Chapter 1 #3
What if I’d been wrong? What if the ramifications of Cupid’s inadequacies were more serious than I’d realized? Suddenly this Hallmark holiday I’d paid very little attention to in the past felt vitally important.
“I think it’s a good idea for us to meet more often.” I made a show of reviewing my calendar, as if I wasn’t going to devote every minute of the next month to this immortal idiot. “I can fit you in Wednesday and Friday mornings, in addition to our normal Monday session. Three days a week.”
Cupid said nothing. The silence in the room put pressure on my chest. “What do you say, Cupid? Should we work doubly hard and put your love train back on track?”
Almost against his will, his lips twitched in amusement. But I could practically see the tiny hamster inside his pea brain running on its gilded wheel, churning out lame excuses. “I’d have to rearrange my gym time. Reschedule some salon appointments. I’m very busy, you know.”
There was a defiance in his voice I recognized. For all of his bragging about being a god, he couldn’t seem to fight his human nature. Change was hard. Even when it was necessary.
“I know it will be inconvenient. Change often is at first.” I sent a mental request to Cecelia asking her to dim the window. She did, simultaneously brightening the light over my desk, forcing his attention back to me. “But I’m willing to do the work if you are.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” His tone told me all I needed to know. The rising urgency I’d been fighting off churned in my gut.
For three months, I’d ignored the niggling in my brain that told me Cupid was playing a game. But now, I was beginning to wonder if he actually wanted my help. Or even needed it.
Cupid was clueless and self-centered. I already knew that. Maybe a bit reckless in a way I supposed all gods were. But if he didn’t care, how could I combat that? He was destroying relationships all across Treater’s Way, and he’d dismissed it like a bug on his windshield.
His cocky grin returned, catching me so off guard my jaw dropped. Then he said something that made me pat the top of my head to make sure it wasn’t actually on fire.
“I’m sure Valentine’s Day, and every day after, will be fine. Nobody really needs sex, you know.”
Welp, there went my flabber. It was straight-up gasted.
Did he believe this was just about sex? I had to hope I was hearing him wrong. He hadn’t said it outright, but the subtext was there. If Cupid didn’t shoot straight by Valentine’s Day, there would be no intimacy again.
For any of us.
Lawd hammercy. I was about to beat down a patient. Take that, stupid drinking game. Never have I ever punched a god during a session. My fists clenched. I dug my nails into my palms. My magic rose to the surface, without me calling it, and it was just as ticked off as I was.
Luckily for Cupid, he was saved by a cat, though he’d never know how close he’d come to a good hexing. Gumbo appeared on the empty chair next to Cupid across from my desk. He made sure my eyes were on his and shook his head no.
The ticking of the clock on my wall ceased. Gumbo was giving me a second to find some calm even if I didn’t want to. Gumbo was right. I couldn’t physically harm patients. Or anyone. That was not my way. Plus, it’s in a medical oath somewhere, I’m sure of it.
I squeezed my eyes shut, allowing myself the vicious pleasure of visualizing Cupid’s muscles melting from his saggy body. Gumbo said nothing, but as I willed my own muscles to relax, he popped away with a little poof of air, and I had time to reconsider a fist fight.
I had to find an alternate plan. If I couldn’t get Cupid to budge, maybe the one person he was laser focused on could. I forced a smile.
“Why don’t I give Psyche a call?” His eyes widened, a quick jolt of panic that told me more than I’d learned in three months. Cupid was, at least a little bit, afraid of his wife. Good.
“Oh.” His hands clasped in his lap, almost like he was pleading with me not to tell on him. “I don't think that’s necessary.”
“We’ll see. I think it would be wonderful if Psyche joined these conversations.” My timer dinged, signaling the end of our session, and my smile bloomed wider. “Time’s up for today!”
I ushered him out of his chair, chattering like we’d just finished a lovely social visit.
“I believe Brianne has Psyche’s number on file. She’s been to the salon, you know.” I had no idea if it was true, but it felt believable. “What a productive session. Wednesday, we’ll pick up right here. And don’t worry, I’m sure I can get Psyche to join us.”
I closed the door on his shocked, pretty face, then trudged over to my desk to slump down on it. With careful breathing, and a few words mumbled to myself, I managed to relieve the tension headache.
But neither the sharpest of knives nor the most potent of magics could cut through the knot in my shoulders. Forget my own chances at romance. Helping Cupid was a matter of restoring the supernatural community.
It was going to be a long week.
Oh, hell. It was going to be a long month.