Completely Smitten Part 26

"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 l.u.s.t 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 s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 relations.h.i.+p. The wife taught me that. It's healthier, both mind and body, you know?"

"Cupid!" Darius said. "If the relations.h.i.+p ends at the wrong point, then what goes awry?"

"Well, not if it ends, really, because that means that there was a relations.h.i.+p. 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 l.u.s.tee 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 l.u.s.t isn't. It's got to become something else."

Darius opened his eyes. Cupid was watching him a little too avidly. Darius hoped to h.e.l.l 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. l.u.s.t becomes love or hate or sometimes revulsion, usually friends.h.i.+p. 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 a.n.a.lysis of his abilities--especially now.

"Well, you get my point anyway," Cupid said. "Every couple is different, every person is different, every case of l.u.s.t is different. h.e.l.l, some of them are sated in just one night. One very long night, but one night just the same."

"We're not talking about l.u.s.t," 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--h.e.l.l, with the spell I used, you wouldn't've needed the food or the wine--and you got instant s.e.x, 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 wors.h.i.+pping from afar thing was bad for marriages, bad for the knights and their s.h.i.+ning armor."

He shook his head.

"You ever notice any of them to have s.h.i.+ning armor? I think that's more of a myth than we ever were. Or I ever was, since I never heard of the great G.o.d Darius. In fact, I never heard of the great matchmaker G.o.d 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 l.u.s.t 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 l.u.s.ting?"

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 cliche."

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."

"I can't believe that the Fates would sacrifice one innocent mortal life for some greater magical plan."

"They always say they're righteous, but I don't know," Cupid said. "They seem spiteful to me."

Darius shook his head. "What can we do to help Ariel?"

"We already had the 'we' discussion," Cupid said. "Ask me again. Use these words: 'What can 'I' do to help Ariel?"

Darius sighed. He knew Cupid well enough to know the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d wouldn't answer the question until Darius asked it correctly. "All right. What can I do to help Ariel?"

"I'm so glad you asked." Cupid stretched out his short legs, revealing bright orange socks under those ugly polyester pants. "You give her a new obsession."

"I thought that's your job."

"No, no. Obsession is just focus. As long as she focuses on you--Darius, as you so royally call yourself, as if you're not here at all--she'll obsess about you. But if you can get her to concentrate on, say, chocolate, or the novels of Dostoyevsky, then maybe she'll switch the obsession to that."

Darius straightened. "Can that happen?"

"Sure." Cupid sat up on the back of his chair, his feet firmly planted on the seat so that the whole thing kept its balance. "So long as she loves the thing you want her to obsess about and she only l.u.s.ts after you."

"Meaning what?" Darius asked.

"If she loves you," Cupid said, "she stays obsessed."

"Then what do I do?" Darius asked.

"Wait until July and hope that the damage isn't permanent." Cupid's phone rang again. He held out his hand. "It's been over fifteen minutes. Can I talk to the kneecap breakers now before they go after my casino?"

"You're in with the mob?" Darius asked.

"Where've you been?" Cupid asked. "The mob left Vegas in the Nineteen-seventies."

"Then who?"

Cupid frowned at him. "Faeries."

Darius raised his eyebrows. "Faeries? What did you do to them?"

"I made their queen fall in love with an a.s.s."

"I don't think Oberon would want to be described that way," Darius said.

"Oh, c'mon," Cupid said. "You're the one who knew Shakespeare. I always thought you fed him that story."

"You mean about Bottom?"

"Who else?"

Darius pulled the phone out of his pocket and shook his head in wonder. "I always thought that was the only one he made up."

Ariel couldn't remember being this exhausted in a long time, at least not from physical work. From a race, yes. Only that kind of exhaustion felt different. Then she felt as if she had drained all the energy from her body and rest would replenish her. Her mind was always excited, and she looked forward to the next day.

Here, she felt as if everything was tired, not just her body, but her mind, and that no amount of sleep would cure it. Some of the feeling, she was sure, came from disappointment. The rest from the fact that she was back where she had started all those years ago: a hostess in a restaurant. A job that had little distinction and where she was completely replaceable.

Of course, Sofia did the job well enough that everyone would miss her. But she had put a lot of effort into it. Ariel couldn't imagine feeling enthusiastic about days spent leading people to tables, handing them menus, and ringing up their bills.

She pushed open the door to the kitchen. It smelled heavily of garlic and burgundy wine, along with something bread-like and sweet. The ovens were running as well as the stoves. Someone was baking.

The chefs were busy with the handful of late-afternoon orders, and the salad prep workers were just finis.h.i.+ng up. No Andrew Vari.