Charmed: Let Gorgons Be Gorgons (14 page)

“You really don’t think newspapers are an antiquated way of delivering important information to the masses?” The obnoxious and condescending voice coming through the phone made Phoebe want to reach through the line and strangle the man on the other side. She made do by throttling the receiver of the office phone as she glared daggers at Mika, who was sitting across from her.

Phoebe took a deep breath and forced a smile, hoping it would make her sound more pleasant in her response. “I believe what I said was, I’m not here to comment on the state of the newspaper industry. I agreed to this interview to discuss your series of blog posts attacking… I mean
reviewing
my column.”

Truthfully, Phoebe hadn’t agreed to anything. Mika had set this whole thing up with Elise’s blessing. While Phoebe had been dealing with gorgons and statues, the blogger that had hooked into her story managed to get an interview with one of the couples that had broken up. He’d interviewed the pair at the same time and, in their anger, they were willing to agree with anything the blogger suggested. Phoebe had gotten the brunt of the blame even though they’d been in an otherwise happy relationship for years since she’d married them.

“Well, you haven’t been answering my questions about your column either,” the man said. Phoebe was so annoyed with him, it didn’t even concern her that she had never bothered to make note of his name.

“Again, I need to correct you,” Phoebe said, still smiling and glaring. “I haven’t agreed with your accusations. You’ve asked me very few actual questions so far.”

Mika shrugged and smiled an apology back at Phoebe. It wasn’t the publicist’s fault that Phoebe had to suffer through this chat with some blogger with an ax to grind against the newspaper industry. Mika was just doing her job protecting the paper and Phoebe.

“Okay,” the man replied in a joyous tone that caused Phoebe to suspect he was about to come at her with some kind of gotcha question. “Here’s a good one: Do you think an advice column for the lovelorn counts as actual journalism?”

Phoebe relaxed. This was the kind of question she could handle. She got it all the time. People, especially men, could be somewhat dismissive of her career. “I think advice columns are part of a proud tradition in the news industry to make papers accessible to a wider audience. The
Bay Mirror
does not just serve those looking to get in-depth analysis of the news of the day… Although we certainly do perform that job admirably, compared to websites more interested in presenting opinions as facts and pushing agendas.
Ask Phoebe
helps expand the reach of our paper by helping those who are in need of a little advice. That’s all. No harm, no foul.”

“But you yourself are not a doctor?” he said, again with a “gotcha” tone in his voice.

“And I’ve never claimed to be one,” Phoebe said. “I do have a degree in psychology, but I like to think of myself as more of a friend offering advice. I have always been up front about that in my column. My readers know who they are talking to when they write in.”

“Well, as their
friend
—” Phoebe could hear the sneer in his voice. “—what do you think the cause of all these breakups is?”

“Maintaining a marriage can be a challenge,” Phoebe said. “Sometimes problems arise that cause people to want to take a break. Sometimes the problems are insurmountable and require something more permanent. If you read my column tomorrow, you’ll get more of an idea of my thoughts on the matter. Until then, thank you so much for contacting us.”

“Just one more question!” he shouted into the phone before she could hang up.

Phoebe let her silence speak for her.

“Hello?” he said after an extended pause.

“I’m here.” Again, she glared at Mika who blew her a kiss.

“Okay, good,” he said. “Do you consider yourself responsible at all for the situation your couples are in right now?”

It was an impossible question to answer. As an advice columnist, she knew she wasn’t to blame for how her readers reacted. All she could do was give them advice and hope they followed it to a reasonable conclusion. She certainly didn’t think that every single priest, judge, or Elvis impersonator that joined two people in matrimony were responsible for the marriages that followed.

But this wasn’t quite the situation at hand. Something magical was affecting these couples, and the odds were that it was all related to Phoebe in some way. These people might have been breaking up because Phoebe married them, but not because of the “advice columnist” part of her job. This was likely related to the other hat she wore. But even then, she was not the one who had set this evil plan—whatever it is—into motion. She was likely as much a victim herself.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t feel responsible at all.” Phoebe hung up the phone without another word.

