Cupid looked me up and down, from my boots to my eyes, and nodded once. “Brogan Gauge.” His voice was the grumbling baritone of bars and neon and engines on the open road.
I heard Lu’s quiet curse right before the truck door creaked open and her boots hit the gravel.
“I’ve heard of you and Lula,” the god went on. “Of the attack. Of you two exchanging bits of your souls on the seam of Death’s doorway. I’d wondered when our paths would cross.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” Lu said. “And we don’t have anything you’d want.”
He leaned sideways, as if looking right through me was a problem. “Afternoon, Lula Gauge. Or should I say Lula Doyle?”
She pulled her chin up. “It’s Gauge.”
“Well, it would be if you had had a chance to take your wedding vows,” the god said. “But you never had that chance, did you?”
This was not the god to challenge when it came to how things connected and joined.
Lu raised her eyebrows. “We took our vows. It doesn’t matter if we never did it in front of a priest or judge.”
“I happen to agree with you,” he said. “Although the old-fashioned romantic in me likes the ceremony of marriage. Such a beautiful vow of love, of fealty. A memory never to be forgotten.”
“Come on, Lu,” I said, “Let’s hit the road. Sorry to take up your time, Cupid. It is Cupid, isn’t it?”
“I prefer to use the name Bo with people I know.”
“You don’t know us,” I said just as Lu said, “I don’t know you.”
Cupid looked at me, leaned to look at Lu, and frowned. “This is awkward, isn’t it? Here.”
He snapped the fingers of his hand withgoldwritten across the knuckles.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Brogan?” Lu asked, startled.
“I’m here, love,” I said, not looking her way, still standing between her and the god. “How about you just go on your way,Bo?” I said. “No hit, no foul.”
“I can’t.” He stood up off the motorcycle and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Well, not yet. I need to talk to you. To both of you.”
“We’re done talking,” I said.
“Brogan.” Lu’s voice was so slight, I almost didn’t hear her over the distant sound of the cars and trucks on the freeway. That softness, that worry, made me turn toward her. She reached out, her hand sliding into mine.
I clasped her palm tightly, as I always did, and felt flesh, warm, textured with ridges and lines, bones strong beneath skin softer than silk.
“Lu?” The world rocked under my feet, as I both tried to square myself steady to it and throw myself off it to reach for her.
She flew into my arms, body tight against mine, warm, real. I pulled her tight, tighter, the scent of her perfume mixing with the dust and oil of the road, the fast flutter of her pulse against my lips as I kissed the edge of her neck driving me senseless, wild.
“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” she whispered over and over as she clenched my shirt so hard she scratched the skin beneath. Welts were rising from her touch, but I didn’t care.
I was solid, breathing. I could taste the sweat of her skin on my tongue, could feel the curves of her body, the hot wind curling between us like the sun itself was surprised to see us there, together.
My head hurt and my knees were threatening to buckle, but I didn’t care. I was more alive than I’d been in years. Decades.
“I love you, Lu,” I said. Just as I always said.
“I love you, Brogan,” she replied. Just as she always did.
“Brogan, Lula,” the god said, almost as if he regretted the interruption.
