Attack of the Cupids (10 page)

‘It's not like it's any of
their
business,' said Sally. ‘Poor Greg.'

Billie was in a good mood. Ismael knew that because his cards were strong. There were aces when he needed them, nines when he needed them, and when he went for the five-card hand he got the obliging fours and threes.

Even so, he did not drop his guard. Billie could change like the weather in April – all sunny one minute and storms the next. She was drifting around the central chamber of her mind, humming the music and
laughing from time to time. But she was also restless. She couldn't keep still. He would look up at her and find that she mentally changed the colour of her party dress, or was wearing a different scrunchy in her hair. Big spangly bracelets appeared on her arms. The next minute they were gone.

Opposite him sat Scattletail, hunkered over his cards. He was betting small – bidding for a yawn or a snarky comment but nothing more than that. He was waiting for his luck to turn. His eyes never changed, whatever the run of play.

‘Do you think this party needs livening up?' said the Inner Billie wistfully.

‘Hey, honey – take a hand if you're bored.'

Ismael had to say that, though he knew it was a risk. It was how things worked in Billie's mind. Billie made a show of thinking about it. Then she said, ‘OK – deal me in.'

‘Blackjack?' Ismael wanted to keep the game as it was. The less change now, the better.

‘Texas Holdem,' said Billie firmly, sitting down and putting on a cowboy hat. ‘Deal me in, pardner.'

Flick, flick, flick
went the cards. Scattletail sat up. He drew his seat closer to the table.

‘Immy, are you OK?' asked Annie.

‘I'm fine,' said Imogen. Her voice was muffled because she was lying with her head pillowed on her arms. But her tone made it absolutely clear that she wasn't. It had been dumb to invite her, and dumber still to have tried to invite Cassie and Viola. Everyone knew that. Except Billie.

‘Let her be,' whispered Holly.

The best hope for Imogen, Sally decided, was that she should get a boyfriend. That would cure her of wanting to be with Cassie and Viola. But – see (a) frizzy hair et ceteror and (b) the generally low standard of available boys – it might take some doing. Someone might have to play cupid.

I love you love you love you love you
sang the speakers. The warm air stirred the leaves in the bushes and set the rose heads nodding.

Right in Muddlespot's line of vision, something moved.

It looked like a head, peeping cautiously out of a crown of rose petals. It was round and seemed to be attached to a pair of shoulders. But it was black and blind and . . .

No, it
was
a head. It was a head wearing a balaclava.

The rest of the body – as far as Muddlespot could see – wasn't wearing anything. There was a shoulder, a gleam of a fat little chest and a pudgy forearm. The hand of the arm held a bow.

‘Anything your side?' said Windleberry.

Muddlespot licked his lips. Then, very determinedly, he looked away from the rose. He fastened his eyes on the plant beside it. It was a gladiolus, with straight green leaves and dark red flowers.

‘No,' he said. ‘Nothing at—'

There was one in the gladiolus too. This one also had a bow. And a balaclava.

There were
three
in the cypress beyond.

Muddlespot backed a bit. He couldn't help it. The sight of them unnerved him. The way they moved – quickly, ruthlessly, flitting from one patch of cover to the next, so fast that by the time his head turned to follow the movement they were in cover again, and while he was still trying to pick them out another had moved – and each time nearer to him.

He knew it wasn't him they were after. But even so, he backed again. He badly wanted something to hide behind.

‘Though it's a while since I, er, since I had my eyes tested . . .'

‘What . . .?' said Windleberry.

‘
Go, Go, Go!
'
cried a voice, deep as a bullfrog spitting pebbles. And they were everywhere – pouring in through the windows in a wave of chubby bodies wearing nothing but balaclavas. Arms lifted. Bows bent.

‘Hey . . .' said the Inner Sally.

‘HAI!' roared Windleberry, leaping forward in a karate pose.

‘. . . Don't point those things at me!' said Sally.

Twang, twang, twangatwangatwang!
went the bows. Windleberry's arms moved in a blur, chopping left and right. Golden arrows tumbled from the air.

‘Muddlespot!' cried Windleberry. ‘Attack!' He dived forwards.

