"No, although 'tis kind of you to offer. I can see how much you treasure it so please retain the trinket, with my blessing." He bowed. "I guess the mystery of the original Violet will never be solved now but I'm glad to have met you. Winter owes you a debt, for removing us from the shadow of a very onerous pledge."
Feeling slightly foolish, but figuring anything goes in a dream, Amy said, "If you do owe me a favor in return, can you make it snow? The town is dying without snow for the ski runs, to bring the tourists. There isn't even enough for making a decent snowman. It's been a-" She bit her lip.
"A what?" He smiled and the effect was devastating.
Well, I can't very well tell him it's been a bad winter. She could feel her cheeks growing warm.
"I'll leave you to your slumbers, Amy. Sweet dreams." He bowed like an actor in a BBC historical series and was?.gone.
Feeling a bit bereft and lonely, Amy set the box on the nightstand again, closing the lid with one hand before turning off the light. "He was a very nice dream," she said as she drifted back to sleep.
Walking to work later in the morning was a joy, as snow fell gently from a leaden sky. It was the kind of steady snowfall that would stick and build up into wonderful powder for the ski runs. Amy felt like skipping along the sidewalk and she knew she was smiling ear to ear, even though she really couldn't take credit for the turn in the weather. Could she? Just because I had a crazy dream -
She'd barely gotten her coat put away in the cramped break room and her apron tied on when the bell on the front counter rang. Hastening into the dining room, Amy stopped in the threshold, riveted by the sight of the man from her dream, dressed more prosaically today in very expensive but practical European ski wear. No crown, no ermine cape.
Grinning, he winked. "Is this what you had in mind when you asked for snow? Or must I do more to win your favor?" He held out his hand.
"Oh come on, this can't be happening!" She barely noticed his heavy gold signet ring, with a crown and a snowflake, because she was staring at the heart-shaped bouquet of very out-of-season purple violets he was offering.
"My favorite flower," she said.
"And mine." He bowed. "I'm hoping that isn't all we'll find in common."
As she led him to the best table, the one next to the fireplace, Amy said, "And they lived happily ever after?"
"Something like that might be possible," he agreed with the warm smile that lit up his face.
"I'm off at five." She placed the menu in front of him.
Unmatched Cupid
by R.L. Naquin
Ellen flounced into the office, rosy cheeked and self satisfied. She hung her wings on the hook beneath her name, and rang the bell next to the wipe-off board. The entire freaking office went wild with applause.
Except for me. Oh, I gave a polite clap, sure. But I didn't bother to offer even a fake smile, and had she deigned to look my way, she'd have seen the poison darts I was pretending to shoot at her out of my eyeballs.
Because Ellen was obnoxiously petite, the bosslady had set up a stepstool for her. I watched barely five feet of bubbling cuteness climb the step to draw another tick mark beneath her name on the board. She flashed a grin over her shoulder at the rest of the room, then added two more ticks.
The room erupted again. She smoothed her little pink-and-white cardigan, then hopped down.
I stared at my computer screen in despair. I wasn't cut out for this. Every match I tried to make blew up in my face. I was the worst matchmaker in the Cupid department. And if I didn't make a match soon, I'd be demoted and transferred to somewhere far worse.
Honestly, I wouldn't have taken the job if I'd had any other choice. There were only two ways into the Mount Olympus Employment Agency: you could be sponsored and brought in by a blood-related god-like Ellen did-or you could have unknown god blood somewhere in your heritage and hit rock bottom.
That was how I got there. Apparently, I was related to some minor god, and when I found myself homeless, unemployed and alone-boom. Some bum I'd never met before grabbed me and dragged me into an abandoned building. Except the building was different inside-huge, clean, and filled with people. Not sure which was more terrifying-abduction by a bum or the magic office, complete with gorgon receptionist.
I suppose I could have run, but I didn't have much choice. I had nowhere else to go. I didn't get to choose my new profession, either. They made me a cupid. And I sucked mightily at it.
