by Amanda Heger
“The Agora has been locked down. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. All Descendants should shelter in place until further notice. This is not a test. I repeat…” The voice droned on and on, and Eliza could hear the shuffle of panicked feet outside the library doors.
So much for leaving the library. But maybe this meant help was on the way.
Oliver reached into the shattered display case—“Ares through the Ages”—and grabbed the tall bronze urn that had once been Ares’s prison.
“No!” Eliza ducked just in time for the urn to fly by her head.
And—Whoooooosh. Thunk.—then to crack old Mrs. Washmoore straight in the forehead.
She’d come up through her pneumatic tubes at exactly the wrong time. Presumably to see who had set off the library’s alarm system. But now she lay beside her desk, still breathing but out cold.
Help was definitely not on the way.
And Oliver was approaching with a spear in his hands.
Which left Eliza only one choice: run.
Around the shards of glass, over Mrs. Washmoore’s unconscious form, through the stacks, and around the study carrels she ran. She zigged and zagged as fast and as far as she could from Agent Oliver and his pilfered ancient spear.
Maybe there was no way out of here, but someone had to come looking for Mrs. Washmoore eventually. And until then, she’d have to find a place to—
There.
Along the expansive bay of windows, the creators of the Agora had built long, cushioned benches for lounging. And under the bench on the end, a minuscule alcove beckoned, small enough to hide a terrified Cupid.
Eliza dove for it, scrambling through the space on her belly and worming her way into the nook until she could pull her knees up to her chest.
Somewhere in the distance, Oliver panted and cursed and alternately called out, “Ellllliza. Come out, come out. Elllliza.”
She held her breath, willing her heart rate to slow from the speed of light. How was this happening? How had she not seen this coming? How would she make it out of here alive?
Footsteps echoed off the floor near her hiding spot. She pulled herself into a tight ball and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until finally the steps passed her and moved toward the end of the library. As they did, Oliver’s taunts grew angrier and angrier, and his threats grew more and more explicit. But still, she let out the breath she’d been holding. He’d passed her by. He’d—
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
No. No, no, no, NO. Eliza fumbled in her pocket for her phone. With the shattered screen, she couldn’t tell who was calling, but it didn’t matter. They’d have to be her final hope.
“Eliza?” Jake’s voice shook. “Are you there? What’s going on? I came outside and—”
Pale, stubby fingers reached into the alcove and swiped the phone from her hands. Oliver leaned in close enough for Eliza to see each vein in his bulging, bloodshot eye. “Well, well, well. Look what I found.”
Chapter 25.5
Calif. CCR § 412.331. (12) A Cupid may use an enchantment in self-defense only with a reasonable belief that they or another is in imminent danger of serious bodily harm or death.
“Hello? Hello? Eliza?” I’m practically shouting now, and when the voice on the other end finally speaks directly into the phone, it’s familiar. But not because it’s Eliza.
“No, I’m sorry. Who is this?” the male voice asks.
“Jake. Who is this?” I stare out at the exodus of Descendants pouring from the doors. No one is being allowed in, but it seems everyone is coming out. Except the one person I’m searching for.
“Oh. Mr. Sanders. Hello, this is Trevor Oliver. I came across this phone on the floor of the library. I wasn’t sure who it belonged to, so I was going to drop it off in the lost and found.”
Eliza was right. He is a Descendant. I have a hundred questions to ask, but only the most important comes out.
“Where’s Eliza? Is she with you?” My adrenaline kicks through the roof. If she’s not in the library, and she’s not out here with everyone else…
Oliver clears his throat, and a cacophony of indecipherable noises follows. Then it quiets, and all I hear over line is the alarm raging inside the Agora.
“Hello? Oliver? What’s going on in there?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Probably just someone bumped an alarm. You know how sloppy everyone gets on Nereid Night.”
Sloppy or not, I’ve never, in all my years of picking up shifts at Dionysus, seen anyone set off chaos like this, no matter the day of the week. “Have you seen Eliza at all?” I ask.
“You know, now that you mention it, I did see her a few minutes before the alarms started. She mentioned wanting to get a drink at the bar before the specials ended.” He laughs. “Well, I guess now we know who was clumsy enough to set off the alarm, don’t we? Some things never change.”
There’s an edge to his voice, small enough that I don’t realize it at first. But sharp enough that it cuts deep. This isn’t the voice of Agent Oliver, the bored bean-counter from the Department. This is the voice of Trevor Oliver, a Descendant with something to hide.
And I know what that something is. Or at least part of it. Eliza wouldn’t go to Nereid Night on her own. Not tonight. And especially not wearing a tablecloth.
“Wait,” I say. “Oliver? Where’s Eliza? Oliver!”
Click.
I redial with shaking hands, but the call goes straight to voicemail.
Something is wrong. Very wrong. And Oliver just cut off my last lifeline to Eliza.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing my way through the throng of people. But just as quickly as I progress toward the doors, the herd pushes me back. Within minutes, I’m sweaty, bruised, and further from entering the Agora than I’d been before.
