“Um, right, I apologize, and I'm just gonna...” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, hurrying into the next aisle while I take a moment to clear my head.
“What a fuckin’ weirdo,” the woman—Delilah—laughs, and the man joins her. “Now, about that Baja Blast…”
This is a predicament I hadn’t seen coming.Should'veseen it coming, just didn't.
The Cupid doesn’t only match pure souls—recent politicians are proof of that—but handing such a gift to two people who seem so unworthy is profoundly unsettling. Why do they deserve love?
Micah’s words from class pop into my mind. “You aren’t the judge of these souls, Azrael, you are matching those who would complement each other.”
Dark souls taint pure ones. History has shown us that. We like to believe that someone’s light could brighten up the shadows in another, but true redemption is rare. In a sea of white, a single drop of black ink creates gray, but a drop of white in darkness disappears.
An evil soul’s influence on a virtuous one will corrupt, darkening it over time. That’s a fact.
Compatibility is vital. And these two? As much as I hate to hand over the key to happiness, they are compatible.
Remembering to stay hidden this time, I activate my glamour and peek around the aisle. Frankie and Delilah are still talking, their voices drifting in my direction. Their conversation has shifted from the latest Hillbilly Hooch to their plans for the weekend, so the magic didn’t lie—there’s already a connection brewing.
Arrow nocked, I aim towards Delilah, drawing on my lessons as I steady my breath. Air fills my lungs, and I hold it there, fingers ready to release.
“Excuse me, sir,” a deep voice rumbles, and it’s like slow motion as everything happens at once.
Frankie and Delilah both turn to stare at the newcomer at the exact moment the bowstring twangs softly. Fletching scrapes my cheek as I instinctually reach for another, my fingers wrapped around the shaft. A tall, broad-shouldered man steps forward, with smiling eyes, a thick dark beard and the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen.
So pure, it’s nearly blinding.
He flashes a giant, friendly smile, and Delilah’s eyes widen as much as mine do… right as my arrow lands true, piercing her square in the chest.
While she’s looking athim, not Frankie.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” I mutter, watching as her eyes glitter. “This is bad, this is…sobad.”
The newcomer clears his throat, his smile turning uncomfortable as she stares at him with stars in her eyes.His attention turns to Frankie, though his eyes dart back to her a few times. “Could you point me to the boxed cake mixes? Momma’ssick, so I’m in charge of my cousin’s birthday cake this year. Can’t say that I’m much of a baker.”
Frankie’s irritation shows as he jabs a curt hand behind him. “Aisle seven.”
The tall man nods his thanks, and I focus on him as he walks away. His name is Beau, and his soul is breathtaking—one that could be used as a doormat and still find something good in the muddy boots walking over him. He’s bisexual, but that part of him is buried so deep it might as well be fossilized.
Delilah speeds after him like a lost puppy, and I curse to myself. Of course she’s infatuated with Beau. Not only is he gorgeous, but she’s been hit with a heavy dose of Cupidity that’s erasing her already loose restraint.
Frankie is out of the picture, no thanks to me. She is too focused on her new prey to pay attention to the man she actually needs. Beau walks towards the cake mix, oblivious to the stalker trailing a few steps behind him.
I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
She will obsess over him for the next few weeks, get her heart broken, then the effects of the arrow will wear off and she’ll move on with her life.
Karma is served through a handful of poetic justice.
A beat too late, I realize they’re walking right towards me. The crowd is too thick for me to teleport home, so I dig into my magic and focus it into hiding. It won’t make me invisible—that is saved for my wings and weapon. Glamour just makes me harder to notice and even harder to remember. A human can still see me, but the instant their attention shifts, the memory slips from their mind.
But there’s a factor at play I haven’t considered.
History.
“What are you doing here, ya weirdo?” I glance up to find Delilah staring at me as Beau does a double take, head whipping behind him in shock. Since she noticed me earlier, her attention snags on me easily, standing here gaping like an idiot.
“Hey,” Beau snaps, and my gaze flickers to him as my tongue ties itself in knots. “That’s not very nice.” He frowns at Delilah, and my heart kickstarts in my chest as his dark blue eyes find mine.