I pushed my sweaty bangs away from my eyes and focused on the screen. It was no use. I'd been trying to fill the grid for so long, I'd lost track of where I'd started. Better to start from scratch. Tapping the reset button, I watched the sixteen portraits of lonely men and women shuffle like cards and spread themselves to the edges of my screen. The grid in the middle emptied its rows and columns for me to refill.
The Fates department had determined through whatever weird methods they used down there that several of these people were meant for each other. They did not, however, say which ones. Those of us working in the Cupid department were left with these gaping Sudoku grids that we had to sort through and attempt to place the right couples together in the right squares.
I squinted at the profiles beneath the photos. Derrick of the smoldering eyes was a dentist. I dragged his picture to the upper-left square. Felicia, a redhead with a lovely smile, was a veterinarian. I dropped her next to him. Hey, she obviously had good dental hygiene, a fact I was certain would appeal to Derrick. To her right, based entirely on her job as a veterinarian, I placed Stan, a blonde surfer with a golden retriever. But the grid line between the two blinked red.
No good. I took a closer look. Okay. So, Stan was gay. I tried placing him underneath Derrick's picture. The screen remained steady.
"Interesting." I tapped the screen with a chewed fingernail. "Dr. Derrick goes either way, don't you, buddy?"
Except that I could see absolutely nothing compatible between Stan and Derrick other than the fact that they both enjoyed the company of men. I sighed and dragged Stan to the bottom left corner of the grid for holding.
The Fates department probably thought this entire process was hilarious.
Stephanie, a stockbroker, was originally from a small town in Alabama-a much more likely match for Derrick, who came from a different small town in Alabama. I placed her picture where Stan's had been, directly beneath Derrick.
The key now was finding another match that might fit beneath the veterinarian and to the right of the stockbroker.
This was always the part that hung me up. Whenever I made it this far, I panicked. How could two different men be possible matches for the same two women?
I scanned the other twelve faces staring at me from the edges of the screen. Ah. Dave. Long hair tied in a ponytail. Charming grin. No job. Dave was an artist who made beaded jewelry and sold it to tourists on the boardwalk for cash, then couch surfed for a place to sleep.
Dave was a project. Two successful women. One handsome freeloader. I dropped Dave's photo next to Stephanie and beneath Felicia.
I groaned. Putting Dave in a middle spot instead of on an edge meant I would have to find four women who were potential love matches for him. I really didn't want to give this lowlife that many shots at love. Where was the justice in that? Smoldering-eyed Derrick with an education, a career, and an open mind only got two possible mates.
Maybe it was the right answer, but I wasn't going to be responsible for it. I hit reset. Maybe if I started over with someone else in the corner-Deadbeat Dave, for instance-I'd get a better idea of where everyone was supposed to go.
Gods, I sucked at this.
Two hours later I had a reasonable grid setup that I thought was, if not right, at least partially right. The next step would be fieldwork. As much as I hated setting the grid, donning the Cupid wings and running around town invisible to meddle in people's lives was worse.
I was worse.
On one assignment, I'd helpfully tipped
over a man's coffee on a woman because I had the vague idea that this was what they called a "meet-cute" in the movies. Her hand was badly scalded, which meant she was unable to make the flute audition for the Miami Symphony Orchestra. She lost her dream job, then sued the pants off of the guy who'd spilled his coffee on her. He lost his construction business and moved back to his parents' house in Missouri.
Not a meet-cute.
In the seven months I'd been in the Cupid department, I'd made three successful matches. Two of them were during training, so I'd had help. I was on very thin ice.
I glanced up at my assigned wings hanging on a hook next to Ellen's. Her cutesy giggles drifted across the office and over the wall of my cubicle. Ellen was cut out for this. Ellen had an instinct. Ellen was freaking adorable.
As I rose to make my reluctant way to grab my wings off their hook, I backed my chair into something solid. When I turned, I found the mail guy pushing his cart right behind me.
"Oh, sorry, Rudy. I didn't realize you were there."
