When a person dies without ever knowing love, they become a cupid. They are the world’s invisible matchmakers, pairing couples based on their own judgments and values by shooting their mark while their eyes are fixed on the match. (Simple, elegant, and vicious. If Tom had known love was so destructive he might have played with it more when he was alive.)
Tom was in a fine restaurant and pointing his gun to his mark’s head, wishing that if he pulled the trigger it would be a deathly bullet instead of a love bullet.
Tom usually paired his marks by the incompatibility of their deepest flaws with another’s, forming relationships that are a slow-releasing poison–the only way it would be better was if they knew it was him who’d done it while they suffered. But not even that would be what this mark–his father deserved.
He pulled his gun back. He couldn’t accidentally bind his father to a satisfactory match (even if it would be entertaining–Senior would not be able to cope with becoming gay). It must be someone who will murder him, and the dark-haired man sitting opposite his father at the restaurant table was too average. The man’s name was Harry.
Tom narrowed his eyes. Harry was average, but he was also strange. He seemed the picture of thoughtfulness, but in fact he’d weedled himself into the Riddle family’s inner circle in too short a time to have anything but bad intentions.
Maybe Harry would be good enough a match. He pointed his gun to Senior’s coiffed hair–
But Harry caught Tom’s eyes, freezing him, and imperceptibly shook his head.
After their dinner ended, Tom chased Harry through the snow around the corner and into the alley, gripping his gun tight.
Entering the alley, Harry was waiting for him. Tom kicked a bin in the alley and demanded, “What are you?!”
“You better hurry up, cupid, or they’ll assign Riddle to another division.”
Tom scanned Harry anew. He seemed like every other recent graduate in a poorly fitted business suit. But his eyes were something else, something fractal and otherworldly.
“You’re a reaper,” Tom said, dawning realization.
Harry sighed. “Just… hurry up.”
“Will he die?”
“Yes. And he’ll become a cupid like you.”
Tom saw red. This could not happen. He could not lose the opportunity to torture his father, and he could not give Senior the gift of eternal life and power over others’ lives–he could not have what Tom had earned.
No, he had a better plan: acquire a pet reaper.
Harry was walking away, but Tom strode up and grabbed Harry by his lapel. He held Harry still, eye to eye, and then pointed his gun to Harry’s heart.
Harry couldn’t escape, but he could knee him in the groin. Tom flinched, but kept eye contact.
It was too late to stay Tom’s trigger finger, but when the love bullet hit it was aimed at himself.