by Amanda Heger
Well, my entire life has felt off-kilter for the last couple of weeks.
It’s probably just the enchantment. Spending so much time thinking about Eliza has turned my brain inside out or something. If I keep my eyes on the prize—the Council seat, not Eliza—and wait out the moon cycle, everything will go back to normal. The staircase will stop moving. My brain will turn right side out. And Eliza won’t be the first thing I think about in the morning.
Or the last thing I think about before I fall asleep.
I’ll think about my campaign, instead. My platform. Goals for my first year in office.
She won’t even cross my mind. I definitely won’t spend so many nights wondering if she’s thinking of me. No more hours spent wondering about the secrets behind that warm smile. Far fewer moments wasted wondering how she’d feel curled up against me in bed.
She’d definitely fit perfectly. That hair brushing against my skin. Her laugh rumbling through my chest. The curve of her—
Wait. What was I saying again?
Yeah. The Council. That’s my plan, and I’m sticking to it.
Chapter 9
Calif. CCR § 2085.11.010.2. (a)(7) Persons engaged in Cupiding shall be expressly prohibited from employment in the fields of surgery, dentistry, martial arts, professional hockey, and bikini waxing.
It had been over a decade since Eliza had last set foot inside the Agora, but absolutely nothing had changed. It was still a bland, sprawling building at the edge of Gold Lea that looked like an everyday office complex—one people would expect to be full of bored workers typing reports and unjamming printers on a perpetual loop.
Inside, she knew, the Agora was anything but.
Eliza passed through the rotating doors and stood in the tiny lobby. To her right, a woman sat in an entrance booth not unlike a movie box office. She peered at Eliza over a pair of red cat-eye glasses. “ID?” she croaked.
Eliza pulled her provisional license from her back pocket and slid it under a small dip in the bulletproof glass. The Agora had been in this same spot for centuries, in one form or another, and they’d never had a problem with the building being detected by regular humans. But once the first Erosians went public fifty or so years ago, the other Descendants’ paranoia had spiked. First, they’d stopped sharing all but the most basic information about their powers with Erosians. Then, they’d knocked down the old Agora and replaced it with this building, complete with all the latest security features, which they upgraded every few years.
To be fair, the paranoia wasn’t without reason. Those first years, the public had rejected the existence of Cupids as some silly fantasy, probably fueled by hallucinogens and the sexual revolution. But once it became clear that Cupids were as real as the ground beneath their feet, people were furious. Protests sprang up. Televangelists spoke out against “unnatural love,” as if Cupids hadn’t been working behind the scenes of coupledom since the beginning of time.
Dozens and then hundreds of laws were passed, forbidding enchantments of all kinds. And when those were overturned, governments turned to regulating Cupids within an inch of their lives—as if they could keep their worldviews undisturbed by wrapping the Cupids in yards of red tape. Thus, the Department of Affection, Seduction, and Shellfish—shellfish were then wrongfully thought to be a powerful aphrodisiac and tool of Cupids (mostly false)—was born.
“Eliza Herman?” The woman leaned closer, and her breath fogged the glass.
“Yes.” Eliza braced herself. The next question was probably something along the lines of The same Eliza Herman who got banned from the Gold Lea Cinema after enchanting a whole line of people at the concession stand? Like Eliza had purposefully tripped and dropped her box of Sno-Caps.
“My great-nephew said you were back in town. You’ve really grown up. I remember when you and your brother were knee-high tornados running around this place.” The lines on the woman’s face softened, making her look younger and brighter. All at once, a wave of memories washed over Eliza.
“Mrs. Washmoore?” Eliza asked.
“Indeed.”
The old Fury in front of her had once been queen of this place—or she would have been, if the Agora had a queen. She knew how to lead a room and how to lay down the law when necessary. Back then, she’d led the Northern California Cosmic Council—the secret governing body comprised of representatives of each type of Descendant—and she’d wander the Agora, greeting the masses with a dazzling smile and a warm demeanor that made everyone feel welcome.