He grinned. "My fault, Dory." He reached into his bag. "Got a package for you."
Rudy handed me a red velvet box, no bigger than a grapefruit and shaped like a heart.
I frowned. "Who's it from?"
Rudy shrugged. "No idea. I just make the deliveries." He skipped away, every few steps lifting off the floor with the aid of his winged sandals.
I dropped back into my chair and stared at the box. It was beautiful in its simplicity-the dark red almost a burgundy. The point on the bottom was rounded, giving the heart a more friendly feeling, like a bubble or a twelve-year-old girl's dots above her letters.
The velvet was smooth and luxurious against my fingertips as I lifted the lid. I had no idea what to expect.
Candy. Jewelry. Someone else's present delivered to me by mistake. Even a dead mouse. Any of those things could have been in the box and barely fazed me. What was really in there shocked the hell out of me.
At first, I thought the box was empty. A light flashed from its inky depths, and I dropped the damn thing on my desk. Lavender smoke puffed out, laced with sparkles and the smell of roses.
The smoke cleared and a moving image of the bosslady smiled up at me. "Please see me in my office, Miss Anderson. And bring your wings with you." The face dissolved.
Bosslady hadn't been to the Miami branch in months. I shivered. This was probably a very bad thing. I'd once heard of a woman in the Muse department who couldn't complete her artist quota. They'd demoted her to Hades and made her a poop scooper for the three-headed dog, Cerberus.
I moved to the wall and unhooked my wings. They seemed so light in my hands for being so large. If I slipped them on, I'd be invisible once I left the building. I shook my head. There was nowhere to hide. They'd find me eventually.
And maybe scooping dog poop the size of a bowling ball would turn out to be my calling. Cupid sure wasn't it.
I knocked on the office door and waited for the sensual voice of my boss to invite me in. The door opened on its own.
When you're in the presence of a goddess, it's difficult to figure out where to look. This particular goddess was an even bigger problem.
Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, adorned the pink, frilly office like a centerpiece at a wedding reception. She was breathtaking, smelled like a botanical garden after a spring rain, and sounded like a purring kitten. She was also practically naked by current cultural standards. The frothy bit of fabric she had draped over her hid nothing.
"How wonderful to see you, Miss Anderson. Please. Set your wings on the table next to you and have a seat."
I did what I was told, swallowing a lump in my throat and keeping my gaze on her pink marble desk. Disappointing a goddess-especially this goddess-was the most embarrassing and shameful thing I'd ever done. It was worse than the time I'd tucked the back of my skirt into my pantyhose on a dinner date with a chiropractor named Chip. The ma?tre d' stopped me, but not before I'd marched clear across Andre's waving my baggy white granny panties at everyone in the dining room.
Yet, this was worse.
Aphrodite stared at me until I met the gaze of her lavender eyes. She cleared her throat, and it sounded like a choir of harmonizing lilies. "As you know, Dory, your success rate has been?unfortunate."
I nodded. "Yes, ma'am." In comparison, my voice was a hoarse, unlovely whisper.
"Oh, now. It's not a tragedy. No one's going to chain you to a rock and let a vulture eat your liver over and over." She laughed and it sounded like adorable white mice ringing miniature golden bells in their tiny paws.
She clapped her hands and the door opened again. I twisted in my chair for a better view. In strode a tallish man with brown hair and large brown eyes behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.
"Dory, I'd like you to meet Ben."
He nodded at me and smiled. "Hi, Dory."
I didn't say anything. My jaw felt frozen shut.
Aphrodite rose and handed Ben a file with my name on it. "Ben will be taking you to your new assignment." She continued to speak behind me, but I hardly heard her. Something about Hercules being my new supervisor and my cleaning the Augean stables or something. Nothing she said seemed to matter.
I lifted my hand to acknowledge her. "Okay," I said. "Thank you."
Ben's eyes sparkled like a disco ball at a skating rink. He smiled and touched my elbow. "Shall we go?"
I nodded. My heart thudded in my chest, and my stomach danced the Macarena.
