Crazy Cupid Love Page 5

  The Northern California branch of the Department of Affection, Seduction, and Shellfish left something to be desired. A lot of somethings, actually. The dingy cinder-block walls and stained ceiling tiles felt like they were closing in on Eliza—exactly as they had all those years ago. The place even smelled the same. Artificial pine with undertones of mildew and a hint of despair.

  At least some things never changed.

  With her stack of paperwork in hand, Eliza rang the bell at the empty front desk. The ding rang out, but no one came. She counted to ten, then hit the bell again.

  Nothing. She passed ten more seconds by staring at the stained industrial carpet.

  Ding.

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  Dingdingdingdingdingding.

  Nada. Not even a harried employee yelling at her from the back room to stop ringing the dang bell already.

  “Hello?” Eliza called out. Between her frayed nerves and skipping lunch to study for this test, her inner rage monster was starting to rear its not-so-beautiful head. “Does anyone actually work here?”

  When no one answered, Eliza lifted the wooden platform that separated the front counter from the back of the office, glared at the Employees Only sign, and stepped through to the other side. If they were going to force her to get a provisional license just so she could pick up a phone, she was going to make sure someone answered the damn bell.

  “May I help you?”

  She whipped around to find a short, stocky man standing behind her with his arms crossed. He looked like the epitome of every middle-aged government worker ever—tired, dead-eyed, and with a pallor that suggested he hadn’t stepped out of fluorescent lighting in months. An embroidered Department of A.S.S. logo donned the upper left corner of his red golf shirt, and a grease-stained napkin jutted out from his collar—like he’d been caught mid-McRib.

  “Hi,” she said. “I was—”

  Grease-Stain McGee pointed to the sign she’d pointedly ignored. He didn’t seem entirely human, but there was none of that certain something that would identify him as a Descendant either. Maybe he’d just spent so much time around Erosians that he’d picked up a weird vibe. “Employees only,” he said.

  Eliza stared at him for a few seconds before silently lifting the wooden platform and stepping back from behind the counter. “No one answered when I rang the bell, so—”

  “I was right around the corner. Two feet away at the copy machine. I would have noticed if someone rang the bell.”

  “You’ve got a little something…” Eliza pointed to a spot at the corner of her mouth to demonstrate where some sort of sauce had formed a crust on the man’s face.

  He grabbed the napkin and swiped at his mouth, completely missing the leftover sauce. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I’m here to take the provisional licensing exam. Eliza Herman? I signed up for an appointment online. Three o’clock.” She held out the stack of paperwork that she’d had to not only submit online, but also print and bring to the office. In duplicate.

  “You’re late.” He pointed at the digital wall clock. The angry, red numbers announced it was 3:05 p.m.

  “I was actually here on time, but—”

  “No one came when you rang the bell. I heard you the first time. Application?”

  She handed him the single-page document with her name, date of birth, and other personal information.

  “Proof of malpractice insurance?”

  She handed him the printout she’d snagged from the Herman & Herman offices—right after she’d had Elijah call and add her to the policy.

  “Birth certificate, complete with Cupid seal?”

  She passed him the birth certificate with its raised seal that proved she was the offspring of two Cupids—the only known way a child could have the knack themselves, though even then, it was a crapshoot.

  “Two forms of photo ID?”

  She handed him her license and passport, along with photocopies of each.

  “Proof of address?”

  Her electric bill.

  “Medical clearance?”

  The paper she’d begged her doctor to sign this morning on her way over.

  “Statement of interest.”

  Eliza slid the paper across the counter.

  “Hmmm.” The man frowned, looked up at Eliza, and frowned even harder.

  Oh gods. This was going to be the thing that threw a big, fat wrench in it all. “I double-checked the website, but there were no instructions about page-length requirements,” she said.

  “‘I’m interested in getting my license,’” he read from the page.

  “It definitely states my interest.” She gave him her best please-let-this-one-go smile. She’d already been at the computer working on this ridiculous paperwork for two hours by the time she’d gotten to the statement, and she’d run out of steam about 1.9 hours before that.

