When the Arrow Finds You

The Arrow And Thread Bureau is etched in elegant calligraphy above the glass storefront. A notice saying not taking on new clients for now hangs from the handle. "That place never lets anybody new in," a girl comments sourly to her friend while she passes by. I frown up at it, a stack of letters gripped in one hand. I can't believe I've actually come here. I sigh, then head for the entrance and step through. A bell gives a little tinkle as I go inside. It's larger than it looked from the street. Glossy white tiles cover the floor, and several stylish neon armchairs sit around a big glass coffee table in one corner; fashion magazines lie scattered over its surface. Something gleaming on the wall snags my eye. It's a plaque that says; bringing people together for three thousand years. I snort, unconvinced. Saying their business has 3,000 years behind it feels a bit far-fetched, I think, but then again some people will believe anything. Across the room there's a high stone reception desk. Suspended above it on wires from the ceiling is a long gilded arrow. Behind it, a flawless blonde girl in a crisp white suit chats into a headset. I stride over and drop the stack of letters on the desk. The blonde girl jerks her head up. I notice a name badge with Celeste on it clipped to the breast pocket of her white jacket. "Can I ring you back?" she says into her headset. "Something unforeseen has come up." She gives me a slow once-over and smirks. All at once I suddenly see how I must appear to her; she's flawless, with every blonde strand perfectly arranged, while I'm standing here in my leather jacket, jeans, and scuffed converse. I catch my dark, messy hair reflected in a glass panel beside the desk. I might as well be her total opposite. "I'm sorry," she sings out. "We're not taking any new clients right now." She adjusts her headset, and I realise she's about to go back to her call. Irritation sweeps over me. "I'm not here to sign up as a client," I say between clenched teeth. "I've come to tell you to quit bugging me." She blinks at me, confused. "Sorry?" she says, her blue eyes glittering a little vacantly. I lift an eyebrow and tip my head toward the five letters spread across the reception desk. "All summer you've been bombarding me with letters, texts, emails," I say. "I don't want your services. I have no idea how you got my personal details, but you need to take me off your mailing lists. I already have a boyfriend, thank you." I turn on my heel and start walking back to the exit. "Hold on." Her voice is lower now, more forceful than before. Almost urgent. I turn back around and raise an eyebrow. "You're saying we've been trying to contact you?" she asks, her brows drawing together. I nod, slow and wary. She frowns harder. "Well, that is highly... irregular." Studying me closely, she carefully lifts one of the letters I dumped unceremoniously onto her desk. "We never contact our clients," she says flatly. "Ever. We're cupids. It's against our rules... our..." She claps a hand over her mouth, as though a secret has slipped out, revealing perfectly manicured nails. "Privacy rules?" I ask. She gives her head an urgent shake, like she's already said too much. I just shrug. "Whatever," I sigh. "Just don't contact me again. OK?" I'm on the verge of turning to leave again when she lurches to her feet. "No," she says, her voice pitched higher now. "Please!" My eyebrows lift. What is wrong with this place? As though she catches the strangeness of her reaction, the receptionist lowers herself back into her seat and that robotic smile settles over her face again. "Just let me check your name on the computer," she says brightly, tilting her head a little to one side. "Let's find out what happened here. Then we can remove your record from our database. Yes?" I let out a sigh. "Fine," I say, walking back to the imposing reception desk. Relief floods her face. "Name?" she asks. "Fiona Vale," I say under my breath. I hear her long nails clicking on a keyboard as she types in my name. She lingers there for a beat, watching the screen. Then she frowns and rapidly types in something else. She stares at the screen, and then her mouth falls open into a perfect oval. All the blood seems to leave her face, and surprise wipes away her robotic smile; another emotion is there as well, lurking underneath. Fear? Eyes wide, she lifts her gaze to me again. "Miss Vale," she says, "We have a serious problem. You've been matched with..." She bites at her lip. "No... I... I can't say anything more... I think... maybe one of our agents is better suited to explaining the situation to you. Please, take a seat. I'll send someone out right away."