Completely Smitten (23 page)

“No,” Darius said. “It’s mine. She’s obsessed with Darius.”

“Darius?” Cupid said. “Since when did we start referring to ourselves in the third person?”

Darius took a deep breath, then coughed, realizing his mistake. He still thought of himself as Andrew Vari. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, no.” Cupid took another puff of his cigar. His cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, pulling the phone out of his pocket.

“No.” Darius grabbed the phone. “We’re going to finish this conversation.”

“Yeah,” Cupid said, his voice rising in panic. “After I get that.”

Darius flipped the phone open. “Cupid is busy right now,” he said into it and hung up.

“Oh, that’ll help,” Cupid said. “They think my name is James.”

“Then you’ll have a bit of explaining to do, won’t you?” Darius asked.

The phone started ringing again. Darius slipped it into his pocket.

“I could spell that phone to me,” Cupid said.

“Do it,” Darius said, “and I’ll make sure they can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“You came to me for a favor,” Cupid said, “so stop being a butt.”

“I came to you for an explanation,” Darius said. “And I specialize in being a butt.”

The ringing stopped.

“All right.” Cupid put the still-smoldering cigar in a full cut-glass ashtray on the side of his desk. “The Fates were afraid the girl wouldn’t fall in love with you, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

“I don’t need the sarcastic side commentary,” Darius said.

“So they gave me the job. I had to shoot her and guarantee that she’d see you next. Which I did, quite efficiently, I might add. I shoot her, she sees you, and falls in love. You see her and fall too, which kinda surprises me, considering all the women you’ve known. What is it about her? I thought you swore off redheads after Anne of Austria.”

“She wasn’t a redhead,” Darius said.

“Whatever.” Cupid held out his hand. “Phone.”

“Did the Fates say why her?”

“Oh, you know. The usual crap. Destiny, life’s journey, personal growth, blah, blah, blah.”

“Hers or mine?”

“Hers or mine what?”

“Destiny. Was it her destiny or mine to fall in love?”

“Well, how am I supposed to know? I’m just the messenger. Literally.”

“What about her soul mate?” Darius asked. His heart was pounding. If they had Cupid shoot her, then maybe, just maybe—

“What about him?” Cupid picked up the still-smoldering cigar, stared at it for a moment, and then stubbed it out.

“She has one.”

Cupid gave him a disbelieving look.

“Trust me,” Darius said. “Being able to see soul mates is one of my many gifts from the Fates.”

“Such lovely women they are. Generous. Kind. Manipulative as hell.” Cupid coughed. It was a smoker’s cough, deep and throaty.

“Well?” Darius asked.

“Well what?”

Darius clenched his other fist. If he didn’t see Cupid for another thousand years, it might be a thousand years too soon. “What about her soul mate? Didn’t the Fates consider him?”

“I assume, since I was instructed to shoot her before she saw you …” Cupid’s voice trailed off. “Wait a minute.”

Darius stood. He couldn’t sit still for this.

“They were very insistent on the arrow.”

Darius turned. “The arrow?”

Cupid nodded. “You know. I had various types.”

“Right,” Darius said. “Gold and lead.”

“Oh, man. You are behind the times.”

“I am?”

Cupid nodded. “Those were the first crude versions. By the end, I had a hundred different kinds, from the thick Everlasting arrow to the slim Lust-at-First-Sight arrow.”

Darius felt his breath catch. “And?”

“And what?”

“What type of arrow did they want you to use?”

Cupid slid back down on the chair. He rubbed his knees as if sitting on them had made them sore. “I forget.”

“You just said—”

“I know.” Cupid was looking down. “But I forget.”

“I take it that the arrow wasn’t an Everlasting one,” Darius said.

“No moss grows on you.” Cupid stood. “Ah, hell, Dar. I thought, what could it hurt? She was pretty and you’re not known for your serious relationships. When we met, you didn’t even believe in love.”

Darius felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. “Three thousand years ago. My life has changed a little in that time.”

“Well, you know. I owe you.”

Darius nodded.

“I mean, you got punished and all, but I wasn’t above feeling a little satisfaction when they said…” Cupid shook his head. “I don’t feel that way now. I saw you that morning and thought, jeez, you turned into quite a guy, you know. You didn’t throw me out or nothing, and you wanted to. I could tell. I mean, we have history, you know?”