  Finally, the man sighed. “Fine. Mentorship form?” He held out a stubby hand.

  Eliza handed him the last page in her stack. Elijah had signed the form as her “mentor.” Neither of them had any intention of him mentoring her; with any luck, he’d be in Athens soon. It was just a formality.

  The agent scanned the page, mouthing the words as he read. “Elijah Herman? Any relation?”

  “My brother.”

  “Sorry.” He slid the entire stack of papers back to her. “Only minors may be mentored by members of their immediate family. Section 05.11 of the CCR.”

  “Wait, what?” Eliza stared at the man’s badge. Oliver Trevor. Two first names. Beside the bold letters of his name sat a small photo of him, looking ten years younger—and happier. “Mr. Trevor—”

  “It’s Agent Oliver, actually.” He pointed to the badge. “Oliver-comma-Trevor. Well, no comma. It was a misprint, but trying to get it fixed means filling out seven forms, sending in a copy of my birth certificate, and finding a notary public.”

  “That’s…a very unfortunate predicament, Agent Oliver.”

  He shrugged. “Probably easier to just change my name.”

  “So back to the mentorship form.” She walked the very thin line between wanting to throttle this man and wanting to charm him into giving her a provisional license. “I didn’t see that no-family requirement mentioned anywhere in the instructions.”

  He pointed to a minuscule line of fine print along the bottom of the form. “Right here.”

  She picked up the paper and squinted at the page. “All mentors are subject to the rules and provisions of the CCR,” she read. “That’s not exactly specific.”

  “I don’t make the rules, Ms. Herman. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  Her shoulders sagged. For once, she’d thought she might actually be able to help her family. Instead, she’d wasted everyone’s time—including her own. “No, I guess not.”

  Oliver-comma-Trevor turned his back to her, and at that same moment, Orpheus began to sing.

  Wait. Nope. That was just the blood whooshing through her veins as Jake Sanders stepped into the room. “Agent Oliver, I dropped off that—” He stopped short when his eyes met hers. “Hey, Eliza.”

  “Hi.”

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “She was just leaving,” Agent Oliver said.

  “I was here to apply for my provisional license,” she told Jake. A hundred ideas swarmed her brain at once. Some of them revolved around the way Jake’s navy T-shirt clung to his chest and brought out the gold flecks in his brown eyes. But one idea hit harder than all the rest. “I need a mentor,” she said. “Elijah was going to do it, but apparently it can’t be a member of my immediate family.”

  Jake jammed his hands into his pockets. “Oh, right. They changed the regulations last year.”

  In a perfect world, Eliza would have been able to take Jake
aside to explain the situation. No, in a perfect world, Eliza wouldn’t be in this situation, and she’d be able to take Jake aside to eat Dunkaroos and catch up on everything she’d missed in the decade since they’d lost touch. But this wasn’t a perfect world, and Oliver-comma-Trevor’s stare burned holes into the back of her neck.

  She ignored it and stepped closer to Jake. A tiny bit of sweat glossed his hairline, like he’d been out for a quick jog around the block. She caught a faint whiff of cedar and fresh-cut grass and fought the urge to sniff him like a bloodhound on the hunt. Wait. What? Why am I analyzing his smell? Ugh. Stupid pheromones.

  “I know it’s a long shot—” she started.

  “If you need someone to do it—” Jake said simultaneously.

  They both laughed nervously. “Really?” Eliza said. “Because I would appreciate it.”

  “No problem. You have a copy of the form I can sign, Agent Oliver?”

  The man sighed like he’d been asked to push a boulder up a hill for all of eternity—or until his state pension matured, whichever came later—but he pulled a piece of paper from behind the counter and slid it to Jake. “37–43E, Mentorship Form.”

  A thousand butterflies took flight in Eliza’s stomach, all at once. She’d done it. Mostly. She still had to take a multiple-choice test, but she’d ace that without any problems. She’d taken a practice test online and gotten every question correct.

