Phoebe chewed her pinkie, her mind racing, as Inaya pulled the Spider into the Bullseye Mattress showroom parking lot at five till eleven.

The final test was to take place when no one would be in the building, even the cleaning crew. But what was the test? Phoebe knew it had something to do with quality control, and this worried her. She was a business major, not a mattress major. What did she know about mattress quality? Every mattress in the store looked a thousand times more comfortable than her lumpy foldout sofa-bed.

"You'll do great," said Inaya, kissing Phoebe's head. "I'll be back at midnight. I have a place picked out to celebrate. My baby is going to be old enough to drink!"

"Mom, we should save that money for rent or food. I might not get the job."

"You will get the job. And my daughter only turns 21 once."

"Bye, Mom. I love you." Phoebe pushed open the heavy glass door at the entrance to the showroom.

All the chandeliers were lit, casting a dappled glow over the sea of mattresses. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald, both in red jackets—his Member's Only, hers probably Chanel, beamed at her as they exited the elevator. "You're right on time," said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

"Welcome, Phoebe," Mr. Fitzgerald nodded his bald head.

"Good to be here, and thanks for the opportunity."

"We're impressed with everything you've done so far," said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

"Thanks."

"As you know," Mrs. Fitzgerald smoothed her hair, "Bullseye Mattresses are known for our impeccable quality. We have a twenty-year guarantee. We use only the finest materials. Each mattress is handmade by experts. Every mattress that leaves our store must be perfect." She cleared her throat and glanced at her husband.

"I understand." Phoebe knew all this, having done her research. It was as if Mrs. Fitzgerald was delaying. Perhaps there was something about the test or the job she didn't want Phoebe to know.

"Excellent. So, the test is simple. Starting at 11 p.m. you'll have one hour to find the one mattress in the showroom that has a flaw." She pointed to a large digital clock mounted next to the one-way glass mirror, which Phoebe knew was the Fitzgerald's office. The numbers clicked from 10:57 to 10:58.

She heard a bumping sound coming from the office. "Um, how is Weston?" she glanced up at the window.

Mrs. Fitzgerald flashed a glance at the office and fiddled with her pearl necklace. "He's fine. No cause for alarm. We'll be watching from upstairs. Good luck." They called the elevator.

"How will I know when I've found the faulty mattress?"

"You'll know," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, well ... knowingly. The doors closed as the digital clock clicked over to 11:00.

After forty minutes of lying on each mattress, starting with the twins in the children's department, making her way through the fulls, and now the queens, Phoebe had found only bed after bed of feathery perfection.

She wished Archer would show up, point to the errant mattress, remove his shirt, lie down, and invite her over for a smooch. Wait. What was she thinking? She absolutely didn't want Archer to save her, take off his shirt, or kiss her. Good thing he wasn't here rescuing her like she was some weak maiden in need of a knight.

"Did someone mention a knight?" Archer plopped across a king mattress, shirtless.

"I know I didn't say that out loud." Phoebe glanced over her shoulder at the office window.

"Course you did," said Archer.

"How do you keep appearing?"

"I get around," said Archer, winking and patting the space next to him.

"Look, I know you think you're all irresistible, but I have to find a certain mattress, and I have about ..." she glanced at the digital clock ... "twenty-seven minutes. So I'm going to have to ... um ... resist."

The thumping against the glass intensified.

Phoebe," said Archer, in the most serious tone she'd ever heard him use.

"Yes?" She examined another mattress. Flawless.

"Why don't you and I get outta here? I know this place ..."

"I'm busy?"

"Yes, but ..."

Phoebe sat on the edge of the next mattress, and sneezed.

"Bless you."

"Wait ..." She lay across the bed. Sneezed again. And again. Her eyes itched. "This is it! This is the bad one," she said, waving at the one-way glass and pointing to the mattress.

"Great. Let's go," said Archer.

A crash echoed through the room. Weston had smashed through the window and was tumbling onto a king-sized mattress beneath.

"Weston," Phoebe cried, running to his aid.

"Phoebe!" He launched himself off the mattress straight at Phoebe, knocking her to the floor. She struggled beneath him.

"Get off."

"I love you."

"I. Can't. Breathe. And you're bleeding."

"I bleed for you, my love. Kiss me."