‘Oh – er – yes!' said Muddlespot. He lifted his fists and faced the one corner of the room where there didn't happen to be any cupids. ‘Come on, you!' he shouted aggressively. ‘You want some? You want some?'

‘Reload!'
yelled the lead cupid.
‘Spread out!'

Punt!
went Windleberry's toe.

‘Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!!!'
went a cupid, disappearing out through the window at about twice the speed it had come in.

‘Muddlespot!' cried Windleberry desperately. ‘Take the two on the left!'

‘The left,' repeated Muddlespot. ‘Right.' He faced
right
and found himself nose to nose with a rather surprised cupid who had been expecting him to go the other way.

‘B♥gger ♥ff!'
said the cupid.

‘Oh, sorry,' said Muddlespot. ‘My mistake.'

‘
Hai, Hai!
' cried Windleberry, fighting the Good Fight as only he could. Cupids were flying in all directions – mostly without wanting to. He had one by the ankles and was using it as a club. It was swearing horribly.

‘Everything – you say,' gasped Windleberry, ‘will be – taken down and used in evidence . . . Sally –
duck
!'

‘Quack,' said Sally, and dropped to the floor. Windleberry hurled the cupid through the air. It caught the two remaining cupids and knocked them off their feet just as they loosed their shots. One arrow went high into the air, whistling up out of the great window and into the wide world. The other hissed over Windleberry's shoulder and—

‘OW!' cried Muddlespot.

‘I'll have that,' said Windleberry, disarming the stunned cupids. ‘And those. Now be
off
with you.'
He tossed them one after another out of the window.

‘What did they want?' said the Inner Sally.

‘To change your life,' said Windleberry. He took a cupid bow, tested it, and made to break it over his knee. Then he stopped himself and put it down thoughtfully.

‘I could have handled them,' said Sally.

‘So many people think that.'

‘What's the matter with him?'

In the far corner of the chamber lay Muddlespot, flat on his back with his arms wide. He was not moving.

‘There were a lot of arrows flying about,' said Sally doubtfully. ‘Do you think he stopped one?'

They bent over the recumbent form.

Feeling just a little self-conscious, Windleberry patted his foe gently on the cheek. ‘Are you all right?'

Muddlespot opened his eyes.

‘My win,' said Ismael, relieved. ‘Everybody take a look round and see what a fine day it is. Be thankful for it.'

‘Sure,' said Scattletail sourly. ‘Done that. Now deal again.'

Flick, flick, flick
went the cards.

WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeTHUMP!
went something else.

‘Erk!' went Billie.

She stiffened. Slowly she slumped forward onto the table. Ismael stared at her. There was something, he saw, sticking out of her back. He blinked at it once, twice, before the things his eyes were seeing made sense in his shocked brain. With a horrible, cold, crawling feeling he recognized it for what it was – the butt of a golden arrow, protruding from between her shoulder blades.

There was even a calling card attached to it. With a pink heart.

‘Holy cow!' he gasped.

Scattletail was also staring at it, mouth gaping. ‘Where did
that
come from?'

‘Billie? Speak to us, Billie – are you OK?'

Slowly Billie lifted her head. Her eyes were wide. They were shining. Her lips broke slowly into the most glorious smile. One look at her was enough to tell Ismael that it was far, far too late to do anything.

‘It's him,' she whispered. ‘It's him!'

She ran to the great windows like the Lady of Shalott running to see Sir Lancelot ride between the barley-sheaves.

‘Er – who exactly . . .?' Scattletail sounded nervous.

‘
Him!
'

A yell rang out across the rec. The girls looked up, startled. None of them had noticed that Billie had wandered a little way from the group.

‘Hey,' she called, down to the street where the boys were wheeling to and fro. ‘Hey,
Tony
!'

The boys were looking up at her. Everyone was looking at her. She scampered down the field to the fence. Out in the road Tony Hicks, demigod of Year Twelve, skidded to a halt.

‘Hey, Tony!' said Billie, holding the railings and bouncing up and down. ‘You want to come in? Come in and have something to eat!'

