Page 24 of The Cupid Chronicles

Magic.

I find I’m starting to settle down with that word, to not dismiss it out of hand.

As I cut out the article, the leftover pieces shimmer and dissipate, sparkling into tiny fragments of golden light until they disappear.

“Okay, that was kind of cool,” I admit out loud, and the cut-out article flutters in my hand, as if it agrees.

I take the clipping and stick it to my refrigerator, my gaze lingering on the image of a lonely old widow who may or may not need help.

My eyes snag on the words “before it’s too late.”

I frown, again trying to apply logic to what is most definitely not a logical situation.

A magical disappearing newspaper addressed to someone else bullied me into reading an article about saving some old woman’s life.

Am I doing this? Like,reallydoing it?

The question is rhetorical, of course, because unlike the chef, I actually like people. No way I’m not going to help.

The problem is, I don’t know what to do. I don’t knowhowto help Winnie.

And that is the thought that keeps me from falling asleep until very,verylate.

Chapter Eight

Iris

*smack*

I get shocked awake, slurring a mealy “Whassthebig . . . hey . . .!”

My forehead hurts, and I crack my eyes open and peer at the side table where my alarm clock sits. A rolled-up newspaper obstructs my view of the time.

I open my eyes wider. “Did you just hit me again?”

The newspaper disappears with a wispy tinkling of chimes, leaving behind a golden, misty shimmer.

I can now see my clock.

Holy heck!I have twenty-six minutes to get to work. I jump out of bed and holler a quick, “Thank you!” to the magic building, because apparently, I’m going all-in on this now.

Somehow, I manage to get to work only two minutes late, and I’m immediately met at the back entrance by a woman with a dog.

“Is this the way we should go in?” she asks.

I look down at what appears to be the bestest girl and wonder why I don’t have a pet. “With the dog?”

“We’re doing a presentation?” the woman says. “Letting the kids meet the dogs?”

I stare at her for a moment, and it finally clicks. “Therapy dogs!” I point at her and the dog simultaneously with both hands.

The woman gives me a quick nod. “Yes! I’m Darla Graves. I’m giving a quick talk about the dogs, what makes them special, how they help with stress, anxiety, and anger, and then each class will spend time with one of our trained emotional support animals.” She smiles.

“Right!” Emotional support sounds like a dream. I might need some one-on-one time with these dogs myself, this floofy one especially. “We’re so glad you’re here.I’mglad you’re here! The kids have been so excited about this.”

I’ve been excited about it too, but with everything going on, I completely forgot today was the day.

Darla is a plump woman with dark, wiry hair, and the kind of glasses that tint when you’re outside. She’s holding a leash attached to an adorable tan dog.

---