Everyone except the Cupids.
Eliza’s father always said Rebecca Washmoore had never gotten over the fact that the Cupids had decided to go public without permission of the Cosmic Council. And everyone knew that Furies had a hard time letting go of grudges.
Now, she’d been relegated to glorified ticket taker, and most Cupids felt more welcome at the Agora. Marginally.
“How have you been?” Eliza asked.
Mrs. Washmoore’s expression softened the smallest amount. “I’ve had more exciting days, but that’s what retirement is about, I guess.” The hard lines around her eyes returned as she scanned Eliza’s ID, then slid it back under the opening in the glass. “Enjoy your visit.”
The Fury pressed a button and descended—chair and all—to whatever lay below the booth. Eliza watched as a piece of metal slid over the opening in the floor, leaving her alone in the lobby.
That’s new. A light above the double doors turned from red to green, and Eliza tucked her ID back into her pocket as she stepped into the building proper. The ceiling of the main hall stretched at least three stories high, and a fountain featuring Poseidon filled the room with the soothing sounds of running water. Hallways spurred off left and right, with gold-dusted signs pointing toward rooms like the Hephaestus Weaponry, Asclepius Clinic, and Demeter Greenhouse.
Two Muses crossed in front of Eliza, barely casting a glance in her direction. Their musical laughter tinkled behind them as they disappeared down a hallway to her left. She went right instead, letting her gaze wander as she made her way to the back stairwell. Her shoes clacked against the white marble floor, and she passed portrait after portrait of Descendants who’d been particularly important in the Agora’s history. Paul Rudolph, the Prometheian architect who’d designed the most recent version of the Northern California Agora and had the foresight to know they’d need to keep the outside as plain and unappealing as possible. Winifred Bonfils, the Heliosian journalist who’d sent secret messages via the press to other Northern California Descendants about some of the most important events in history. And Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Athenian and first Descendant to sit on the United States Supreme Court. She’d once visited and donated enough money to fund a renovation to the library.
Which was exactly where Eliza had agreed to meet Jake.
After Yolanda had left the office yesterday, Eliza’s phone had buzzed with a text.
Agora tomorrow to practice? I’ll explain more about everything then. I promise to behave.
Her fingers had hovered indecisively over the screen for a solid thirty seconds. Her body begged her to demand he come back to the office, but her brain reminded her exactly how stupid that would be. First of all, he was her mentor. If Oliver-comma-Trevor got wind of this, he’d pull her provisional license for sure. Eliza wouldn’t be able to help at Herman & Herman, and she’d let everyone down. The thought of telling her father what had happened, especially in his current state, made Eliza want to vomit.
And then what? She and Jake would have a couple of great make-out sessions before the enchantment wore off, he’d realize that being with Eliza was capital-T Trouble, and she’d end up curled under the covers with a bottle of Moscato—exactly the way her last two relationships had ended.
No, better to keep things strictly professional. Otherwise, she’d end up stuck with the only other nonrelative Cupid in Gold Lea as her mentor: Vi
c Van Love.
Meet you at the library. 1:00? she wrote back. We can set some ground rules to get through the next few weeks. If you still want to mentor me, I mean.
Yes. Rules. Perfect, he responded.
As she got closer to the library, the floor changed from marble to squares of striped carpet. They absorbed her footfalls and led her down a narrow, poorly lit hall. When she’d walked far enough that there wasn’t another soul in sight, Eliza reached a tall door made of dark cherrywood. Beside it, a small sign told her this was the right place. Well, that and the bronze door knocker made to look like a certain Supreme Court justice. Eliza reached up and knocked twice with the collar around the knocker’s neck.
The door swung open. Darkness snaked from the room, seeming to absorb the light in the hall. “Hello?” Eliza said. “Is the library open?”