Tony had joined the Year Nine boys riding up and down the road because he had nothing else to do (except homework, which could wait!). He had jumped the bumps a few times and found it was harder than he had hoped to get both wheels off the ground. Plus, it was like getting kicked in the butt every time his rear wheel hit. Jeez! The Year Nine boys seemed to like it. They pedalled themselves towards the bumps harder and harder and howled with glee as their bikes bounced them into the air. They looked as if they could go on doing it for ever.

Here, on the other hand, was Billie. He didn't
know her too well but she seemed to be a nice kid and obviously pleased to see him. That was cool. Lots of girls of all ages at Darlington High were keen on him. He was dimly aware that certain people felt they had rights over him, and that others would interfere with him at their peril. But he owed no one any loyalty. Like a benign spirit, he was at peace with all forms of lower life and bestowed himself wherever he pleased. Besides, there seemed to be sausages on offer.

‘Sure,' he said, and leaned his bike up against the railings. He let himself in through the gate.

He even let Billie take his hand. He saw no harm in it.

‘Oh,' said Ellen under her breath. ‘Em. Gee.'

‘
I
thought he was with Viola,' said Annie.

‘Trouble,' said Eva.

‘
I
thought,' whispered Sally, ‘she said no boys.'

They watched the couple walking up to the barbecue, arm in arm. Beside them Imogen sat up. Her frizzy hair was untidy. Her face was blotched from resting on her arms. She stared blearily at the scene below her. ‘What's she doing?' she asked.

‘Viola's going to go ballistic,' whispered Lolo.

There was a short silence.

Viola wasn't really older than anyone else in the class. She just acted that way. So did Cassie. So did all that group – Millie, Tara . . .

And there was no way Imogen wasn't going to tell them.

‘I think I'm going to have flu on Monday,' said Annie in a small voice. ‘Good luck, the rest of you.'

‘I,' said Holly, ‘am leaving for Mongolia'.

Something had hit Muddlespot in the chest, so hard that it had hurt. He remembered that clearly. He was surprised to find that it had stopped hurting almost at once.

He could still feel it, though. He could feel something – different. It was as if all the scenery had just waited for that instant in which his eyes were closed, and had swapped itself around subtly so that he could not quite see what had happened or how. Everything seemed to be brighter. Snatches of pale gold mist hung in the corners of his sight. He was lying on his back, looking up into the face of . . .

Windleberry.

And suddenly everything was clear.

His fear had gone. His hate . . . Hate? Could he possibly have been
hating
Windleberry? No! He
had been hating himself. He could see that now. He had been confused. He had blinded himself to what was real. But now he could see. He knew the truth at last.

‘Windleberry,' he breathed.

The sound of the angel's name from his own lips stirred his heart. Something inside his chest opened, slowly, gloriously, like a flower. The air was full of music. There was a spring in his muscles, a lightness. In that instant he could have leaped buildings or flown to mountain tops. There was newness and hope. There was a reason for everything, and it was before his very eyes.

‘Windleberry,' he repeated. He smiled a huge smile. ‘My
hero
.'

‘What?' said Windleberry.

‘Windleberry – I've always admired you! Even as I've been your enemy. I want you to know this. There's been this feeling for you inside me . . .'

‘Oh no . . .' said Windleberry. He tried to step back, but Muddlespot rolled and caught him by the ankle, hugging his foot to his cheek.

‘Be mine!' he cried. ‘I cannot live without you!'

‘Let go!' said Windleberry desperately. ‘This is . . . we could both be summoned for this!'

‘Why should we care?' moaned Muddlespot, who was clinging to Windleberry's ankle. ‘As long as we have each other? Oh Windleberry – let's run away together!'

‘We're in trouble, guys,' said Sally, who wasn't looking at them.

‘Trouble!' exclaimed Windleberry. ‘Do you have any idea how
embarrassing
this is?' He tried to free himself, but all he succeeded in doing was dragging Muddlespot bodily across the floor. ‘Let me
go
!' he cried. ‘Unhand me, fiend! Or I shall Smite Thee, yay verily!'

‘I'm already smitten, thank you,' said Muddlespot, kissing Windleberry's toe.