Attack of the Cupids by John Dickinson

putting on a cowboy hat. ‘Deal me in, pardner.’
    Flick, flick, flick
went the cards. Scattletail sat up. He drew his seat closer to the table.
    â€˜Immy, are you OK?’ asked Annie.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ said Imogen. Her voice was muffled because she was lying with her head pillowed on her arms. But her tone made it absolutely clear that she wasn’t. It had been dumb to invite her, and dumber still to have tried to invite Cassie and Viola. Everyone knew that. Except Billie.
    â€˜Let her be,’ whispered Holly.
    The best hope for Imogen, Sally decided, was that she should get a boyfriend. That would cure her of wanting to be with Cassie and Viola. But – see (a) frizzy hair et ceteror and (b) the generally low standard of available boys – it might take some doing. Someone might have to play cupid.
    I love you love you love you love you
sang the speakers. The warm air stirred the leaves in the bushes and set the rose heads nodding.
    Right in Muddlespot’s line of vision, something moved.
    It looked like a head, peeping cautiously out of a crown of rose petals. It was round and seemed to be attached to a pair of shoulders. But it was black and blind and . . .
    No, it
was
a head. It was a head wearing a balaclava.
    The rest of the body – as far as Muddlespot could see – wasn’t wearing anything. There was a shoulder, a gleam of a fat little chest and a pudgy forearm. The hand of the arm held a bow.
    â€˜Anything your side?’ said Windleberry.
    Muddlespot licked his lips. Then, very determinedly, he looked away from the rose. He fastened his eyes on the plant beside it. It was a gladiolus, with straight green leaves and dark red flowers.
    â€˜No,’ he said. ‘Nothing at—’
    There was one in the gladiolus too. This one also had a bow. And a balaclava.
    There were
three
in the cypress beyond.
    Muddlespot backed a bit. He couldn’t help it. The sight of them unnerved him. The way they moved – quickly, ruthlessly, flitting from one patch of cover to the next, so fast that by the time his head turned to follow the movement they were in cover again, and while he was still trying to pick them out another had moved – and each time nearer to him.
    He knew it wasn’t him they were after. But even so, he backed again. He badly wanted something to hide behind.
    â€˜Though it’s a while since I, er, since I had my eyes tested . . .’
    â€˜What . . .?’ said Windleberry.
    â€˜
Go, Go, Go!
’ cried a voice, deep as a bullfrog spitting pebbles. And they were everywhere – pouring in through the windows in a wave of chubby bodies wearing nothing but balaclavas. Arms lifted. Bows bent.
    â€˜Hey . . .’ said the Inner Sally.
    â€˜HAI!’ roared Windleberry, leaping forward in a karate pose.
    â€˜. . . Don’t point those things at me!’ said Sally.
    Twang, twang, twangatwangatwang!
went the bows. Windleberry’s arms moved in a blur, chopping left and right. Golden arrows tumbled from the air.
    â€˜Muddlespot!’ cried Windleberry. ‘Attack!’ He dived forwards.
    â€˜Oh – er – yes!’ said Muddlespot. He lifted his fists and faced the one corner of the room where there didn’t happen to be any cupids. ‘Come on, you!’ he shouted aggressively. ‘You want some? You want some?’
    â€˜Reload!’ yelled the lead cupid. ‘Spread out!’
    Punt!
went Windleberry’s toe.
    â€˜Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!!!’ went a cupid, disappearing out through the window at about twice the speed it had come in.
    â€˜Muddlespot!’ cried Windleberry desperately. ‘Take the two on the left!’
    â€˜The left,’ repeated Muddlespot. ‘Right.’ He faced
right
and found himself nose to nose with a rather surprised cupid who had been expecting him to go the other way.
    â€˜B♥gger