Cupid’s Match

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 from 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.”