His mouth came closer. She tried turning away, but he held her head in a viselike grip. Right before their lips touched, his weight lifted off her body, and she gulped breaths of fresh air.

Archer loomed over her, holding Weston by his sweatshirt as if he was a soiled towel. "I believe the lady said no," growled Archer, tossing Weston aside, helping Phoebe to her feet.

"Weston," shouted Mrs. Fitzgerald from the office. She pulled a hook from a tool belt hidden beneath her designer jacket cast it out the broken window to one of the chandeliers and ziplined along the ceiling, falling to a mattress near Weston.

The elevator dinged. Mr. Fitzgerald.

Mrs. Fitzgerald flung her arms around her son. "Weston, honey, you okay?" Mr. Fitzgerald joined in.

"Ouch," said Weston, pulling away, examining the blood on his sweatshirt. "Mom, did you just zip-line?"

Archer smirked. "He'll be fine."

"Who are you?" Mrs. Fitzgerald blew a strand of white hair out of her eyes.

"Friend of Phoebe's."

"Huh?" said Phoebe

Mrs. Fitzgerald walked up to Archer, balled her hands into fists, and glared at him as if contemplating an agonizing punishment.

The digital clock buzzed. Midnight.

Phoebe's body jolted. Her blood ignited. Muscles contracted. She imagined her body convulsing on the floor as if she'd been hit by lightning, but no one reacted. As quickly as it came on, the energy surge subsided though her heart hammered and her fingers and toes tingled. She stood in the same spot she'd occupied before the shock.

"Congratulations, Phoebe," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, obviously she hadn't noticed anything unusual. "You've succeeded. With five minutes to spare."

"Uh, thanks," said Phoebe, trying to breathe normally. What just happened? "You know anyone without severe allergies would never have found it."

"We weren't looking for 'anyone,'" said Mrs. Fitzgerald. "We were looking for someone special. Like you."

"Okay," said Phoebe, unconvinced. The Fitzgeralds were a bit crazy. Then she realized she'd gotten the job. Never again would she and her mom have to eat Spaghetti Loops. "I mean thank you. I look forward to working for Bullseye Mattresses."

"There's one thing we haven't mentioned," said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

"It's not even significant," said Mr. Fitzgerald, who became quite interested in playing with the zipper on his Members Only jacket.

"Yes?"

"Well, part of the deal is that you have to marry Weston."

"What?" said Phoebe and Cupid simultaneously.

"We need an heir. He's not quite up to the task."

"That's just embarrassing," said Weston.

"We'll arrange a flight tomorrow to Las Vegas," said Mr. Fitzgerald.

"I'm not getting married," said Phoebe.

"I'm afraid you are," said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

The front door opened, and Inaya stepped inside. "Phoebe. I'm here."

"Mom, no. Get out of here."

Mrs. Fitzgerald grabbed Inaya with one arm. "I think you better cooperate, Phoebe. It'd be a shame if something happened to your mom," she said drawing a rope from her tool belt.

"Leave her alone," said Phoebe, wishing she, Archer, and Inaya were somewhere safe.

No sooner had the thought formed in her head, the three of them sat side-by-side atop a twenty-foot pile of mattresses. "What's going on?" Fear rippled along her neck, and her palms sweated. She closed her eyes knowing it would disappear when she opened them. She'd seen a lot of weird things in her life, but this had to top them all. She raised her eyelids, but the hallucination persisted.

"What the hell?" said Mrs. Fitzgerald from far below them.

"Calm down, dear. I'm sure there's an explanation."

"I'm asleep, right?" said Phoebe.

Archer and Inaya exchanged a glance.

"You two acquainted?" said Phoebe.

"I don't know what Eros is doing here, but he knows your dad."

"What are you talking about? My dad? Eros?"

"I prefer Cupid," said Archer.

"Like the Cupid? I thought he was a pudgy baby with wings."

Archer frowned. "I grew up. Like everyone. Why are people hung up on me being a fat baby? Uh, oh."

The Fitzgeralds froze like statues. The floor undulated. Chandeliers swayed. The temperature climbed as patches of fire singed the floor models. "There's your father now," said Inaya.

"Eros," thundered a voice from beneath the room. "You have failed me for the last time. The girl was not to come into her powers. Prepare for high school."

