(Sample)

Prologue

    The crisp ground crunched softly beneath the young man’s feet.  Early rays of spring sun glowed eerily in the sky above the cold morning fog.  The young man took care to take only shallow breaths for fear the thick fog would suffocate him.  He glanced right and then left at the two burly clansmen on either side of him.  Their faces were grim in the gray light.  Mist shrouded their skin and pasted their hair to their foreheads.  Both men had a slack grip on his upper arms, but he could tell their hands waited in anticipation of a sudden move to run.  He didn’t blame them.  Who in his right mind would volunteer to be shot in the heart?
    The young man knew he had to do it, though.  He had to go through with this for his father and his clansmen.  They had been oppressed for so long, and this was their way to prove themselves once again and regain the power they had lost centuries ago when the clan first settled in Scotland.  In the sixteen years he had been alive, this was ingrained.  The Campbells had burned their castle, ravaged their women, and struck down their men, leaving them battered and weak.  In the years since regaining their lands, the Lamont clan were still struggling, unable to gain a foothold.  
    The large, gloomy cellar doors, which led beneath the castle, abruptly became visible through the fog.  Known only for their brute force, the two towers of clansmen stood dumbly at the cellar doors, obviously trying to work out the details of keeping hold of their charge whilst simultaneously opening the doors.
    “I’ll not fight ye,” the young man said after a moment.  “I want to do this.”  He was a born leader, his father being laird of nearly eleven thousand acres of lands on Cowal, a beautiful peninsula in the lower portion of the Scottish Highlands.  This had taught him a thing or two about presiding over people and persuading them to do his bidding.  He stared at his human shackles, face firm.
    Both nodded at the same time and released their grips to tend to the doors.
    The young man took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  His heart began to pound in nervous anticipation.  The way down was cold, dark, and smelled of wet plant roots and mold.  A soft light emanated at the bottom of the stairs.  Two men stood against the wall furthest away from the stairs.  He saw his father’s eyes staring back at him, fearful yet determined.  A cloaked man stood beside his father.
    The young man eyed the cloaked man warily.  “Cupid?” he asked.
    The cloaked figure nodded in response.
    “Let us proceed,” the young man’s father said hastily.
    Cupid removed his hood, revealing a curly head of yellow hair.  “Tsk.  Tsk.  We mustn’t rush love, Papa,” he chided and smiled.  His teeth were straight, perfect, and almost blindingly white.  Cupid looked back to the young man.  His clear blue eyes held a sadness, but they pierced all the same and bored through, straight to the depths.
    The young man looked away.
    “Payment?” Cupid asked as he held out a long-fingered hand to the young man’s father.
    The father pulled an uncut ruby from his satchel and handed it to Cupid.
    Cupid weighed the ruby in his hand momentarily.  “Not quite enough,” he said.
    “This is the only one we found,” the father grumbled.
    Cupid stared at the old laird.  “Then it shall do.”  He turned to the young man.  “Who is my target?”
    The young man hesitated before saying, “Lady Elizabeth Campbell, daughter to John Campbell, the second Duke of Argyll.”  And he felt the magnitude by simply saying her name out loud, condemning her all the same.  He didn’t know her—had never even met her.  But he would love her, and she would love him in some strange, driving infatuation, or so he’d been told.
    Cupid popped the ruby into his mouth and swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up, then down.  “And so it shall be,” he said quietly.  “Please, remove your shirt.”
    The young man took a deep breath and complied.  He held out his arms for his “bodyguards” to hold him in place.  “Make it quick,” he said, grimacing.
    Cupid pulled off his cloak, revealing his scantily clothed body—all he wore was a loin cloth and gladiator sandals.  His skin was ashen, powdery white as if chiseled from stone.  Well-defined muscles tightened as he removed his bow from across his torso.  He pulled a very sharp looking arrow from the quiver on his back.  Priming the bow, he said, “This will be painful, but you will not die.  However, you may feel as though you will.”
    The young man’s brows pushed together as he nodded.  “How shall I know when ye’ve succeeded with the match?”
    Smiling devilishly, Cupid said, “You will feel the most excruciating pain you have ever felt.  Right here.”  He touched his chest, just over his heart.  “It will hurt more than the stone itself.  The two of you will be drawn together, like the gravitational pull of Earth to all its creatures.”
    “Shall it ever go away?”
    Shrugging, Cupid said, “When you unite, the pain will lessen and be bearable…and even more so after consummation.”
    The young man’s brows drew up, worried.
    “Second thoughts?” Cupid asked with a smirk.
    The young man looked to his father.
    He nodded, eyes locked on his son.  “This shall grant us the power we need.”
    The young man stared at his father for a brief moment, then finally turned his focus toward Cupid—his family’s last hope.  “I’m ready.”
    Nodding, Cupid lifted his bow, narrowly sharp arrow primed.
    The young man’s chest heaved in panicked anticipation, but he kept still, brave and strong, teeth gritted together.
    Once Cupid had his mark, he deftly released the arrow, sending it straight and sure into the young man’s chest.
    The young man screamed and, gasping, lost his footing.  His bodyguards released him, quickly guiding him to the musty dirt floor.  There he laid on his back, arrow vibrating in time with the pounding of his penetrated heart.  His father was at his side, hands nervously fumbling over his son.
    Cupid made his way over, pushed the father out of the way, and kneeled before the young man.  He swiftly pulled the arrow from the young man’s chest, placing a white cloth over the heart-shaped puncture wound.  Holding the arrow above the young man’s horrified face, he said, “See.  It is primed.”  A line of swirling red blood was encapsulated inside the sharp arrowhead, its carefully flint knapped surface coruscating in the warm candlelight.
    The father placed a hand on Cupid’s shoulder.  “Thank ye,” he said with great emotion.  The weight of the moment kept everyone silent.
    But a wry smile fixed itself upon Cupid’s thin lips.  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said darkly.