We walked through the office, and behind me I heard Aphrodite's voice again. "Well done, Ellen. Ben was a perfect choice."
I glanced over my shoulder at Ellen. She gave me an adorable grin and wiggled her fingers at me in a cutesy wave. I didn't care in the least. She'd done me an enormous favor.
"What do you say we try to get you a better assignment?" Ben took my hand. "Do you believe in Fate?"
I smiled up at him, and the warmth of his gaze spread over me like a soft fur. "They're two floors down, right?"
Behind us, someone rang the matchmaker bell long and loud, and the office went wild.
A Box Full of Faerie
by Jody Wallace
Wham! Wham! Wham!
A thunderous pounding on the door disrupted Rachele's daily yoga workout. Startled, she froze in the 'cat' segment of her cat-cow sequence for warming up the spine.
Wham! Wham!
She leapt to her feet. The hair on the back of her neck prickled a warning, like some kind of intruder alert. Her brain rapidly assessed threat responses-knives in the kitchen, vase on the table near the door, hand to hand, straight-up hiding.
None of that would help if they had a gun.
"Who is it?" she called, voice cracking.
When there was no response, she crept silently toward the front door of the cottage. Gene sat on the foyer table beside the vase, long, black tail curled around his paws.
Displaying zero alarm at the racket, he swiveled an ear as she approached. Cats often sensed danger before humans, so if he wasn't anxious, maybe she shouldn't be either.
"You'd better not break that vase," she chided him. Gene was her destructo kitty. The blue willow vase was the fourth one to occupy the spot of honor in the foyer. This one, she hoped, was both heavy enough that Gene couldn't knock it over and that it would make a good weapon.
Because that was the perfect criteria for interior decorating choices.
Gene blinked. The tip of his tail flicked an acknowledgement.
Reassured, Rachele pressed her eye to the peephole. A khaki-clad man holding a clipboard waited on the porch. A cap shaded the top half of his face from view.
Rachele laughed to herself. A delivery person. If khaki guy were a gun-toting villain, he wouldn't have bothered to knock. She'd never get used to the way people here traipsed onto your porch like they were allowed on your property without an invitation, but that didn't mean they intended you harm.
Not like where she'd grown up-not at all.
Which was exactly why she'd relocated to Shawnaville, North Carolina, in the first place.
Checking her clothing to make sure all the important ladybits were covered, she unchained and unbolted the door and swung it back. Pleasant afternoon sunlight streamed through the opening, warming her exposed arms and face.
"Can I help you?" she asked the man.
"Delivery for 802 Danube Street." He tapped the clipboard. "Are you Rachele Waters?"
She peered past him to the medium-sized truck parked at the curb. Two other men busied themselves at the rear of the vehicle as if her delivery weren't a small box or overnight envelope. She didn't recognize the company name on the side of the truck-Summerland Express.
"I didn't order anything," she said automatically, although it was quite possible she had. She hated shopping- wearing clothes and shoes, going outside around all those strangers, in the stores, leaving her cats alone in the house when who knew what mischief they could get up to? The internet was her friend.
The man lifted his chin to look at her. The bored expression on his brown face didn't flicker as he extended the clipboard and a large ink pen. "If you could just sign at the X?"
"But what is it?" she asked.
"I just drive the truck, ma'am. I don't know what's in your parcel."
Bemused, Rachele accepted the paperwork. She glanced over the tiny print. Everything looked standard. The sender appeared to be an internet retailer she often accessed. Huh. Was it time for more cat food? Craft supplies for her online business? Oh, maybe it was that new yoga mat.
What a nice surprise. She loved presents.
Balancing the clipboard in one hand, she scribbled her name awkwardly with the pen. It was slick and unusually heavy, as if weighted inside. The pen slipped out of her grasp as she was writing the last letter. The sharp clip pricked her finger like a cat's claw.
"Ouch!" A tiny bit of blood dripped on the signature line. Embarrassed, Rachele snatched her hand behind her back. "Sorry. I got a smudge on your paper."