The sun dawned bright and fair in the halls of Olympus, as it did every morning. The peaceful scene was broken by the sounds of arguing in the Great Hall.
“I’m sick of it!” Cupid shouted. “I’ve had it with your insults! We both know I’m the better archer!”
Apollo sniffed in disdain. “Come off it. You can’t even throw a tantrum properly. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with those flaming arrows of yours. Everyone knows it.”
“They aren’t flaming. I’m going to kill—”
“Boys!” Hestia massaged her temples. “Must we have the same discussion every morning? You’re both very talented.”
“I could beat them both with my eyes closed,” Artemis said under her breath.
“Nevertheless,” Hestia said, frowning, “I do wish you could settle your differences. I would like to enjoy my breakfast in peace.”
Cupid kicked the table. “I’m not settling anything unless he admits I’m the better archer!”
“Not going to happen,” Apollo said. “It isn’t true. Jerk.”
“Why not have a contest?” Poseidon asked around a mouthful of eggs. “It would put the issue to rest once and for all.”
“What kind of contest?” Apollo asked.
“Yes!” Cupid sat up in his chair. “We could set it up in the courtyard—”
Aphrodite cleared her throat. “Have you forgotten? It’s Valentine’s Day today, Cupid. You can’t have a contest until you go to your temples.”
Cupid smacked his forehead, losing a few laurel leaves from his wreath in the process. “It’s no problem, Ma. I’ll have a cherub do it. No worries.”
Apollo snickered. “I’ll be waiting for you when you finish your chores, honey.”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
Aphrodite frowned. “Cupid, your patron day is a serious responsibility. You can’t ignore your saintly duties.”
Cupid stood from the table, eager to follow his opponent and prove his skill as the top-ranked archer in Olympus. “I know, Ma! I said I’d do it, okay?”
“But—”
The sound of his mother’s voice faded as Cupid skipped through the Great Hall to the courtyard. He whistled for a cherub before he stepped through the bower. One of the many winged babies that followed him flew over, its tiny wings pumping furiously to propel its oversized body. Cupid unslung his golden bow and silver quiver. “Here,” he said as he handed them to the cherub. It struggled to stay aloft with the extra burden. “Go to earth and be a presence. Don’t shoot anything, okay? Just act like me. Pose a bit, hold the bow, maybe pretend like you’re going to loose an arrow. But don’t actually do it. Got that?”
The cherub nodded. “Sir? I have a question. My sister’s friend? Her name is Grogda—”
Cupid paused. “Wow. That’s an unfortunate name, there.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m asking you for help. Her name is the prettiest thing about her, see,” the cherub said.
“Oh, ouch,” Cupid said.
The cherub nodded. “So I was wondering if, maybe, you could use one of your flaming arrows to help someone love her?”
“They’re not … listen, they don’t flame! Those are for a different kind of love. I’m not sure why everyone has the wrong end of the stick on that,” Cupid said. “Listen, I don’t have time to help your friend’s—”
“Sister’s friend.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Cupid could see Apollo setting up the targets. “No using invisible arrows!” he called.
“So can I?” the cherub asked.
“What?” Cupid asked. He could just make out Apollo’s first target. It seemed too far away. Was he cheating?
“Use the arrows to help her?” the cherub asked.
Cupid jiggled his leg, desperate to check the target length for himself. “Uh-huh. Okay, now, be careful.”
“Thanks!”
Cupid headed for the field to begin the contest. “Yo! I’m watching you. Cheater.”
Apollo spread his hands. “Whatevs, man. I have nothing to hide. I can beat you however you want to set the spread here. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Cupid scowled. “No, I’m cool. Let’s get going.”
“Where’s that famous bow of yours?” Apollo asked. “You’re always bragging on those special arrows.”
“No, I’m not!” Cupid said. “My skill is in these guns, baby.” He flexed an arm for show.
Apollo laughed. “Come on. I set the course, so you have first shot.”
“Pearls before swine, bro,” Cupid said.
“Pshaw. Whatever. Just shut up and take your best shot.” Apollo rolled his eyes.
Cupid retrieved his back-up bow from his pack and took careful aim at the first target. He adjusted for wind speed and pulled back the arrow to the required tension. Just as he was about to take the shot, a voice broke his concentration. “Excuse me, sir?”
“What?” Cupid relaxed his stance.
It was the cherub. “There’s a wee problem on earth.”
“What is it? I’m in the middle of something here, you know?” Cupid said.
Apollo snorted. “Can’t handle your issues, man?”
“Butt out, buttinsky. Eavesdrop much?” Cupid narrowed his eyebrows. To the cherub, he asked, “So what is it?”
The cherub sighed. “I missed the mark with the arrow. I was aiming for Grogda—”
“Who?” Cupid asked.
“My sister’s friend? The one who—”
Cupid waved his hand. “Whatever. So, basically, you ignored me and fired an arrow when you weren’t allowed. That’s the problem here. It’s noncompliance. And moreover, it’s lousy aim. Don’t you ever practice?”
“No, that wasn’t what you—”
“Dude. I get it. It’s all right, I’m not going to kill you over it,” Cupid said. “Who did you hit instead? Was it a total hottie? A married guy? It wasn’t a dog or something, was it? The possibilities are endless.”
The cherub twisted his toga into a ball. “It hit a garden gnome.”
Apollo laughed.
Cupid stared. “A what, now?”
“A garden gnome. You know, one of those decorative statues?” The cherub bit his lip.
“That’s a first!” Apollo said around his glee. “What a way to celebrate Valentine’s Day! I love it! Wait ‘til your mom hears about this.”
Cupid pulled back his lip in a sneer. “She isn’t going to hear about it, unless you’re a little baby tattletale. Great! So this lady is in love with a stone?”
The cherub mumbled in the affirmative.
Apollo laughed harder.
“Shut up and let me think,” Cupid said.
“That would be a first!” Apollo said.
Cupid stuck out his tongue. “Give me my arrows back. I need to do this one myself.”
The cherub handed over the bow and quiver, visibly relieved to be absolved of his burden.
Cupid scanned earth for the woman in question. It didn’t take long for him to find Grogda. He nocked his bow with a lead-tipped arrow and took aim. Even from Olympus, the shaft flew straight and true, and the woman was released from her unnatural desire. She unclasped the statue, dazed and not a little confused by the entire episode.
“Done and dusted,” Cupid announced. “No biggie. But more than you could have done.”
“Right,” Apollo said.
“Listen, I’m bored of this. Want to go hassle Dionysus? I hear he has a new brew on tap. He might give us a nip,” Cupid said.
Apollo shrugged. “Sure. Lemme pull the sun to midday and I’ll be there in a jiff.”
“Yeah, all right.” Cupid slung his bow over his shoulder and headed inside, the competition already forgotten. It was turning out to be a fine Valentine’s Day after all.
John Vicary began publishing poetry in the fifth grade and has been writing ever since. A contributor to many compendiums, his most recent credentials include short fiction in the collections “The Longest Hours”, “Anthology of the Mad Ones” , “Midnight Circus” and issues of “Alternating Current”, “Timeless Tales”, “Garden of Eden” and the Birmingham Arts Journal. He has stories in upcoming issues of Disturbed Digest, “Creepy Weird Horror Stories”, “Plague: an Anthology of Sickness and Death”, a charity anthology entitled “Second Chance”, and “Dead Men’s Tales”. John lives in rural Michigan with his family. You can read more of his work at keppiehed.com.