Cupid’s Match

We walk down the left-hand path, away from the eerie sound of carnival music and into the darkness. The air is cold and silent, and as we progress, a thin layer of fog begins to conceal the landscape. I squint as I try to pick out the distorted shapes of derelict buildings. A large, domed cathedral looms beside us, and somewhere in the distance I hear the hollow chimes of a clock tower. An industrial scent lurks within the icy breeze: like smoke and blood and iron.

Something about the place seems both familiar and wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is. I shiver and rub my arms to fight against the cold.

“How do you know the center of the maze is this way?” I ask.

“The blood.”

I follow Cupid’s gaze and notice rivulets of deep crimson running through the cobbled stones.

He smiles grimly. “Where the blood runs, the Minotaur will be.”

I suppress a shudder as we follow a red stain along the side of an old, abandoned pub. Somewhere above us, a weird mechanical sound is jarring against the silence. Although I search, I can see nothing through the layer of thick mist.

“What is this place?”

Cupid looks at me. The mist clings to his face and gives him an almost ethereal look.

“I’d say we’re in the Minotaur’s version of Victorian London. Things are in the wrong place, and he’s not quite remembered it right—but it fits. He spent some time in London before he was captured.”

I nod as I recall Crystal’s account in The Records of the Finis. He was in London when she retrieved the golden arrow from him.

“I thought she let him go,” I say. “Crystal, I mean. Why did the Matchmaking Service capture him? That would have been after Venus’s time.”

Cupid’s hands go to the arrows hung over his bare shoulder. “Did I mention the Minotaur might not be too pleased to see us?”

“No. You must have forgotten to mention that.”

He gives a half smile then shrugs. “It was after my time at the Matchmaking Service. We need him on our side to take down Venus, but he’s a killer, Lila. A lot of the Myths are. A lot of them were put in here because they were too dangerous to be a part of the outside world.”

As we follow the trail of blood down a dark alleyway, I hear that mechanical sound again coming from somewhere ahead. Cupid apparently hears it, too, and stops still in his tracks.

“That and the fact that the Minotaur had a surveillance system to rival ours.”

He suddenly pushes me against the wall, his tensed body pressed against mine. He places a large hand over my mouth then gestures that I look up. Slowly, I do so.

Above us, jutting out from the wall, is a small camera. I hear the mechanical sound again as it moves, its lens surveying the surroundings.

“He’s watching,” I whisper. “Does he know we’re here?”

Cupid looks up at the camera again, and then down into my eyes. “Most certainly. Come on.”

He pushes away from the wall and continues to walk onward. I fall into step beside him as we navigate the labyrinth of narrow, bloodstained streets. As we progress, the mechanical sounds follow us. There can be no doubt about it: he’s watching us.

Soon we reach a vast iron bridge, on the other side of which rests a crumbling palace. Dull white, it has rows of blackened windows that peer out like hollowed eyes. On the roof, rippling in the icy breeze, is a red flag with the letter M in its center.

“Welcome to the Minotaur’s Buckingham Palace,” says Cupid.

“I’m guessing the queen isn’t home.”

The air around us smells metallic. I warily approach the railings of the bridge only to find myself awash in nausea; below, in place of the Thames, is a rushing river of blood. Cupid pulls me away and steadies me.

“I thought the Myths were in here to be tormented,” I say. “Pandora was stuck fighting the sins, Medusa trapped in a house of mirrors—this is different.” I stare at the palace ahead. “It’s like he can control the simulation. Like he’s made it how he wants it to be.”

Cupid nods. “Everywhere the Minotaur went, humans would begin to build his labyrinth. He has more than just physical power—his mind is strong too. The Sim wouldn’t have been able to fool him, which is why we are faced with a difficult task. And why he concerns me the most.” He looks at me through the fog. “If he could have escaped at any time, why didn’t he? What is he waiting for?”

Together we walk over the bridge. Slumped by the tall, iron gates to the palace are two dead soldiers in red uniforms and tall, black bearskin hats. Arrows jut from their chests. Cupid examines one of the bodies.

“Crystal’s been here.”

He pushes against the gates, and the rusty metal screeches against the cobbled ground of the courtyard. We walk purposefully toward the grand entrance, where the heavy door gives way to a musty entrance hall. A stone staircase covered in rich red carpet leads to a mezzanine, and around us the walls are covered with monitors. They each depict areas of the labyrinth we’ve just wandered through.

Some show the distorted London streets, but some show other areas. My eyes wander toward one, and I see Pandora and a dark-haired European girl in a blindfold making their way through the carnival.

Suddenly all the monitors flicker off. When they click back on, the image on each is identical; it’s Cupid kissing me on the floor of the Lust room in Pandora’s Sim. Heat rushes to my face as I see myself passionately kissing him back while he runs his hands through my hair.

“Yes, you’ve made your point,” Cupid calls out to the grand room. “You’ve been watching us.”

The moving image loops around once more, and I feel momentarily grateful that Cupid avoids commenting on our performance. Then the screens flicker off and a tinny crackle comes from above.

“Please, come through to the great hall,” a deep British voice says from a speaker in the corner of the space. “Head down the corridor on the right. We’d be delighted for you to join us.”

I share a look with Cupid as we make our way down the decaying corridor.

“Am I a good kisser?” he asks. “It looks like I’m a good kisser—from the film, I mean.”

So much for not commenting. “Now is not the time, Cupid.”

He smirks as we enter a grandly decorated hall. It has been set up like a ballroom, with circular tables arranged so as to leave space for dancing in the center. Stone steps lead to an arched front entrance. On it, in unnerving contrast to the gold-plated candelabras and old-fashioned tapestries, is a modern exit sign in luminescent green.

The way out.

In the center of the hall, Crystal is locked in silent battle with a tall man, an arrow gripped in her hand. Her face is set with resolve and her eyes gleam furiously. The male is grinning wickedly. He’s wearing a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves with the top buttons undone; it exposes a sleeve of tattoos on one of his arms—an assortment of black lines and shapes that create their own labyrinth of ink. There’s a vicious scar over his left eye.

The Minotaur.

“Cupid, Lila,” he says, his voice silky smooth as he slides his gaze toward us. “Welcome.”

Cupid walks forward. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

The Minotaur shakes his head. “Not at all, not at all. Crystal and I are just resolving a bit of unfinished business.”

He looks at us, a charming smile on his face.

“You asked out there what I was waiting for. It’s true I can leave whenever I wish, but you see, I’ve grown to quite like it in here—it keeps me out of trouble. And you’re right, I have been waiting. I’ve been waiting for Crystal.”