The room is dark, and I lie awake in Cupid's bed staring at the ceiling. I'm alone.

Cupid decided to head back to the Matchmaking Service – to go back into the Sim himself and try and push Valentine for more information. I think we both know that he won't be successful. But after our conversation he seemed agitated – just like Cal who I can still hear pottering around downstairs. I think he just needed to feel like he was doing something.

But realistically, that pressure rests on me only.

Where are the hearts?

I already told you. Valentine's voice comes back to me in the darkness.

My mind churns over my time in the Sim. The answer is in there, in my mind - it has to be. But it seems that all we talked about was Psyche.

I think about everything Cupid said about her, as well. And for a moment I allow a pang of pity to grow inside me for Valentine.

But then I remember him saying he needed my heart, and the heart of my match, to bring Venus back. I remember that he has Cal's life thread, and Morta's sheers. I remember he's killed countless cupids to build up his zombie army.

No – his story may be sad, but it doesn't excuse everything he has done.

I lay awake for what feels like hours.

Every time I try to sleep I see his eyes, shocking blue, burning into me. I see his taunting smile and the small dimples in his cheeks imprinted on the back of my eyelids. Every time I've met him I've had this feeling that he knows something about me that I don't. After our visit to the Fates I'd thought it was just that he'd put Cupid into the Matchmaking Service system.

But then I remember what he said before – back in the sim.

Do you know how powerful you are, Lila?

What did he mean by that?

My mind churns over Psyche as well; the fact that his and Cupid's stories don't quite add up. Did Cupid know about Valentine's feelings for her before they got together? And Cupid told me that they weren't in love, but is that true? Valentine said that they stayed together after the effects of the Ardor wore off – and when Cupid told me she had died, I saw the pain in his eyes.

Finally, I sit back up in the silky sheets, pull my hair into a knot on top of my head. I can't sleep – there's no point trying. I grab my phone, thinking I'll do some Googling about Psyche and Cupid. The battery is dead.

But I still have the book of mythology from school in my satchel downstairs. I wonder if there's anything in there.

I slip my cell into the pocket of Cupid's sweatpants that he let me borrow for bed. Then I pad barefoot across the carpet, the moonlight from the un-curtained window casting a ghostly glow across the room, and head out through the corridor and down the twisty staircase. The house is quiet now and I find myself tip-toeing, creeping toward the kitchen almost as though I'm doing something wrong.

And I feel like I am – like I'm prying somehow.

But I need to. I need to find out what's really going on. How else am I meant to save Cal's life?

I head into the kitchen, picking up my satchel where I'd slung it by the breakfast bar and sliding onto one of the stools. I put my phone on charge, resting it on the counter beside me; then I find the book. My heart beats fast in my chest when I find 'Psyche' in the index. I flick to the page and am just starting to read when I hear footsteps behind me.

I quickly shut the book and spin around on the stool.

Cal stands in the doorway of the kitchen – illuminated by the ghostly light coming through the glass front of the house and the soft underlighting from Cupid's cabinets. He's wearing checkered pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt, his white blonde hair looking uncharacteristically ruffled. He gives me a look – and I realize how suspicious I must look – but he doesn't say anything, only comes and slides into the stool opposite me at the breakfast bar.

"Nice pajamas," I say. His cheeks flush a little. "I didn't think you owned anything other than suits or turtleneck sweaters."

"Ha ha," he says – a deadpan expression on his face. "So funny." He looks at the book in front of me. "Doing some research?"

I shrug.

"Just trying to understand Valentine," I say. "So I can work out where he's hidden the hearts."

"You know the human myths are just stories."

"Based in reality, though, right?"

Cal shrugs.

"You want to know more about Psyche, I take it?" he says.

I nod.

"You knew her, too?"

He pauses. Then nods.

"Venus put that girl through hell. I don't know why she hated her so much." His face darkens. "Her hatred for Psyche was much like her hatred for you."

I involuntarily shudder as I remember facing Venus at the trial. She wanted me dead. And now Valentine is trying to bring her back...

"Cupid said Psyche died," I say. "What happened? Was it Venus?"

"She didn't do it personally – she rarely does her own dirty work. But yes, Psyche was killed. And I think it was on Venus's orders." He hesitates a moment and I don't say anything – hoping he'll continue unprompted. "Nether Valentine or Cupid were quite the same after that."

I hesitate a moment.

"Did Cupid love her?" I ask.

Cal doesn't speak for a moment – the silvery flecks in his irises highlighted by the ethereal moonlight shining through the glass front of the kitchen. He sighs.

"There was something between them, but I don't think it was love," he says. "I think she always loved Valentine, deep down. But when Venus brought her into her employment, she turned her into a cupid. And as you'll remember from when Charlie was changed – memories of the arrows and being shot come back."

"Psyche remembered that Valentine had shot her with the Ardor?"

Cal nods solemnly.

"I don't think she could forgive him for that."

I nod.

"I get it," I say. "She must have felt very betrayed. Like her feelings had been manipulated. She must have been angry with Cupid as well? For not realizing her feelings were fabricated by the Ardor?"

"I think so, yes," he says. He sighs heavily. "And when she died – It affected them both. They never really got on, but after it happened they seemed to blame each other more than Venus. I guess grief can do that – cloud up the facts. It's not easy to lose someone. Especially for people like us." I notice a darkness shift across his face and I wonder if he's talking from personal experience. He looks down at the counter, fiddling with his slender fingers. "Immortal. All love forbidden to us. When we find it, and lose it..."

He stops and gives an embarrassed cough. I don't say anything for a moment, and slowly he meets my eyes.

"Amena," I say quietly – remembering the girl he told me about. "Where is she now? You turned her into a cupid, right?"

He nods, a vulnerability behind his silver eyes.

"That's the thing...I don't know where she is." He runs a hand through his hair and averts his gaze from me slightly. "I haven't spoken to her in years – maybe over a century come to think of it. I tried to contact her last December – just before Charlie's assignment." He catches my eye as I look at him in question.

"Charlie's bow," he continues "– it used to belong to Amena." The corner of his lip quirks upward slightly. "It's how Crystal and I managed to get Charlie accepted by Klaus and his people when we sent her to Iceland. Amena worked there for a bit after she was first turned – that was a long time ago, before Klaus's time, but we thought they'd recognize one of their bows." He shrugs stiffly. "Anyway – I wanted to check with her that it was OK for me to give it away, contacted the London branch which was where I thought she was. Only they hadn't seen her in years."

He frowns, his jaw hardening. I lean forward against the counter.

"You're worried about her," I say quietly.

He shrugs rigidly again, his jaw clenched. I reach across the breakfast bar and tentatively squeeze his hand on the table – hoping it's reassuring in some way. I think he's going to recoil the way he usually does at any physical contact, but he looks at my hand on his, letting it rest there for a moment before he pulls away.

Before either of us can say anything else Cal frowns, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. His fair eyebrows furrow as he looks at the screen.

"What is it?" I say.

"Cassie," he says quietly. He meets my eyes. "She's had a prophecy."

He turns the screen to face me and I read the text across it – my heart sending wild panic surging through my veins.

Someone will help Valentine escape.

There will be a battle by water.

Not all will survive.