  “Okay, Ms. Herman, stand there for your photo.” Oliver pointed to a white backdrop hanging from the wall. Someone had set up a point-and-shoot camera on a tripod directly across from it. A giant flash stood nearby. “I’ll send you home with a temporary copy of your provisional license, and the official copy will arrive in the mail in seven to ten business days.”

  “Should I take the test first?” she asked. “I mean, last time I had to take the test first.”

  “No test for non-minors anymore,” he barked. “Log all of the hours you work with your mentor each week, and submit the log to the department. You must report at least five hours each week, or your provisional license will be revoked.” He shook his head and muttered, “I swear, no one reads the fine print anymore.”

  All those butterflies stopped dead in their tracks. This was not what she’d bargained for. At all.

  “Say cheese,” Agent Oliver said.

  But before Eliza could eke out a single sound, the flash blinded her. The camera clinked and clanked, and the next thing Eliza knew, she was officially a provisional Cupid.

  Again.

  * * *

  The next morning, Eliza pushed open the door to her brother’s office without knocking. “Elijah, we need to… Oh. Hi.”

  Elijah sat behind his desk with his feet up. Jake sat across from him in one of the empty chairs, looking just as relaxed. They’d always been like this as kids, laid-back and easygoing; meanwhile, Eliza wound tighter with each year. At least until she’d given up on the Cupid thing altogether.

  She glanced down at her pajamas. Green-striped pants that had shrunk after the first wash and an old high-school T-shirt with giant holes in both underarms. And of course she hadn’t bothered to put on a bra. Herman & Herman wouldn’t open to the public for another hour—and even then, it was unlikely anyone would walk through the door.

  Jake gave her outfit a subtle once-over. “Hey. I was just telling Elijah about yesterday.”

  “About that…” Eliza turned to her brother. “Where were you yesterday evening? Did you know about all these new rules? That I’d have to actually do enchantments? Elijah, I swear if you knew and didn’t tell me—”

  Her brother held up his hands. “I swear I didn’t know. But you can’t back out now. My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, right after Dad gets home. And he’s going to need someone to drive him back and forth to cardiac rehab twice a week. Please, Eliza. Just until I get back.”

  Damn it. He looked so sincere and desperate. “What about Mom?”

  “I’ll handle Mom.”

  “Okay, but I can’t do enchantments, Elijah,” she said. “You know what happens.”

  Jake cleared his throat. Eliza ignored her embarrassment and continued. “Remember the time I accidentally made our band teacher fall in love with Lacey the lunch lady? A certain unfortunate event involving the woodwinds section and a hairnet?” she asked.

  “I remember that Lacey deserved better than old Mr. Peabody,” Elijah said.

  “What about the time Mom was teaching me to drive and I rear-ended that guy in front of the Red Clover? I didn’t even put a dent in his car, but he got so obsessed with Mom that he divorced his wife of six years. Because of me.”

  “If he went that crazy over a fender bender, they probably would have divorced anyway,” Elijah said. “But just to be safe, Jake, don’t let her drive.” He leaned across the desk and said in a stage whisper, “Her car is a disaster. You wouldn’t want to be seen in it.”

  Eliza gasped. “Leave Ron Weasley out of this,” she hissed.

  Jake looked back and forth between the two of them like they’d begun speaking a foreign language. “Wait, what?”

  “Ron Weasley is a bright-orange, early 2000s death trap my sister drives around town,” Elijah explained. “Stick around long enough, and I’m sure you’ll hear it coming from three miles away. Or you’ll hear Eliza cussing from at least the same distance when it randomly decides to lock all the doors with her keys inside.”

