Page 45 of Touch

In The Dark Fates, meals are a blend of magic and effort. Her water pitcher replenishes itself whenever it’s empty, yet a kettle dangles from a hook over the flames, the bubbles signaling when the liquid is ready to be steeped in flower petals. The concoction is Wonder’s favorite; she adores blossoms more than any other natural element, just as she favors spring above all seasons.

Love retrieves a cup for Andrew, though she shouldn’t be taking care of him. By comparison, Holly would probably offer this man something different, one of those coffee concoctions whose names include a conga line of frothy words.

Tipping the kettle, Love fills the cup while thinking of Holly as a suitable match and muttering to herself, “What are The Stars thinking? His type cannot be—”

“Whose type?”

She jumps to find Andrew looming behind her, looking and smelling far too inebriating. She thrusts the tea at him. “I made it too strong, but it shouldn’t poison you.”

He smirks and forgets his question. They settle on a rug in front of the fire, with Love draping a blanket over her waist and legs, mindful that her dress is too short for her to be sitting without it. The blaze warms his complexion, and the sight of his nails losing that blue tint pleases her.

He studies the translucent walls. “If you can’t feel the cold, why do you need a fire?”

Because the blaze is nice to look at, its orange cast flickering against the bone-white world and casting a mellow glow through the cottage. Love is about to share this when Andrew waves off the subject. “You know what? Put me out of my misery and get to the macro stuff first, but make sure it’s the annotated version.”

A grin sneaks across Love’s face, but she smooths it over like a wrinkled blanket. “Ask me.”

“Tell me,” he counters.

She should have expected that from him. “I’m a goddess.”

“Considering how I wallpapered the village, I’m fairly certain about the answer, but just be clear: Eros or Aphrodite?”

“Neither. As I said, I’m Love.” But when he tapers his gaze, Love sighs. “Yes, those deities are the appropriate candidates. However, you haven’t seen me target couples. You’ve only witnessed what happened to Griffin and Ulrik.”

“True,” Andrew acknowledges. “But maybe you were giving them a shot of compassion. Eros might do that if in a generous mood.”

“Author or not, let’s review. As you eloquently pointed out, Eros isn’t traditionally depicted as a woman. And Aphrodite doesn’t carry arrows or work as a matchmaker. Besides, according to the slut-shaming tales in this world, she’s too busy being a so-called vain whore.”

“And you’re not?”

“A whore?”

“Vain. Jesus fuck. You think I’m that much of an asshole?”

“Of course I’m vain. I’m Love. But if you insist on a parallel comparison, then my equal is Eros.”

“In which case, it doesn’t matter if you’re a frisky goddess. Isn’t that part of your job?”

Grrrrr.

Andrew holds up his hands. “My mistake.”

“For the celestial record, promiscuity is a habit among our kind.” She compresses her lips. “Regardless, the mythologies in your world are wrong.”

“We got the arrows right. How about the missing wings?”

Love gives him a flinty stare. “I do not wish to talk about them.”

“So they exist.” Andrew skims her form. “I can’t wait to hear where they’re hiding.”

If he insists on continuing down this road, she’ll have to request that he politely fuck off. “Some of your beliefs are correct, but not all. For instance, I’m not the only deity who carries a bow. My ‘friskiness’ really does not matter to you?”

His pupils glitter with an unspoken response. “What’s the true mythology?”

“We’re the Dark Gods of our realm.”

“Be more specific.”

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