Cupid’s Match

Cupid immediately snatches his bow and quiver then climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him.

When I get out of the car and sling my own quiver over my shoulder, I note the distinctive lack of black arrows. It’s not the Arrows we’re dealing with this time around, and Cal doesn’t want the members of the Matchmaking Service to be harmed too badly; they were his colleagues and friends, after all.

“Let’s go, then,” says Cupid. “We don’t have much time.”

We walk down the street in heavy silence, me half running to keep up with his long strides. We spot Cal just ahead, feet away from the Matchmaking Service entrance. On seeing us approach, he nods in our direction then slips through the door.

Cupid and I jog after him to the glass shop front. It’s empty inside. Immediately, my eyes home in on what we came here for: the long golden arrow that hangs above the reception desk.

The Finis.

Cal is already inside, passing the neon-colored armchairs and sprinting toward the high stone reception desk. Cupid opens the door and we both hurry inside as Cal pulls himself up and reaches for the arrow.

“How long have we got?” I ask.

“Not long,” says Cupid, not looking at me.

Then Cal has it in his hand. He pulls, and it detaches easily. He looks at us, a triumphant expression on his face. And then the alarm starts.

“Dammit!” Cal mutters, his face panic stricken as he leaps down in front of us, slipping the Finis into the quiver over his shoulder. “Run!”

Cupid pushes me ahead of him. I’m just behind Cal going through the exit when there’s an inhuman shriek of pain behind us. I spin around as Cupid falls to his knees in the center of the reception, four Ardor arrows embedded in his back. Curtis stands in the doorway from the office, a large bow raised. Agitated, he’s shouting into his headset for more agents to come.

He swipes another arrow from his quiver as voices raise behind him.

Cupid looks up at us. “Go,” he splutters, his face red, his eyes unfocused. “Get out of here.”

The exit is just behind me. I share a look with Cal, who shakes his head quickly, trying to tell me not to do what I’m about to do. But I can’t leave him.

I race back inside, dodging an Ardor that Curtis sends my way as more agents spill into the reception area. Cal bites out a curse and sends a stream of arrows over our heads. I throw Cupid’s arm over my shoulder.

But Cupid’s too heavy—I can’t lift him and he doesn’t respond to my desperate pulling. Cal’s arrows are buying us time, but now the agents are advancing toward us. My eyes find Charlie, who is watching the scene unfold in horror from the back of the room. Our eyes meet but she does nothing, her expression uncertain.

“Help me!” I scream at her.

Nothing.

Another arrow slams into Cupid’s shoulder.

His eyes water and he’s stopped making any sound. I grab his face, forcing his gaze onto me. “Cupid! Come on. Get up!”

The nearest agent reaches for Cupid’s shoulder. He is tall with striking blue eyes. He looks strong. And merciless.

This is it. We’re done for.

Then he cries out in pain as an arrow is thrust into his neck. Charlie stands over him, her brown eyes shining fiercely. She throws Cupid’s other arm around her shoulder as Cal hits the two other agents reaching for us in quick succession. Her cupid strength makes all the difference, and with Cal covering us with his rain of arrows, we manage to move Cupid out to the street.

“Get him to the car,” says Cal. “I’ll try to hold them off.”

Cupid starts to regain consciousness as the three of us move toward the Aston Martin. An Ardor skims past my arm, snagging some of the material of my leather jacket. Cal is still behind us, sending arrows back toward our pursuers.

“Get him in the back!” Cal calls. “I’ll drive.”

We push Cupid into the backseat beside me and Charlie runs around to the passenger seat. Then Cal sprints to us, turning his back to the arrows hurtling his way. He makes it to the car and throws himself inside, immediately locking the doors as arrows ping against the outside of the vehicle. Soon, two agents are banging on the hood.

“You are under arrest! Get out of the car.”

Cal ignores them and starts the engine, then puts his foot down on the accelerator.

“The match must not be made!” an agent cries, but he’s forced to jump out of the way as we power off down the road.

Cupid’s head lolls onto my shoulder. He is whimpering quietly, and there is a thin sheen of perspiration across his forehead. Charlie is muttering in the front seat, her head in her hands. “Oh God, oh God,” I hear her quietly repeating to herself.

I reach out and grab her shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring manner, then I look out of the rear window. The road is dark for a couple of minutes, but then I see two cars—a Porsche and a Jaguar—roar into view behind us.

“Cal,” I say, “they’re coming.”

He accelerates. The car skids around a sharp corner, throwing Cupid on top of me.

“Where are we going?” I ask, pushing a groaning Cupid back into an upright position.

“Don’t know!” yells Cal.

I glance over my shoulder again. Another car has joined the chase and they’re all gaining on us. The night is filled with sounds of screeching brakes and beeping horns. They’re closing in. We’re going to get caught.

Then suddenly they drop back. I blink in confusion.

“Cal . . . what’s going on?”

His expression in the mirror is equally confused. Then his phone buzzes. Keeping his eyes on the road, he pulls it out of his pocket and throws it onto my lap.

“Read it.”

I read it aloud:

Contacted the Matchmaking Service. I’ve bought you some time. But there’s a condition—they want something in return for their leniency. I said I’d make the arrangements. Come back to the house. I’ll explain everything. Crystal.

“Atta girl, Crystal,” Cupid mumbles, his head rolling back to rest on the back of the seat.

A wave of relief crosses Cal’s face. He turns the car around and heads back toward Forever Falls. I look at the screen and frown, then key in a reply.

What do they want in return?

Seconds later the phone buzzes with Crystal’s response.

Cupid.