Page 95 of The Cupid Chronicles

“Yeah, yeah, golden shimmer,ooh, it’ssomagical, wowee wow wow.” I begrudgingly whip the covers off to find the newspaper, fully opened, hovering about three feet over my bed. The riddle about Joy is in large font now, taking up both the left and right sides of the pages.

“I have a plan,” I say to the newspaper, talking to it like it’s a person. “And I’m actually excited about it, so how about you quit hitting me in the face?!”

The paper then ripples, the sound a mixture of paper rustling and chimes, and starts to break apart in its typical magical fashion.

The last word to disappear isJOY, lingering on that until the whole newspaper is finely dissipated in a cloud of golden sparkles.

Joy, I think.Let’s find some for her.

It’s Monday morning, and I’m heading to work with asingular focus—to connect Joy with Mr. Kincaid and get her the job at the school.

No idea if she’s even qualified. No clue if this is the right thing to do.

But I have a feeling.

I shouldn’t be surprised when I walk into the hallway just as Joy is rushing in with Alice. I smile at them, noting that Joy looks even more exhausted than the last time I saw her. I think back to the early days after my dad left, and I feel instant sympathy for her.

It’s hard to keep things going when you’re falling apart.

“Good morning, Alice,” I say brightly. “How was your weekend?”

Alice gives me a little shrug.

“You know what I found out?” I ask. “We’re neighbors! We live in the same building.”

Joy meets my eyes, an almost scared expression on her face. “Oh, we’re just helping my great aunt move into a long-term care facility.” She rests a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “She’s . . . well, she’s collected a lot of things over her life, and . . . it’s too much work for her, and—” She stops talking, and I imagine what she might’ve said if she hadn’t.

And we had nowhere else to go, maybe?

I nod, but my attention wanders when Charles walks into the hallway.

“Oh, Mr. Kincaid!” I wave toward him. “I wanted to let you know plans for the end-of-year art show are underway, and I think the kids are excited for it.”

“Wonderful,” he says, then sighs. “At least one of the fine arts departments is doing well.”

My eyes dart to Joy, then back to Charles. “Right, yeah, I heard Miss Acker had to move back to Arizona.” I look at Joy. “She was the music teacher. Her mother fell and broke her hip.”

“Ouch,” Joy says.

“Ouch is right,” Charles says. “We have a spring concert in just a few months.”

“And also . . . abroken hip,” I say intently and quietly.

Charles winces. “Right! Of course. That too.”

I look at Joy. “You don’t know anyone qualified to teach music, do you?” I feel a little like an attorney leading the witness, but I have to play this hunch.

But then Joy says, “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

I frown. “You don’t? Are you sure?” Because really—is she sure?

Her slight smile reads as polite. “I’m sure.”

“Hmm. I thought . . .” But I don’t finish the sentence because what am I going to say? I thought the magic clues were pointing me in your direction because one of the R-sisters told me you play guitar? Maybe I got it wrong.

On the upside, I’ll be needing that Magic Mentor a little while longer. On the downside, I got it wrong.

But then Alice tugs on Joy’s hand. “Mom, you could do it.”

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