The lights snapped on, bathing the circular walls in soft light. Bookshelves stretched from the floor to the edge of the high ceiling. Beside them, stacks of unshelved books sat piled on the floor. Specks of dust floated in the air, twirling toward the slender, curved windows that lined the back wall.
The entire place had the air of a grand, impressive ballroom that had been filled to the brim with books. And then left to collect dust.
Except for the sparkling glass display cases. One—Eliza knew from years of PSC class—held the Descendants’ Scroll. A list of every known Descendant in the region, which was updated regularly with Hermesian magic and kept under tight lock and key.
The other case was more mundane. It held books and artifacts some librarian had put together for a Pinch of Prometheus display: a few human models made from clay, an eagle eating a liver, and a half dozen ancient, water-damaged books.
And in the center of it all sat Mrs. Washmoore, still in her chair and looking exactly as she had five minutes ago at the entry.
Eliza jumped. “I didn’t… How did you…”
“Sorry about that, running a little behind. I had to stop at the little girls’ room on my way.”
Once Eliza’s heart settled back into a normal rhythm, she smoothed her ponytail and stood up a little straighter. She had so many questions and no idea where to start. How did Mrs. Washmoore know she’d been headed to the library? How did she get inside without Eliza seeing her? And how did the old woman empty her bladder so fast?
Better to ease into it.
“How did you get here?” Eliza asked.
“Pneumatic tubes, of course. We realized there might be a need for staff to travel quickly through the building. Ever since”—she looked at Eliza over the rim of her glasses—“our presence was compromised, we’ve had to take extra precautions.”
“I see.” Eliza was not about to take the bait; she had enough on her mind today. “Are you the librarian too?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Washmoore rearranged the pearls around her neck and gave Eliza a stern look. “Were you expecting someone else? A Metisian perhaps? I swear, no one appreciates—”
“No, no.” Eliza did not want to insult Mrs. Washmoore. Invoking a Fury’s…well, fury was a terrible idea indeed. “I meant that you do so much here. I was surprised, that’s all.”
“I do dabble in all the realms, I guess.” She leaned back in her chair and adjusted her floral skirt. “But I swear, this place would fall apart without me.”
“I believe that. You must work very hard, Mrs. Washmoore.”
The woman didn’t seem to notice Eliza’s attempt at sucking up. “Membership issues. Managing the weaponry. Unclogging the toilets. Running the library. Handling reservations for all the Cosmic Council meetings.”
“Wow,” Eliza said.
“Last week I even had to deliver a jug of Dionysus’s best to those bozos on the Council. I’m eighty-nine years old. If I’m going to be a delivery girl, I should at least receive a tip.”
Eliza took a step back. She could practically see the ends of Mrs. Washmoore’s curls rattling with irritation. “You look great for your age” was all she could manage.
Mrs. Washmoore leaned forward conspiratorially. “Botox,” she whispered. “Makes it a little harder to access my rage. But at my age, rage is so close to the surface that it’s probably a good thing.”
Eliza was learning a lot more than she’d bargained for, but none of this would help her study for her exam. “Interesting,” she said, trying her best to sound genuine. “But I’m actually waiting for someone, and I’m sure you’re very busy, so…”
“Jake said to tell you he’s running about ten minutes late. I asked him to do a few errands for me on his way over.”
Eliza couldn’t contain her surprise. “Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“He’s the one who told me you were back.”
“Jake is your great-nephew?”
Mrs. Washmoore nodded. “Said he’s helping you get your license. Are you going for a regular license or one of those advanced ones? I swear, I can’t believe some of the things you Erosians—excuse me, Cupids—are doing these days. Advanced licenses.” She shook her head. “Does anyone really need to use plutonium to make a couple of people horny?”
“Well, it’s more than that. There are a lot of moving parts…” Mrs. Washmoore did not look like she wanted a lecture on the finer points of enchantments—and since when had Eliza become a defender of the practice anyway? “I mean, I agree.”
