At the end of the day I tell myself I'm not going to go to the gym to meet Cal for "training in the arts of the cupids," whatever that means. I tell myself I'm going to go home and see how my father is doing and suggest that, hey, maybe we can have pancakes for dinner. However, when I pass by the dark gym on my way out the door, curiosity gets the better of me and I step inside.

It seems empty. Rays of sun slip in through the high windows and cause elongated shadows to stretch out from the climbing frame stacked against the wall.

"Cal?" I say tentatively, feeling stupid as my voice echoes back. "You here?"

There's silence for a moment, then the sound of footsteps. "Here."

My eyes dart toward the basketball hoop at the far end of the gym. When Cal emerges from the shadows, I take an involuntary step back. He has a bow slung across his body, and a sleek black case filled with arrows over one shoulder.

"Jesus Christ! You've not been carrying that around school all day have you?"

Cal scowls. "'Course not. They were in my car."

"You're not going to . . . shoot me are you?"

Cal looks insulted. "I told you before, I'm going to train you in the arts of the cupids."

"Does that involve shooting me?"

Cal shrugs. "Not for the time being."

"For the time being?!" I take another step backward. This is insane.

"They're not ordinary arrows," he says. "Each cupid has access to them. Our branch of the Cupids Matchmaking Service no longer uses them—we believe them old fashioned. But if you are to understand the ways of the cupids, and to understand Cupid himself, they are a good starting place. They were very commonplace up until the beginning of this century, when we started to rely on our advancing technology."

Taking another step closer, he pulls an arrow from its case. It is smaller than a normal arrow, and bright silver with indecipherable markings around the base of the shaft. The tip is pastel pink.

"There are three types of cupid arrow, all extremely dangerous," he says. "Arrow one: the Capax—or 'Fool's Love,' as it has been nicknamed."

Before I can move or react, he swings the bow in front of him, looks right at me, aims, and then fires.

I gasp as Cal's arrow speeds past my face. I feel it happen in slow motion—the whoosh of cool air, the feather fletching brushing against my cheek, and the surge of adrenaline that makes my heart pound and my entire body feel cold.

There's a thunk as the projectile hits the wall behind me. The arrow quivers where it's now embedded in the Forever Falls Lobsters team mural painted above one of the exits, adding an obstacle for one of the spirited crustaceans as it dribbles a basketball toward the hoop. I turn back around, dismayed to find my hands shaking.

"What the hell?!"

Cal clearly doesn't think he's done anything remotely odd. He pulls out a second arrow. This one is a deep gold, with a dark, blood-red tip. "Arrow two," he states matter-of-factly as he holds it up. "The Ardor—or the 'Burning Flame.'"

He shoots again. I flinch as the second arrow pierces the air beside me and embeds itself next to the first.

"Hey—"

"And lastly," Cal says, ignoring my protest and pulling out a sleek black arrow. "The Cupids' Arrow."

As arrow three hurtles past me, Cal's expression turns dark. I stand frozen to the spot, my heart racing.

"Was there any need for that?" I ask weakly, attempting to regain my composure.

"Look behind you."

I look at him curiously then turn around. The three arrows, all lined up, simultaneously turn into ash that crumbles to the ground.

"I wanted you to see," he says.

He walks toward a large blue gym mat that has been dragged out onto the floor. Gracefully, he sits cross-legged, placing his bow and three more arrows in front of him. I shake my head as I join him. I think the weirdest thing about all this is that I'm starting to believe what I'm seeing.

I lower myself onto the mat, instantly engulfed in the scent of bare feet and antiperspirant that seems to linger in all school gyms.

"I remember when my life was normal," I say.

Cal looks at me curiously. "Do you?"

I realize it's the first time that Cal's wanted to know anything about me. I shrug, not really wanting to answer. My life hasn't been normal for a while now, not really. Not since my mom left us. It's been more of a pretend normal, a life with dulled edges—with my dad acting like everything's okay while he becomes part of the sofa, and me following a script that was written before she died but not really feeling it anymore. But that's an entirely different type of abnormal than this utter descent into madness.

"You said there are three types," I say, changing the subject as I look down at the weapons between us. If Cal is disappointed that I didn't answer his question, he doesn't show it.

"The first one, the Capax, is the mildest. It lasts a couple of hours—longer if the person hit is pierced in the heart. Someone who gets hit by that becomes more susceptible to love or suggestion. It was used before we had access to technology to speed up our matches."

"Like mind control?"

Cal shrugs. "More like hypnosis. There has to be a feeling there in the first place for it to work."

I gently run my finger along the body of the silver arrow, realizing it's almost a perfect match for Cal's eyes. It's cool to the touch and there are ridges where runic symbols have been carved into it.

"Does it hurt—to get hit?"

Cal shakes his head. "Humans can't feel it. In fact, it is known to give a certain feeling of euphoria. It leaves no mark and humans immediately forget they have been hit."

I study the second arrow—deep red and gold.

"What does this one do?"

Cal looks at me seriously. "The Ardor is more severe than the Capax. It fills its victim with a fiery obsession. It was meant to be dealt out only in punishment. It consumes a person—some will stalk people they believe to be their match, others will die of longing."

I frown. "What about the last?"

The dark look reappears on Cal's face as he turns his attention to the black arrow. "The last one is arguably the worst of them all." He pauses. "It turns a human into someone like me: a cupid— strong, fast, powerful, immortal . . ."

He flicks his gaze up to mine, his silvery eyes deep and sad. "Alone."