Doesn’t magic take awhile?
But seconds later, I hear a tap at the window outside my office. I turn to see a little cherub floating there in midair. He’s got the stereotypical blond curls, but he is sporting a leather jacket with a spike-studded collar and sunglasses.
“Hurry the fuck up,” the floating baby curses profanely at me.
My eyes widen as I stand and walk across my narrow office to undo the latch and slide the window open. The cheap thing is worse than my chair and sticks—I have a little trouble getting the damn window to open. For a second, I have flashbacks of working at a fast food drive thru as a teen.
And those are never cheerful memories.
The baby cupid rests a chubby elbow on the windowsill, letting his jacket gape open over his bare chest, then he shoves his glasses up. I can’t help but notice he still has on the traditional loincloth underneath the leather jacket. It totally looks like a diaper, just like the pictures.
“So … the website’s ruined?” he asks.
I force myself to focus on his face and stop wondering about how comfortable—or uncomfortable—that loincloth is. Did he use it like a diaper?!
“It’s still running. But I did exactly as Aeneus1 requested. All the matchmaking software has been corrupted. Aphrodite and Eros will have a huge mess trying to sort out unhappy, mismatched couples.”
The cupid2 gets an evil grin.
“Boss man’s gonna like that shit. His mom pissed him off big time.”
I nod, not quite sure what to do with my hands. I scratch my beard for a second but, then, decide that it makes me look nervous, so I slide them into my pockets.
“As I said—job’s done. I’d like my payment.”
“Bet you would.” The little cupid reaches a dimpled hand behind his back into what looks like midair. But it must be his invisible quiver because he comes back with an arrow.
He hands it over to me.
“Remember, these babies are a one-time use thing. Only a god can reverse the effects. I know you moderns don’t use bows and arrows. So, just prick the lucky girl or guy with it, and then you can prick them, you feel me?”
I nod, ignoring his uncouth words. All my attention is on the love arrow in my hands. It’s made of many different materials—wood with some ivory-looking inlay, and is delicately and intricately carved—like the lace on a Valentine. I can’t believe I’m holding one. I balance it gently on my palms like it’s a museum artifact. Which, I suppose, it would be, if other humans knew the gods existed.
But they don’t.
Cupid clicks his tongue and gives me some finger guns. “Nice doing business with you.” Then he flies off, leaving me frozen, still standing in front of my window.
I study the stone arrowhead, the carved wooden shaft, the pink feathers on the back edge.
I swallow hard.
Maybe … maybe one day … I’ll have the guts to use this, I tell myself. I just need the right moment.
Just then, someone knocks at the door—most likely my boss. Dammit! I shove my window shut—thankfully, the damn thing doesn’t stick this time. Then, I run over and put the arrow into my desk drawer and slam it closed, heart pounding as I pull up a new screen on my computer.
Code flashes across the screen for the very mundane, human healthcare billing project I’m supposed to be tweaking.
“Come in!” I call, even though my palms are sweaty and my heart rate is out of control. The sooner I let the boss in, the sooner he’ll be gone.
Sure enough, the door opens and there stands Mr. Roberts. I feel like the guy from Office Space, trying to avoid getting wrangled into working on the weekend. I resolutely stare at my boss’ tie while he talks.
After five minutes of mindless chatter and check-ins, he leaves and I can breathe again—I guess he didn’t want me to come in on Saturday. I turn back to my computer and start on a project that he wants done.
I crack open a soda and take a sip before diving headfirst into the world of Ruby on Rails and lines of code that sing like music.
My phone rings and startles me so badly that I knock over my soda with my elbow and completely soak my robin’s egg blue pants—which is bad because that’s where my phone is, but at least it’s not my work computer.
“Shit!” I say as I try to rescue my phone from the cold, sticky mess.
“Whoa, sorry. Is this a bad time? I can call back later.”
I hear Val’s lilting voice with that soft elusive accent and immediately freeze. Wait. What’s happening? I glance at the phone in my hand like an idiot. Shit. I accidentally answered it. I hold the dripping thing up to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Dev?”
Val’s voice is like a shot of whiskey. It makes my throat burn and I get light-headed.
Every.
Single.
Damn.
Time.
“Hey.”
I ignore the soda that’s now dripping into my eardrum. I can deal with that later. I know that Val’s at her dad’s. So, if she’s calling, it must be serious.
“What’s up?”
“I want to tie up my stepmothers and launch them into another plane of existence where they have to hear their own nasally voices echoing back at them for eternity.”
“So, it was a good family dinner then?” I joke, grinning.
She’s so dramatic, my Val.
“The best.”
“Come back to Earth and I’ll give you a make-up dinner.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can really think them through. As soon as I say them, my throat grows tight. It almost sounded like I asked for a date. Will Val think it’s a date? I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. I might puke. What if she thinks it’s a date and says no?
“A make-up family dinner?” Val wonders. I can picture her face. She’s probably chewing on her bottom lip.
My stomach drops and my chest lightens at the same time. I’m both disappointed and relieved at her interpretation of dinner as a platonic thing.
“Yeah,” I grit out, trying not to let my voice get pitchy.
I clear my throat and bat down the self-loathing that smacks me across the face and makes my cheeks burn.
“I’ll have to sneak out … one second.”
I hear a scraping sound and, then, the crunch of leaves underfoot.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Shhh,” she shushes me, like anyone else could hear our conversation.
For all I know, maybe the gods in Asgard can. She’s never told me about anyone with that kind of power, but her family is huge. Who knows?
Val is the first demigod I’ve ever met. I remember that day perfectly. I’d come in for my night shift at Home Depot, my college job of stocking shelves—which far surpassed my high school job of fast-food bitch. There Val stood, on the loading dock, dark brown hair billowing in the wind like she was on a magazine cover, plush lips pursed with attitude, and a tattoo of a woman on her forearm that told me Val loved hard, deep, and permanently.
I immediately fell for her.
I was shocked that first night when we had to do team carries and she chose me as her partner. I’d been delighted when I’d made her laugh and startled when she’d shown me that she didn’t actually need help carrying a hundred pound box.
My eyes had gotten as big as balloons. At first, I’d thought she was just like a bodybuilder or something.