  “It’s a Ford Mustang. An American classic. And I taped a spare key inside the door to the gas tank six months ago, so I haven’t been locked out in ages.” Eliza glared at her brother, but she couldn’t argue with his other points. Ron was a loud, bright-orange death trap. Still, she loved that car, even if it had a copy of Pow!: That’s What I Call Love Songs jammed in the CD player. At random intervals, a verse or chorus would blast through the speakers, and no amount of fiddling with the knobs and buttons could turn it off. She’d learned to wait it out and sometimes even hummed along. Good old Ron had stuck with her for years now, through all kinds of scrapes and misadventures. And it wasn’t like she could afford an upgrade.

  Jake nodded slowly. Poor guy probably felt like he’d volunteered to help a friend and stepped into a viper pit instead. “I can drive.”

  “Great.” Elijah clapped his hands together. “It’s settled. Once a week, Jake will take you out to do an enchantment and keep you out of trouble. Between that and the paperwork you have to do before and after, it’ll take you five hours easy. Just write really slowly. I’ll be back in four weeks, and by then, you can quit and go back to your normal life.”

  “What? Four weeks? I thought the conference was just a week,” she said.

  “It is. But I made some plans to tour a few of the most popular firms after it’s over, see what they’re doing that I can bring back, visit a few friends.”

  “Elijah—”

  “Come on, Sis. I’ve been working here my entire life. When you left, I took on both our workloads. Now I’m just asking you for this one thing.”

  Elijah Herman, the first Cupid to ever get a PhD in mom guilt. “Fine.”

  “Great.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a file folder. “I’ve even got your first case lined up. One of Dad’s.”

  “He already showed it to me. It’s a married couple,” Jake said. “Looking to put the spark back into things for their anniversary. Can’t get much easier than that.”

  Eliza had almost forgotten he was there. Almost. It was hard to forget a six-plus-foot masterpiece sitting inches away. “Okay,” she whispered as much to herself as to them. “I can probably handle that.”

  “You can,” her brother said. “And, Eliza?”

  She waited.

  “Consider upping your personal hygiene before you go.” Elijah’s face broke into a wide grin. “We have a reputation to uphold.”

  With her middle finger, El
iza showed him exactly what she thought of his reputation. But at least this was closer to their normal. Seeing her brother so on edge had made Eliza’s heart hurt. “Says the guy who once swore off deodorant for an entire summer.”

  Elijah threw up his hands. “I was a lazy twelve-year-old! Sue me!”

  “Someone should have,” Jake muttered.

  “Ha!” Eliza pointed at Jake, smiling gleefully. “Someone else is on my side.”

  Elijah rolled his eyes and turned to Jake. “Try not to let her injure anyone besides, you know, the people we’ve been hired to injure. The other night she rolled over a doctor’s foot, and I thought it was going to be junior prom all over again.”

  Eliza’s nostrils flared. “The Electric Slide is a dangerous dance!”

  Jake stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he assured Elijah. “I’ll keep her out of trouble. Only the Macarena when she’s with me.”

  She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved, but the weight of his hand on her made Eliza’s insides twist into knots—the good kind. Garlic knots maybe. “When is the appointment?” she asked, trying to look as dignified as she could in a holey shirt and too-tight capri pants.

  “Tomorrow at one,” Elijah said.

  “Pick you up at twelve thirty?” Jake asked.

  “Perfect,” Eliza said. And it would be. One hundred percent perfect.

  Maybe.

  Actually, she was probably going to cause a disaster of epic proportions, but she’d make it work. She had to. Her family needed her.

  And if it didn’t work? Well, at least she got to spend an afternoon staring at the wonder that Jake Sanders had become.

  Chapter 5

  Calif. CCR § 304.02. A state-approved antibacterial, virucidal, and fungicidal disinfectant shall be used on all arrows, implements, and reusable weaponry prior to use on each patron, except when patrons provide their own such weaponry.

  “Ready?” Jake asked.

  Eliza lifted her sunglasses and squinted through the windshield. The three-story brick house sat in the middle of one of Gold Lea’s newer subdivisions, a wealthy part of town that hadn’t existed when she was growing up. Perfectly pruned shrubs dotted the landscape, and the windows gleamed as though each one had its own personal window washer. It was all just shy of mansion status.