Avenging Cupids

Chapter 5: Infinite Queries for the Finite Mind

“When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,

For all the day they view things unrespected;

But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,

And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.

Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright—

How would thy shadow’s form form happy show

To the clear day with thy much clearer light,

When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so?

How would, I say, mine eyes be blessèd made

By looking on thee in the living day,

When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade

Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?

  All days are nights to see till I see thee,

  And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me."

— William Shakespeare, Shakespeare's Sonnets, Sonnet 43

After her parents left her bedroom, Willow let a few beats pass before rousing from her pretend sleep. It was definitely not her morning. But a bad hair day and purple half-moons beneath her eyes were the least of her worries. Her heart felt so overweight and her brain so sore that anybody could easily mistake her for a train wreck. She had her cell phone glued to her ear while she carried out her morning regimen. She had to fill Kasey in on the perplexing events from earlier that morning. He was the only trustworthy person she had left.

Heavy thoughts swam through her head like a pod of whales. She replayed the debate between the Blackwoods and her parents again and again in her mind. The use of her name and ‘ritual’ in the same sentence made her feel very uncomfortable.

An hour-long conversation and a few touches of concealer later, Willow finally trudged into the kitchen.

“Good morning, sweetheart," Azaria greeted warmly. Her lips were like burnished berries against her white as driven snow teeth, making her smile dazzling and powerful. She was as demure as the Queen of England and as fierce as Joan of Arc. With her wavy hair that seemed to swirl even in the most breezeless day along with her aqueous form, she moved like a rising and falling wave. Azaria was always radiant—whether it was at the break of dawn or the dead of night. 

“Mornin’ Mom,” Willow muttered. She sidestepped Azaria’s outstretched arms and made a beeline for the coffee pot. Azaria's pink satin nails grazed Willow's arm as she walked rudely by. She was not in the mood for pleasantries.

“How has school been?” Azaria, clearly taken aback by her daughter's rejection, forced small talk on Willow.

“Fan-bloody-tastic,” she replied acrimoniously. “Where’s Dad?”

“Fast asleep. We just arrived this morning.”

“Yeah, I heard you guys come in." There was a slight flicker in Azaria's eyes that disappeared as soon as it came. Willow shrugged it off. "So how was the trip?”

Azaria studied her daughter intently before replying. “Very demanding," she said wryly. "Your father will be leaving again after Easter. Something urgent has come up and the Council requires his assistance.” The Council, as Azaria put it, could have meant anything—the Company, the Congress, the Cult…