“What kind of arrow?” Darius asked.

“It wasn’t a bad one. You know. I got the Love Is Blind ones, which I think should be trashed, and the Love the Next Thing You See ones, which can sometimes get ugly and really explains how people can get hung up on, say, a car or something. It wasn’t one of those.”

“What was it?” Darius asked.

“And it wasn’t lead. I haven’t used a lead arrow in two thousand years. They got banned.”

“Cupid—”

“James. Just call me James. I’m so sick of that little dimpled boy that they draw me like. I mean, I haven’t looked innocent, maybe ever. You know?”

“What kind of arrow?”

Cupid bowed his head. “Lust at first sight,” he mumbled.

“What?” Darius asked, even though he thought he knew what Cupid had said.

“Lust at First Sight.” Cupid raised his head. He had a pleading expression on his face. “It’s a sweet little spell, really. It’s not powerful, not like it could be, you know, overwhelming, because that leads to things people could get arrested for. This was just one of those zippy little spells that sent shivers through the recipient, and it usually leads to love—”

“Usually?” Darius asked.

Cupid shrugged. “Sometimes it goes awry.”

“When?”

“When the object of the affection doesn’t return it. But you have. I mean, you love the girl, right? That’s why you’re here, because you’ve never been in love before and you wanted me to undo a spell I didn’t even do. But I can give you advice. I mean, I know how to handle this sort of thing, you know? It was my job, before this place. And after, actually. For a while, anyway. You know.”

“Awry how?” Darius asked.

Cupid frowned. “What is going on with you and that girl?”

“Woman,” Darius said. It was a reflexive comment. “Awry how?”

“I mean, you shouldn’t be having any problems. In fact, by now, you should be married or at least getting some.”

“Cupid—”

“James.”

“Eros,” Darius said.

“Shh!” Cupid swore. “That’s powerful magic you’re just floating around. If someone around here hears that, then I’m screwed.”

Darius crossed his arms. A mage’s real name often made him nervous. “I’ll call you that again, Cupid, if you don’t answer me.”

“James,” Cupid said.

“I’m not calling you James,” Darius said.

“Okay. Okay. I forgot now. What did you ask?”

“How can the spell go awry?”

“Oh, yeah.” Cupid stood and walked behind his desk. He was almost hidden by the stacks of papers. “If the lust is unrequited and unresolved, meaning if the two parties never get together and if there’s no resolution to the initial attraction, like say if one of them disappears or dies or has a girlfriend … ?”

His voice trailed off and he peered at Darius over the papers.

“You got another girlfriend? You been screwing around again? I heard about Anne Boleyn. I have no idea why a woman with six fingers would appeal to you, but—”

“I never got involved with Anne Boleyn,” Darius said.

Other Annes, yes, but not Boleyn. “And I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Shame,” Cupid said. “You know, you should always have a relationship. The wife taught me that. It’s healthier, both mind and body, you know?”

“Cupid!” Darius said. “If the relationship ends at the wrong point, then what goes awry?”

“Well, not if it ends, really, because that means that there was a relationship. But if it never really is one, like if no one does the nasty or declares undying love or has a long romantic weekend on some boat in the Mediterranean, then the spell turns sour.”

“How sour?” Darius asked.

“The shootee gets a little obsessed.”

“Obsessed?”

“Yeah. You know. Daydreams, focuses on the lustee for a while, maybe has fantasies that should by all means remain private.”

Darius closed his eyes and leaned against the door. Make phone calls, look things up on the Internet, pursue the man’s friend, who really wasn’t his friend but was him, but in a way that couldn’t be explained.

“Is this a permanent condition?” he asked, feeling very tired and more than a little sad.

“No,” Cupid said. “Just like the lust isn’t. It’s got to become something else.”

Darius opened his eyes. Cupid was watching him a little too avidly. Darius hoped to hell Cupid wasn’t playing more tricks on him. If the little guy was, then Darius might just take him to the Fates, whether they were behind the whole thing or not.

“What do you mean, become something else?”

