinks you shouldn’t have come here.”
Cupid sits up again and leans forward to look at me steadily. “Is that what you think?”
My mind is cast back to the past couple of days. Everything—Charlie becoming a cupid, Crystal being kidnapped—all of that is because of him.
“Yes,” I say quietly. But as I say it, I know that it’s not true. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble since you got here. Why did you come?”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “To find you.”
My face suddenly feels hot and I’m unsure if it’s because of the heat from the fire or the energy that now fills the room. I shift in the armchair.
“Cal said you were banished from the Cupids Matchmaking Service because you obsessed over women. That you had extreme views.”
Cupid lets out a short laugh. “Cal said that? He was always the dramatic one.”
I frown. “They didn’t banish you?”
Cupid grins. “Oh, they banished me all right,” he says, then pauses a moment as though in thought. “I guess my views are extreme to them.”
“What views? Dating?”
He gives another laugh as he shakes his head, then falls back against the sofa.
After a while I speak again. “I don’t think you’re my Match. I don’t believe in that kind of thing.”
Cupid shrugs. “I don’t either, really—not like my brother does.”
“Well, why did you come here, then?” I ask, surprised.
He looks amused. “Curiosity.” When I don’t reply, he looks at me, his eyes darkening. “I’ve seen matches. I’ve made matches. So I guess it’s not that I don’t believe in them,” he says. “It’s just, well, a bit depressing, isn’t it? You only have one shot, with one person, and once that person’s gone—they’re just gone, and you’re all alone?”
My mind drifts to my dad, lost without my mother. Cal matched them, so they must have been soul mates. And now my dad’s soul mate is gone.
Cupid continues, “Sometimes I think that people should just be left to their own devices. All this matching . . . it makes it seem like everything is planned. I don’t think love should be planned. Do you?”
“You’re a cupid, and you don’t think people should be matched?”
He smiles. “Hence the extreme views.”
“If that’s what you really think, then I still don’t understand why you came here.”
A shadow flickers across his face. “Whether or not I like it—and whether or not you believe it—a complex system that details the lives of every single person on this entire planet has determined that you and I should be together. So maybe I’m not into matches the same way as my brother is. Maybe I don’t think love can be that simple. But still . . . in cupid terms, you are my Match. I had to find you, Lila. I had to see.”
We both fall into silence. The only sounds in the room are Cal’s muffled snores and the crackling of the fire. I fiddle with the tassels on my blanket.
“Why did Cal tell me you were dangerous? Because he knew the Arrows would come?”
“Partly,” he says, “but partly something else.”
“And that is?”
“He thinks that something bad will happen if we’re matched.”
“What does he think will happen? Is it about the founder?”
“It’s something in the Matchmaking Service company policy—”
From the other sofa comes a sharp throat-clearing noise. I jump and spin around. Cal has turned over on his side and is glaring at us both.
“Can you please keep the noise down?”
He turns grumpily back around to face the back of the couch and Cupid makes a face at me. I find myself grinning back—I can’t help myself.
“’Night, Brother,” says Cupid, smiling. Then he lies back down on the sofa and pulls a blanket over himself. When he turns toward me, his face looks softer. “There’s something about you, Lila,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what it is. But when I first met you—I felt something. And I think you feel it too.”
I think back to the moment when I handed him the pen, the buzz that seemed to charge through my veins. I want to pull my eyes away but my gaze is locked on his.
“You don’t like the idea of matches,”
I remind him softly.
Cupid smiles and rolls onto his back. He shrugs.
“I think maybe I’m starting to.”
35
I don’t know how I manage to sleep, but somehow I do. When I next open my eyes, the embers of the fire are glowing orange and early-morning light creeps in through the heavy red curtains. I jolt upward, pulling the blanket to my chest as I sense a pair of eyes watching me. Cupid is sitting upright on the sofa, a huge grin on his face.
“Jeez, Cupid,” I say. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Watching me while I sleep? That’s not creepy or anything . . .” My eyes dart about the room. The other couch is now empty. “Where’s Cal?”
“He went downstairs to train,” he says. “And in all fairness, while you were dribbling and mumbling and snoring over there, it was really hard not to gawk!”
I give him a look. “I was not!”
He grins. “Fine, you weren’t. You looked adorable, okay? Now—shall we go and wake our angry little cupid up? See if that arrow venom has left her system yet?”
We head up the black spiral staircase to the spare room, and I can’t help but recall the last time I was up here. If I hadn’t followed Cupid out onto the balcony, would things have turned out differently? Or would I still be here now, going to wake up my best friend, who has been turned into a cupid, after spending the night with a literal love god?
Before we reach the terrace, Cupid stops and knocks on one of the doors. I feel a knot of tension in my stomach as I remember the way Charlie looked at me last night.
“Come in,” Charlie grunts from inside.
We enter a simple but elegant bedroom. The carpet and curtains are a soft white, and there is an ornate black dressing table with a mirror by the wall. Charlie is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the double bed, still dressed in the jeans and black top she was wearing yesterday. Her cell phone is in her lap.
She looks up as we approach, and when our eyes meet, I see something of the old Charlie in them: the sleepovers, the school detentions, and the gossiping during our lunch breaks all seem to flicker behind her expression.
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