“Well, I don’t say a word about it,” Mrs. Washmoore said. “Not that anyone asks me. I keep my thoughts and my hands to myself.”
Eliza stifled a grin. Mrs. Washmoore had said plenty about the subject in the last five minutes. Given another five, Eliza would bet the old woman would have a few more thoughts to share. “I’ll just use one of the computers while I wait.”
“Oh yes. Of course. The computers along the east side of the library are all connected to the Agora intranet. Just put your finger on the scanner to log on. We should still have you in the system from when you were a girl.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Mrs. Washmoore pointed a gnarled finger at a long, low table with three computers. “Make sure you don’t search for any naughty things. The filters will catch you, and there’s a whole lot of paperwork. Save that for Thursday nights between nine thirty and midnight.”
So. Many. Questions. Did the library have a Descendants porn night? Was there classified porn that could only be viewed on the Agora intranet? Who was in it? And did she want to know?
She definitely wanted to know. “What happens on Thursdays?”
“Nereid Night at Dionysus.” Mrs. Washmoore rolled her eyes toward the heavens. “Half the Descendants in Northern California end up getting drunk on the seaweed martini special. Then they stumble down here and think they’re so funny looking at dirty pictures. I got tired of trying to shoo them out every Thursday, so I made a rule. Thursdays between nine thirty and midnight, everyone can look at naked stuff. No kids allowed, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Eliza said.
“Great. I’ll leave you to it then.” Mrs. Washmoore pressed a button on the arm of her chair, and in seconds, she’d gone—sucked into a tube and shuttled off to whatever part of the Agora needed her next.
Eliza had barely scanned her fingerprint on the computer when the library door opened and she began rethinking that whole no-naked-stuff promise.
Jake stood in the doorway. Dark jeans hung low on his narrow hips, and his plain white T-shirt hugged all the right places. Places she’d memorized in those few seconds she’d been pressed against him the day before.
“Hey,” he said.
She scrambled to stand and took a few steps backward. “Hi.”
He gestured toward a long oak table, and she sat at one end. He sat along the other. At least ten feet separated the two of them. Plenty of space for propriety—and her sanity. “Thanks for meeting me,” she said.
“Sorry I was late. Family stuff.”
“No problem.”
Silence.
Ugh. Why was everything so awkward? Well, no, she knew why everything was so awkward, but they were adults. They should be able to manage a conversation without making out on the library table. Not that she was thinking about making out with Jake on the library table. Like Mrs. Washmoore, Eliza was keeping her thoughts and hands to herself.
“Is anyone else here?” Jake asked.
Eliza shook her head. “Look, if you want to back out of this whole mentor thing, I understand. You didn’t sign up for”—she gestured between them—“this.”
He laughed, eyes sparkling. “You have no idea.”
“But if you don’t mind sticking around for a few more weeks, I think we can make it work. With my problem, I’ve been able to figure out a few tricks over the years.” Her words came faster as she continued. “If we stay at least five or six feet apart at all times, it will be a lot easier for us—I mean, for you. And absolutely no touching. I’ll invest in some extra-strength deodorant and smelly soaps to mask my pheromones. If you keep part of your mind occupied with other stuff when we’re together, that will help too. Maybe try a fidget spinner, or one time I—”
“Eliza.” He gave her an encouraging smile, while the rest of his expression rotated between concern and amusement. “You need to breathe.”
She would have argued with him, but she was getting light-headed from a lack of oxygen, so instead, Eliza breathed.
“This isn’t my first enchantment.”
“It’s not?” She was learning a lot about Jake today. A Fury for a great-aunt and now this?
“Things in the Cupid Corps were rough,” he said. “Enchantments happened. Sometimes accidentally and other times less than accidentally.”
She nodded, pretending she knew what he meant. “Of course.”
“But you’re absolutely right. The more physical distance we keep between us, the better things will be. And if you don’t mind scented soaps—”