I pace the parking lot. My skin is too tight for my body, and everything inside me is screaming in protest. I need to be inside that building. Now.
And then I see it. Bright orange reflected in library’s row of mirrored windows.
Ron Weasley. American classic. Eliza’s pride and joy—and, if what she told me a few minutes ago is true, her strangest suitor to date. Also known as my last hope.
I sprint to the car. My mind is spinning at eighty miles an hour, but it keeps focusing in on one thing and one thing alone: those library windows.
“Ron,” I say, prying open the door to the gas tank and pulling out Eliza’s spare key. “We’re going on an adventure.”
But the damn thing obviously doesn’t love me the way it loves Eliza. Because when I throw myself into the driver’s seat and turn the key, nothing happens. Not even a tiny groan.
“Come on.” My knee bounces with anxiety, but I force myself to give the car a steady pat on the dash. “Start up for me, okay?”
I turn the key again.
Nothing.
“Ron. Look, I know we’ve had our differences.” Gods, am I really doing this? “But maybe this time we can put those aside, okay?”
I give him a little gas this time as I turn the key.
Silence.
The crowd outside the Agora is expanding, and it spills into the parking lot. If I don’t get this show on the road, Ron and I won’t be going anywhere—at least not without running over a dozen unsuspecting Descendants.
“Look.” I lean in close to the horn until my breath creates condensation on the steering wheel, and I grip the worn leather with all my might. “Eliza’s in trouble. Big trouble. And if you don’t start this time, I don’t know what’s going to happen to her. So you better get your shit together and turn over, okay?”
I give him a flick for good measure, take a solid breath, and turn the key.
“I’
ll stand by yooooooooooou.”
The music blares from the speakers, and a half second later, Ron roars to life.
“That’s it, Ron.” I shift into Drive and let my foot hover over the gas. “Time to save our girl.”
The music grows louder in response, and I know that’s my cue.
Ron’s done his part, and now I have to do mine.
I lay on the horn, my foot slams the gas, and the next thing I know we’re flying toward the library windows.
One way or the other, we’re coming in.
Chapter 26
“Love is a battlefield.”
—Ancient Erosian proverb
The world exploded.
Shards of broken window flew in every direction, exposing the inside of the Agora to the outside world and leaving Eliza in horrified awe. Cool air streamed through the hole in the library wall, whipping up dust and loose pages of library books.
And Ron Weasley—her weird, beautiful, piece-of-crap car—sat squarely in the middle of it all. Like a knight in shining (orange) armor, come to rescue her from the castle. If the castle were the library and the wicked queen were Agent Oliver, who happened to be pinned between Ron’s bumper and the wall.
But when Ron’s passenger door swung open, Eliza realized how wrong she’d been. Ron—for all his amazingness—was just the horse her knight had ridden in on.
On the floor, pieces of glass caught the light, sending a hundred rainbows across the room. Overhead, a breeze stirred. Crisp air brushed her skin, bringing with it thoughts of soft sweaters and bonfires on the beach. She was overcome with the scent of fresh peaches and clean sheets.
All of her favorite things. Including the person standing in front of her—the one she suddenly knew she could never live without.
“Jake!” she called out. “Over here!” She tried to stand, but the weight of the chains Oliver had wrapped around her held her to the floor. “Next to the classics shelf.”
He’d come back. For her. Through a wall, ignoring the alarm system, and risking expulsion from the Agora forever, Jake had come back for her. And in the span of three heartbeats, he was kneeling in front of her and working the links away from her skin.
Jake—who was still risking everything for her.
An hour ago, that would have sent Eliza into the depths of self-loathing. Irritation and sadness would have balled up inside of her until she lashed out in a fit of rage. But now, looking at him, it was as if a deep, thick fog had lifted from inside her. Suddenly, her head and her heart were clear.
“Almost got it.” He glanced up at her as his fingers worked frantically at the chains.
In that brief look, Eliza saw herself the way Jake must. She wasn’t an epic failure of a Cupid. She was Eliza Herman, the strongest Cupid—no, techno-Cupid—in all of California. Probably in all of North America. She was kind and caring, and she could sing a mean rendition of any song on disc three of Pow! That’s What I Call Love Songs.
And she saw Jake for who he really was. For the man he’d become since they’d been friends running barefoot all those years ago. He wasn’t a liar or someone who didn’t trust Eliza to make her own decisions. He was a skilled, savvy Cupid who knew exactly how to navigate his way through the world. He was smart and funny, and he bought her Dunkaroos for her birthday.
He was her best friend.
The keeper of her secrets and her heart.
Her stomach did backflips every time he grinned at her.
Even the thought of kissing him raised her body temperature three degrees.
Love—capital-L, happily-ever-after—was real. And she had it in spades.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Jake threw a glance over his shoulder at Oliver, who was still struggling to get out from behind Ron.
“No. I’m okay.” She was bruised and battered, but everything would heal with time.
Jake tore at the chains until she could wiggle free of their weight. “Gods. I was so scared,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.
Eliza buried her face in his chest. Scared didn’t begin to describe the terror she’d felt when she’d been forced, at spearpoint, under the chains that had once imprisoned Ares. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“What happened?” Jake pulled her back to look into her face.