“Well, you know. Lust becomes love or hate or sometimes revulsion, usually friendship. Never indifference. And if it isn’t requited, it becomes obsession for a little while. But it turns. You know, becomes something else. Even becomes forgotten after a while.”

“How long a while?” Darius asked.

Cupid shrugged. “Varies from individual to individual. You know that.”

“How could I know that?”

“Like love. I mean, how many of your clients end up in the Las Vegas Church of the Royal Elvis on their first date?”

“None of my ‘clients,’ as you so quaintly call them, have ever ended up there.”

“Jeez.” Cupid ran a hand across the evening shadow on his fleshy chin. “A lot of mine do.”

Darius raised his eyebrows but bit back the comment he was going to make. Cupid wouldn’t appreciate Darius’s analysis of his abilities—especially now.

“Well, you get my point anyway,” Cupid said. “Every couple is different, every person is different, every case of lust is different. Hell, some of them are sated in just one night. One very long night, but one night just the same.”

“We’re not talking about lust,” Darius said. “We’re talking about obsession, and one woman in particular.”

Cupid reached for the stub of his cigar, nearly tipping the filthy ashtray, and caught the whole mess with his left hand. “What did you do, Darius? You had the perfect setup. She comes to you, what, a few hours after I leave, and you have that lovely remote hideaway, and you cook her something delicious, ply her with some wine—hell, with the spell I used, you wouldn’t’ve needed the food or the wine—and you got instant sex, man. Instant. I mean, you could have had a great time for weeks. You could
still
be having a great time.”

He set the ashtray back on the cluttered desktop and peered at Darius.

“You’re not one of those nuts, are you? That whole courtly love thing back a thousand or so years ago—you didn’t believe that garbage, did you? I mean, I had nothing to do with it, and I know you didn’t. Psyche said the whole thing was damaging, that worshipping from afar thing was bad for marriages, bad for the knights and their shining armor.”

He shook his head.

“You ever notice any of them to have shining armor? I think that’s more of a myth than we ever were. Or I ever was, since I never heard of the great god Darius. In fact, I never heard of the great matchmaker god in any religion. You should really try to achieve more. Most of us with magic powers left our footprints in legend.”

Darius had nearly had enough.

Cupid frowned. “Although seems to me you did. What was that loving and leaving of Guinevere? I hear that this Lancelot guy really had nothing to do with it and the guy she got involved with looked vaguely like you. In fact, I always thought it was you. You know, you and I were supposed to work the Arthur gig together, but I had to tend to his sister Morgaine first. Talk about your lust turning to obsession, jeez. That woman could hate with the best of them. Or the worst of them, as the case may be.”

“Cupid,” Darius said.

“So, give, Dar. What’d you do to that poor girl? How come she’s obsessing, not lusting?”

Darius didn’t want to answer that question because his answer would lead to too many other questions. Instead, he asked, “How long will she be obsessing?”

Cupid shrugged. “Like I said, everyone’s different.”

“Guess.”

“The spell’s supposed to last a year. She should get through that and then her head will clear.”

“Wonderful.” Darius leaned his head against the wall.

“I gotta tell you,” Cupid said, “once we’ve evolved to obsession, a one-night stand won’t work. You see, she’s been imagining how it would be with you for so long that the real thing can’t measure up. Not that I’m saying you couldn’t measure up normally, but you know what I mean. And magic isn’t going to solve that either, if you know what I mean, because there’s no way that you can know her fantasies down to the most intimate detail, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Darius said through tight lips. “I also know that a man who has been alive as long as you have should be able to speak without using a cliché.”

Cupid grinned. “English ain’t my native language. I’m proud of my use of idioms.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Like that one. See, you even got the right inflection—”

“Cupid, she’s ruining her life. She’s not living her dreams anymore. She’s chasing after someone who doesn’t exist.”

Cupid leaned forward. “You exist, bud. You’re standing right here.”

Darius shook his head. “I’m not the man she thinks I am. You just said it. I can never measure up.”

“And it’s not worth the try now.”

“So what do we do?”

“What do you mean, we?”

“I mean ‘we’ as in you and me.”

“That’s what I thought you meant.” Cupid sighed. “I can’t do nothing. It’s part of my plea bargain with the Fates. I’ve done my penance, and to undo it would be tantamount to undoing my entire sentence.”