Part I:  The Device

I
 

    I woke late morning; the sun’s rays were warm as they blanketed me.  At some point during the night, I had kicked off the covers.  Now my skin felt luxuriously hot as it soaked up the rays.  This was my favorite time of the year.  I had graduated from high school the week before, and the lazy summer days lapped out before me, seeming to ripple out endlessly.  Of course, I knew it would, in fact, eventually end, and the rigors of college life would begin.  But for now, I stretched in a state of drowsy bliss in bed.
    When I finished stretching, I laboriously went in search of my phone on the nightstand with half-open eyes.  Finding it, I plucked it carefully from the nightstand and woke it.  I had one message from my older brother, Charlie.  He had to care for me after our parents had died in a plane crash three years ago.  Charlie had already been out on his own for a few years, so I had to move in with him.  The adjustment really hadn’t been that bad.  Charlie had always been an excellent caregiver from the time he was old enough to babysit.  I missed my parents terribly, but Charlie made sure I got the love and support I needed to deal with it all.
    Charlie had just married his high school sweetheart, Mariah.  She was great and had been with us through thick and thin.  They had left over night for their honeymoon in St. Augustine, Florida, a few states away.  I didn’t really understand why they wanted to trade out the heat and humidity of South Carolina just to go to a place with the same heat and humidity.  If it were my honeymoon, I’d go somewhere a bit cooler, like Ireland.
    There was a voicemail from Charlie.  I tapped on the play icon.  Charlie’s voice came through the speaker in a happy tone.  “Hey, little sis.  Just calling to tell you that we made it safely.  It’s beautiful here—send you a pic later.  Alright, Emberly, what I’m about to tell you is important, so listen up.  I’m reminding you again that I have some of my curation work laid out on the table in my office.  Do not go in there under any circumstances.  I’ve shut the door so you’re not tempted,” he said with a laugh.  He knew his work bored me, and I rarely set foot in his office.  I snickered as I continued to listen to my brother’s instructions.  “Aunt Jess is on call if you need her, and you can always call Mariah or me if you need anything.  We’ll be back in three weeks.  Love you.  P.S. No parties.”  I laughed again—I wasn’t the partying type.
    Smiling, I texted Charlie back that I loved him and not to worry because I’d be okay.  I also promised him that I would try, very hard, not to go in the room of boredom or have many parties while they were away.  Yawning, I got out of bed, happy to be alone.  It was going to be weird without Charlie and Mariah, but it made me feel more independent…and free to do whatever I wanted.
    Although it was already midmorning, I decided to go out for a run anyway.  I usually tried to go early morning because of the stifling summer heat.  Not wanting to waste lingering morning coolness, if there was any, I quickly threw on some workout clothes—a pair of cobalt blue running capris and a gray Carolina t-shirt.  Two minutes later, my feet were laced into my neon pink running shoes, and the arm band holding my iPod was pulled tautly over my right bicep, ear pods dangling, doctor’s stethoscope style, around my neck.  I grabbed the zippered belt that was hanging across the back of my dressing chair and hooked it around my waist.  Inserting my phone and house key, I was ready to go.
    Before I headed out of the door, I took my wallet from my purse to grab out some cash for a drink from the Seven-Eleven on the cool off walk home.  My wallet was bone dry, save for one measly penny.  My shoulders slumped as I thought about having to lug a heavy water bottle around with me on the entire run.  Then I remembered Charlie’s emergency stash in his office.  I vaguely thought about Charlie’s warning from his message.
    I hesitated at the office door but then shrugged.  All I needed was a couple of dollars from the tin on the top of the book shelf—what could go wrong?  I opened the door, instantly engulfed in darkness.  Charlie had blackout curtains installed to help insulate the room since many of the artifacts he handled were sensitive to light and temperature fluctuations.  He didn’t normally work from home, but on the rare occasions he did, he wanted to be prepared.