“It was Oliver.” She rushed through the answer. “He is a Descendant. And he’s been interfering with all my enchantments, sowing discord. But, that’s not important right now. I mean, it is. But Jake, I L—” She froze. Where was Oliver?
Whooooosh.
They both turned in time to see the top of Oliver’s head disappear into one of Mrs. Washmoore’s pneumatic tubes.
“Let’s go!” Running on adrenaline and fear, Eliza sprinted to the receptionist’s desk. “Come on.” They couldn’t let Oliver get away. He still had that recording and his sinister plans to end all Cupids and—if the empty case was any indication—now he had the Descendants’ Scroll to boot.
“Code Phaethon. Code Phaethon.” The monotone, disembodied voice returned to the speakers. “All Descendants must evacuate the Agora or return to the bunker level. Destruction will begin in five…”
All at once, Eliza was back in PSC class, preparing for her ceremonial first trip to the Agora. She’d had to learn all the codes back then—including Code Phaethon—and she could almost hear her teacher’s voice in the warnings over the intercom. “All Descendants must evacuate the Agora or return to the bunker level…”
The Scroll had been stolen, and now the Agora would self-destruct. Bit by bit, the walls and ceiling would crack and crumble, crushing everything in their path. Because if the thief made those names public, there couldn’t be any physical evidence left to confirm the presence of Descendants. Instead, there would only be an old, fallen building and a raving lunatic with a sheet of paper. And of course, Dionysus—the Agora’s very own bunker.
Eliza glanced down at Mrs. Washmoore, who was still splayed unconscious on the floor. The lanyard where she usually kept her ID had disappeared, but now and then a stray snake slithered out from her hair. At least the librarian was still alive.
Jake gasped and shook the woman’s shoulders. “Aunt Rebecca?”
She gave a faint moan, but her eyes didn’t open.
“She came in when the alarms started,” Eliza said. “He knocked her out with the urn.” She whipped her head back and forth between the tubes and Jake. But before she could say more, a horrible craaaaaaaaaaack came from above them.
A chunk of plaster—shaped like Pegasus’s head—crashed in front of them and crumbled to dust. And then another hunk—a six-foot-wide lyre—fell from the ceiling.
Eliza wrapped her arms around Jake’s waist and gave a good, long squeeze. Far longer than she should have, considering that the library was crumbling around them. But she needed this moment—this reminder of what she was fighting for—before she plunged into the depths of the Agora in pursuit of a madman.
“You take her and get outside,” she finally said, nodding to the broken windows. “I’m going after Oliver.” She stepped into the small circle on the floor without giving Jake time to respond.
“Eliza. No. What are you doing?” He pulled her to him before the pneumatic tube could suck her under. “He’s a psychopath. You don’t want to run toward him. You need to get out of here.”
“You don’t understand.” The minutes since Oliver had disappeared seemed to tick by at the speed of sound. Each one put him closer and closer to his goal. And if he got away, Eliza’s life—and maybe Jake’s too—would be over. The thought spurred her forward.
She reached up and brushed her fingers across his cheek. “Jake?” Her voice was so weighed down with emotion, it caught in her chest. “I Love you. So much. I always have, even when I was too young or stupid or hurt to know it. And I’m always going to Love you. Real Love. The capital-L
kind.”
“Eliza—”
“I have to go.”
“Please—”
“Let me save you this time.”
“If you—”
She waved him off and stepped back into the circle. This was it—her turn to be the knight in shining armor—and he wasn’t going to stop her.
Except…
Nothing happened. She did a frantic search for a button, a switch, a knob—anything that would suck her into the tube and put her closer to Oliver. But she didn’t move an inch.
“How does this work?” she screeched. Mrs. Washmoore had made it look so easy, zipping back and forth from place to place in milliseconds. “Isn’t there an owner’s manual or something?”
Without a word, Jake hefted Mrs. Washmoore over one shoulder. “Scoot over.”
She scooted but kept her feet firmly planted within the bounds of the ring.
He moved to the center of the circular space and used his free hand to wrap Eliza’s arms around his waist. “Hold on. Tight. And by the way, I Love you too.” He grinned and then stomped his left foot twice, so fast Eliza may not have noticed if she hadn’t been pressed to him.
They flew.
The three of them moved through the bowels of the Agora faster than Eliza would have ever dreamed possible. Were they going east or west? Up or down? Was that Mrs. Washmoore’s foot pressed against her rib cage or her own?
“Jake—”
They turned a corner between floors, and Eliza’s stomach dropped so low it disappeared. The rush of it swallowed her words. Down, they were definitely going down.
Eliza gave up all pretense of bravery and clung to Jake in abject terror as they moved faster and faster. How fast could the body travel before it blew apart into a million pieces? How fast could she travel before she threw up her lunch in a million pieces?
The oxygen vanished from her lungs. Icy sweat dotted her forehead, and her hair clung to her face, obscuring her sight. If pneumatic tubes were the travel of the future, Eliza was never leaving Gold Lea again.