Mika was on her feet before the receiver was back in its cradle. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Phoebe waved her off. “Not your fault. The situation forced us to make a statement. I’ve spoken to the blogger. Now I’ve got to address my audience. Elise already pulled tomorrow’s column. Now I just have to write a replacement before the print deadline.”

“You are a true professional,” Mika said, pouring it on a little thick for Phoebe’s tastes.

“You can thank me with coffee and pastry in the morning.” Phoebe opened up her laptop. “Now go.”

“There will be a chocolate croissant waiting for you tomorrow.” Mika saluted before she turned to leave the office, leaving Phoebe alone with her thoughts.

She couldn’t dwell on the magical part of the problem, at least not while she wrote her response to her mortal audience. She had to figure out how to explain the inexplicable in a way that protected the paper and still offered some kind of reasonable advice to people actually going through their own problems. And she had to do it all with her typical
Ask Phoebe
flair.
And
she had to do it on deadline.

With no clue what to write, she started out how she usually did in these situations and wrote without thinking, hoping that somewhere along the way she’d come up with an idea.

It took three paragraphs that Phoebe knew she’d be deleting before she picked up a thread that she could build her article from. It was all about external factors getting in the way of a marriage. She focused on things like jobs and family, leaving out any reference to magical influences, but the advice was still the same. When outside influences were coming at you, you had to work together as a couple to deal with them. It was a bit simplistic considering that the current couples could only do so much on their own against magic, but it translated fine for her regular audience.

Phoebe was halfway through her new column when a familiar pink glow appeared beside her desk. She paused in her writing to greet her husband with a kiss. “This is a surprise.”

“I wish it was a pleasant one.” Coop was having trouble looking Phoebe in the eye. It was not a good sign. “I’ve got some news.”

“I can tell.”

Coop slumped into the chair that Mika had vacated earlier. It was rare for Phoebe to ever see him like this. Cupids tended to be fairly positive people; to the point that it got annoying at times. Seeing Coop depressed was almost disturbing. Suddenly her husband, who usually towered over her, seemed small.

“I figured out who is breaking up your couples,” Coop said. “It has less to do with you than it does with me.”

Phoebe placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Explain.”

“His name is Dafydd,” Coop said. “He’s a fallen Cupid.”

“A
fallen
Cupid?” Phoebe asked. “Like a fallen angel?”

“Pretty much,” Coop said.

“And you’re the reason he fell?” Phoebe guessed as she moved around the desk to take her chair.

“Well, no. But I’m the one who outed him.”

Phoebe nodded for him to continue.

“It was a while ago,” Coop said. “Long before I met you. Actually, now that I think of it, this was before you were born. I know it was around the early seventies. Dates begin to blur after a while.”

“I’d imagine.”

“Dafydd was a senior Cupid,” Coop explained. “He trained me and Kama and a bunch of us. Raised us, actually. Oversaw our upbringing from the time we were cherubs. Taught us everything about the Cupid lifestyle. Helped us come to terms with the mortal lives we had lost out on since we all died so young. And he was good at it. Fatherhood came naturally to him considering that he, like the rest of us, never knew his own parents. Of course, he’d had a lot of practice by the time I came to Cupid’s temple. Dafydd’s been around a while.”

“Sounds like it.”

“He was
good
at the job,” Coop said, like he was trying to make sense of the story as he shared it. “One of the best. A straight shooter in every possible way.” Coop laughed to himself. “Perfect score on the archery range. Dafydd had the highest success rate of couples in the history of Cupids going all the way back to the time of Eros.”

“Eros? I thought he was Greek.”

“He was on vacation in Italy when the whole idea for an army of Cupids came up,” Coop explained. “It’s a long story.”

“And we’ve probably only got time for one long story right now,” Phoebe said, though her curiosity was piqued. In all this time, she never really asked Coop how the Cupids first came about. She kind of thought of them as always existing, like Whitelighters. But obviously there had to be a first. Naturally, she’d always thought it was just… Cupid. But now was not the time for history lessons. “What made Dafydd turn?”