    Using the light spilling from the doorway, I made my way to Charlie’s desk, planning to turn on the lamp that sat on it.  On my way there, though, I accidentally ran into a small wooden table which held the items for curation.  My toe hit one of the legs with a forcefully loud thud because I was in such a hurry.  And of course, said items for curation went flying off the table.
    I cursed under my breath as a glint of tarnished brass fell near me.  I didn’t think, hand automatically reaching for the delicate, glinting artifact as it made its way swiftly to the floor.  I caught it, just in time.  My fingers tightened around the object.  I wasn’t prepared for the searing stab of pain going through my palm at the base of my thumb.  “Holy shit!”  It was worse than a wasp sting, hand going numb and losing its grip on the artifact, allowing it to fall to the floor.
    Quickly, I hobbled over to the desk and turned on the lamp.  Wincing instinctively, imagining the damage I would find, I was relieved to only see a few items lying on the floor—some books, an old-looking padlock, a skeleton key, and a round clocklike object.  Moving to pick everything up, I slung my left hand, sending a rain of red droplets to the bare wooden floor.  Temporarily preoccupied by the potential destruction of my brother’s work, I had forgotten about my hand.  I walked back over to the lamp, thrusting my hand underneath.  A fairly large puncture wound bled out and down my wrist.  If I wasn’t mistaken, it looked as though it was in the shape of a heart.  I flipped my hand over; it was pierced all the way through, although the hole on this side was much smaller, a pin prick.
    I grabbed one of the clean handkerchiefs Charlie used to wipe artifacts and mopped up the blood from my arm.  I probably needed stiches, and I would have to call Aunt Jess.  For now, I’d have to clean the wound with some hydrogen peroxide.  I thanked Charlie for having insisted that I get my Tetanus shot renewed at my last yearly doctor’s visit.  Hastily, I wrapped the handkerchief around my bleeding hand, but I was too curious to tend to it just yet.  I had to find whatever had stabbed me.
    Scanning the floor, my eyes fell on the clocklike object.  I carefully picked it up.  It was round with little tick marks evenly spaced in two rows flowing around an outside edge made of tarnished brass or gold—probably brass.  Both faces were covered with glass.  On the outside of one of the faces was an intricately designed silver clock hand.  There was nothing on the other side.  On the inside of the glass, the clock hand was attached to one of the most beautiful clear quartz arrowheads I’d ever seen.  Little levers and gears were fastened to the base of the arrowhead, which was clearly what had shot out of the steampunk-looking machine and stabbed me.  My blood coated the arrowhead’s syringe-like tip which stuck out of the round brass border.  The inside of the arrowhead was filled with a swirling, dark red substance running down its center.  My blood, perhaps.  I almost didn’t notice, but there was a small brass washer of sorts attached to the center of the largest part of the arrowhead.  I ran my finger over the middle and felt a sharp stab, much like the prick of the needle at the doctor’s office when they drew my blood.  I pulled my finger back and watched as a tiny dot of blood pooled in the middle of my finger.  “What the hell?” I said just before a pressure in the air began to draw up around me.  I felt as if I had been submerged in deep water—the pressure threatening to obliterate my internal organs.  I felt myself fall and then lost all sense of direction.  My vision went from spotty to all-encompassing black.  I couldn’t tell if I was right side up or upside down—left or right—forward or backward.
    I gasped, but there was no air.  I couldn’t breathe, and I was going lightheaded as a sudden torrent of nausea overtook what little sense I had left.  My body retched, but nothing came up—I didn’t eat breakfast.  Suddenly, I fell out of the darkness and onto soft green grass.  It was cold.  I looked around groggily as I gasped for breath.  My body felt chilled to the bone and clammy and achy like just before a sickness set in.  In close proximity, I heard a loud, vaguely familiar, drumming sound, but it was overpowered by the piercing ringing in my ears.  Maybe it was my heartbeat or a horse’s hooves recklessly bashing the ground.  I heard a voice call out, but I couldn’t respond.  I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply before everything went white, and I was gone.