"Hades?" Said Inaya, jumping gracefully off the mattresses. She planted her hands on hips. "Is that you, you no good, lying, cheating, cave-dweller?"

"Uh," his voice less thunderous.

"Coward," said Inaya. "I can't believe I fell for you." Inaya had never been more angry, powerful, or beautiful.

The room stilled. The temperature dropped.

"Thank the gods," breathed Cupid, wiping his brow. "He's gone,"

"Yeah, he's good at that," said Inaya.

"My dad is Hades?" Even confusion looked beautiful on Phoebe. Cupid scooted closer. She smelled like Valentine's Day—of roses and chocolate.

"I need space," she said, elbowing Archer. "Ow. You're hard as a marble countertop." She rubbed her elbow.

"Thank you," said Archer. "It's not as good as my god body." Cupid cleared his throat. The tightness that had been there since Hades invoked the spell of silence had disappeared.

"You're a god?" Phoebe rolled her eyes. "What an ego."

"Well, you're a goddess."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

"It's true. Your dad is Hades. So technically you're a demi-goddess. And now that you're 21, and you didn't kiss Weston, you've got your powers. Hades had sent me here to make sure you passed the tests so you'd kiss "the heir to the kingdom" and stay human, but I fell in love with you, so that plan went kaput. Now we can run away and get married and live happily ever after. After I finish high school. Again."

"How dare you decide what I'm going to do with my life? Whether or not I'll be a goddess. You're more insane than the Fitzgeralds. By the way, why haven't they moved since that earthquake and disembodied voice stopped by?"

"Hades froze them."

"That's horrible. Unfreeze them."

"I can't. I'm in human form. Remember? I'm pretty sure you can though. Now, back to us. Will you wait for me to graduate?"

"Why would I be with someone who lied to me? Tricked me?"

There was only one thing left to do. He kissed Phoebe, invoking his entire soul. She tasted as good as she smelled. Pulling her next to his prone body, they melted together. He touched every part of her body within reach. She moaned. Or maybe that was him. When he'd finished kissing her senseless, he pulled back to gaze into her eyes. "That's why."

"I don't know if a kiss is enough of an inducement. Even if it was better than anything I've felt in my life. But I am not the kind of girl ... goddess ... whatever, to live my life for a man. God. Whatever. How long did you say you'd be in high school?"

"Cupid grinned. I'll let you know." And he kissed her again.

"Phoebe, we should probably go celebrate your birthday. Maybe you should wake up these people."

"Okay, Mom." Phoebe wished she and Cupid to the floor. It worked. Awesome. She wished the Fitzgeralds unfrozen.

"What is going on?" said Mr. Fitzgerald.

"Phoebe, my love," said Weston.

This was the last thing she needed. A lovesick mattress heir. She wished Weston would stop being in love with her.

Weston's eyes cleared and he shook his head.

"Let's get on with the wedding plans," said Mr. Fitzgerald. "The Mrs. and I need time to pack. So much gear for the Antarctic," said Mr. Fitzgerald.

"Look you two," said Phoebe. "I won the contest fair and square. I have the job. You can't change the rules. And guess what? Weston doesn't want to marry me. If you want to go on vacation, be my guests. As a matter of fact," she waved her arms. The Fitzgeralds were outfitted in parkas and snow pants. Boots and plenty of fleece. "Have a great trip." She wished them to Antarctica. "Goodbye, Weston," she said, teleporting him to the spot outside the Shark Bar where he'd lusted after the mermaid.

"Cupid, where can I send you?"

"Mt. Olympus would be nice."

"Sure. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll see you in a few years." He kissed her lightly on the lips. Her body arched into his and she kissed him hard. "I'm really hating your dad a lot right now."

"Bye, Cupid." She wished him away, surprised at how hard it was to let him go.

"Let's go celebrate your birthday," said Inaya.

"Mom, why didn't you tell me my dad is Hades?"

"I didn't want you growing up thinking you were destined to be evil."

"How could I grow up like that when I have you for a mom?"

"I love you, Phoebe."

Hugging her mom, Phoebe teleported them to the closest bar, where they toasted her 21st birthday.

The next day, she teleported into the Bullseye Mattress office, made a cup of strong coffee, put her feet up on the desk, and surveyed her kingdom.