“Not what,” Coop said. “
Who
. Her name was Marsha. She was an artist. No one famous, but she had the potential to break out if Dafydd hadn’t intervened. She was destined to fall in love with a banker. A typical opposites-attract scenario. I’ve assisted with dozens of them. Couples who are meant to get together, but have trouble seeing beyond their differences. We give them a little nudge to get past their initial bias and recognize the possibilities. Most times it’s a simple assignment.”

“Until?”

“Dafydd fell in love with her,” Coop said. “No. It wasn’t as clear as that. He became obsessed. Thought the banker wasn’t good enough for her. Thought no one was.”

“He stalked her?”

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t the worst part,” Coop said. “He used his powers over her to make her fall in love with him.”

Phoebe sucked in some air. “I’m guessing that’s frowned upon. As it should be.”

“‘Frowned upon’ doesn’t even begin to explain it,” Coop said. “Cupids are agents of love. We aren’t supposed to fall in love ourselves. Except in special circumstances.”

“Like with a Charmed One?”

Coop smiled. “
Very
special circumstances. It isn’t illegal for us to fall in love. I mean, it’s not encouraged, but it has happened.”

“I never realized.”

“It’s in the way we’re raised from the time we’re cherubs,” Coop explained. “Our expression of love generally comes from bringing others together. That’s how we find fulfillment. We carry a piece of every couple we’ve matched with us. It’s kind of difficult for one person to compete with all the love we already have inside, to make us yearn for a love that comes from a single being. It takes a very special person to make a Cupid feel that the love in our own hearts is not enough to sustain us. To find a soul mate that can equal the love we already possess… the odds are infinitesimal. It’s why I didn’t realize at first that you were my soul mate. It’s so incredibly rare.”

Phoebe smiled. “I think I’ve just gotten the best compliment of my life.”

Coop reached across the desk and took her hands in his. She felt the warmth of his love flowing through the connection, which made the expression on his face all the more painful to see. “Dafydd hadn’t found a soul mate. Marsha didn’t feel the love that he felt for her. But the real problem was that once a Cupid uses his powers to make a person fall in love there is no way to undo it. It’s the first rule that every cherub learns.”

“But Cupids make people fall in love all the time,” Phoebe said.

“No, actually. We don’t. We persuade. We set up situations. We encourage what is already there. But we don’t create love. And we certainly don’t force a mortal to fall in love with one of us.”

Phoebe nodded. It made sense. She was constantly telling her readers that love had to come from a natural place. If mortals couldn’t force it to happen, why would Cupids be able to? “How did you find out about him?”

“I was sent to follow up on Marsha and her banker,” Coop said. “Their path to a union had suddenly come undone, but Dafydd couldn’t explain why. His reports were totally shoddy, missing key information. It wasn’t like him at all. When I went to investigate, it wasn’t that hard to figure out what happened.”

“So you reported it,” Phoebe said. “And then?”

“Dafydd was stripped of his ring,” Coop explained. “With no way to channel his magic he was lost for a long time. Imagine if you knew you had the wonderful gifts you possessed, but suddenly forgot how to use them. That every time you tried to force a premonition, you saw everything but what you wanted. Or what you saw was a lie. Or gibberish that you couldn’t make sense of.”

“I’d feel completely useless,” Phoebe said.

“But the worst part was that Marsha was hidden from him for her own protection,” Coop continued. “Her love for him was a lie. The Cupid administration would never allow him to abuse that more than he already had.”

“Please tell me she got to go away with her banker at least,” Phoebe said.

Coop sighed. “It wouldn’t matter if she had. Any chance for them had been destroyed. Any chance for anyone other than Dafydd had been destroyed. Marsha would live out the rest of her days pining for a man she would never have.”

“That poor woman.”

“It’s what Dafydd blames me for,” Coop said. “If it was just about him having his powers stripped, he would have gotten over it. But he sees me as the one that damned Marsha to a life of solitude. He’s hated me ever since. For a Cupid—even a former one—there is no more dangerous emotion than hate.”