Cupid's Contract

Porcelain Throne of Lies

It had taken all of Tuesday for Eve to recover.

Cupid had gotten her home to her grandmother's via a method she could not remember, and she had woken the next morning with a pounding head and a fuzziness that didn't fade until late that evening.

As she tucked herself into bed, snug in her favourite onesie, she scowled at her phone.

Drew hadn't texted.

He said he'd text, he said they'd have lunch, and he didn't. They weren't going to.

She threw her phone across the room, aiming for the laundry basket, and let out a halfhearted 'whooo' when it landed safely amongst the dirty towels. She'd been playing some form of this game all day or, at least, since she'd stopped miserably whining about being hungover and unemployed. By midday she had destroyed the remaining patience of Roxy and been sent home with her tail between her legs.

Well, not unemployed exactly. Cupid had texted her at one o'clock on the dot, with the address of her new place of work.

Mount Olympus.

So, not Heaven exactly, but pretty damn close. Eve had a moment of panic as she tried to figure out how to get to the mythical location for 9am the next morning, but it had been relatively simple in the end. In fact, the building itself was only a few blocks from Harper's House.

Yeah, turns out Mount Olympus wasn't actually Mount Olympus. That was just the tongue in cheek name of the matchmaking company where Cupid and his 'little arrows' worked.

Mount Olympus, according to Google, was a pretty boring building in a very non-ethereal part of the city.

Eve couldn't wait.

She had picked out a pair of red suede pumps and a navy dress with a flippy skirt. She'd put her hair in curlers and moisturised like a Victoria's Secret model. Heck, she'd even attempted to tint her own eyebrows.

That had been a mistake, judging by her now dyed left eyelid.

Problem was these sort of beauty tasks took only the smallest of windows of time. In between painting her toenails she could check her phone, blowing on the wet polish while she refreshed her inbox for the fiftieth time.

That was where the black eyelid came into play. Frustrated that her messages remained Drew-free, she had tried to restart her phone, hopping from one foot to the other. Excellent for cardio, not so good for wet globules of dye that was clinging to her forehead hair. As she hopped from left to right it had slowly run down her face and, before she knew it, she was in utter agony.

Black tears streamed down her face as she splashed water into her eye, wincing with each cold droplet. By the time common sense prevailed and she had pressed a wet face cloth to her eye it was too late. She had one fabulously tinted eyebrow and a black patch around her eye that resembled the markings of a Dalmatian.

But Eve couldn't bring herself to really care. Even now, as she tried to numb herself with vampire tv shows, she could feel her fingers twitching towards her smartphone.

"What kind of asshole says he'll text you and then doesn't? What kind? I'll tell you what kind! The Adam kind. The Paul kind. The Drew kind!" She spat his name out, like a slur. "Well, two can play that game. I can not not text people, too!" She huffed and turned on her side, tucking her hands under her pillow, and squeezed her eyes tight.

Beep beep.

She flung herself from the bed, her legs caught in the blankets, falling flat on her face. Still trapped in the cotton cocoon, she pulled herself across the room, a Navy Seal in the trenches, grasping for her fallen comrade... or in this case her laundry basket. Spilling its contents, she tugged the knickers from the phone and closed her dye-eye, still too blurry to see with.

"Good luck tomorrow, E. Thinking of you! x"

It wasn't Drew. It was Ron. She resisted the urge to throw her phone again, maybe against a wall this time.

"Cheers! Call you during lunch tomorrow! <3" She fired off the response, glared at her phone one last time, and turned it off altogether. A watched pot never boils, or so Grandma Roxy always said. Though that was usually in response to tea and not terrible non-soulmates.

Eve was tempted to stick her phone in the kettle, just in case.

***

Eve ran her fingers along the length of her dress, smoothing out the ruffles as she waited for the elevator to arrive on the seventh floor. It was eight thirty and she was early for her first day at Matchmakers. Luckily enough, considering she was in dire need of a toilet break before meeting Cupid. As she hummed along to the power ballad blasting in the marble elevator she checked out the black smudges still visible around her eye. No amount of concealer had been able to fully cover the dye and now she had a pretty believable black eye.

"I look like a mixed martial artist... martial arts-er?"

The doors swung open and a pretty blonde smiled at her as she glided by, wingless but improbably graceful.

She tiptoed down the hallway, her own steps less poised but perfectly quiet, her bladder on the verge of bursting. Turning down a corridor, one hand pressed to her stomach, she searched for a porcelain throne. "I bet the toilets are marble and heated..." she muttered, and the luxury gave her a little thrill. Spying what looked like a ladies room, she crept closer, but before she could peek her head in she heard her name.

It was coming from the double doors at the opposite end of the hallway. Large and crisp white, with golden sconces on either side, they were slightly ajar and, unable to choose urination over eavesdropping, especially when it was Eve they were dropping, she skulked closer.

"... She obviously doesn't know, though I did mention it when we started that it didn't work on her..."

"Did you mention it? I seem to remember you trying a similar trick on me..."

"Oh come on now, Annie. You never fell for a fool in your life..."

"No, I just never let you play me for one!"

Annie? Who the heck was Annie? Why did the voice sound so familiar? Eve pressed her ear to the door and held her breath.

"I should've realised you were up to your old games, Des, you're like an addict."

"They aren't games, Roxanne."

Roxanne? As in... her Roxanne?

"You have rules, don't you? And players? That you move around like pawns! Don't pass go! Don't collect your soulmate!"

"Life has rules, Roxanne, and trust me when I say this is the proper way. It worked for you, didn't it? She isn't ready, her reliance on the locket is proof of that."

Eve couldn't comprehend it, her mind and bladder too full to absorb the data. Grandma and Cupid in one room, Grandma talking about the locket, Grandma at Mount Olympus...

She pushed back her shoulders, set her jaw, and shoved open the door.

"You better start talking."

Hands on her hips, she glared at the startled pair before her.

"Now."

And she said it so damn convincingly that they couldn't even tell that a little bit of pee snuck out.

Probably.