Chapter IV
Demi
Isattherestunnedwhile Hestia rang her bell again like she was Tinker Bell offering musical therapy sessions.
“This is going to be so wonderful,” she sighed, as if she’d just reached the end of some corny rom-com. One filled with all the tropes I actively campaigned against in real life.
Seriously, do we really think that Graham and Amanda lived happily ever after inThe Holiday? Please, they had drunk sex on the first night, and he failed to mention up front that he was a single dad. Don’t even get me going on her emotional issues. Issues suspiciously similar to my own. There was a reason why they skipped to the cheesy montage at the end of that movie where they make you believe in love at first sight and think that it was all going to work out.
I promise you that in ten years, Graham will have cheated on Amanda, swearing it was only because he was drinking, and Amanda will toss all his things out the window, vowing never to love or shed a tear again.
Would I still watch this movie religiously every holiday season? Absolutely, 100 percent, yes. Give me all the Jude Law. Well, give him to me in a fictional setting, anyway.
If only I were in a fictional setting now. But the look my father was giving me said he was dead serious.
“I’m sorry, but don’t you think that it’s up to me to decide when and if I want to fall in love?”
“You know better than to ask that question. While I am your father first and foremost, I am the god of love.”
“So you’re going to force me to fall in love? Prick me with your touch?” There were never any arrows involved. That was more for branding. Cupid and Eros had come up with the idea.
The love pulse was subtler. It felt like your heart had been pricked from the inside. A feeling to live and die for. Something you sense before you understand it—so the poets say. Or my father and Cupid.
I’d felt it once, without a love pulse from the gods. It was the most incredible feeling, but it turned out to be a lie.
“I would never do that to you. You will choose who you fall in love with.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “Perfect. I choose not to fall in love with anybody.”
“That is not an option.”
“I’m pretty sure it is.” In fact, I knew it was. I couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt anyone like I’d injured Jonas.
“Of course, you are right. I cannot force you to fall in love. But until you do, you will no longer be able to run the Bureau, and you will no longer be able to . . .” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Live among us.”
“What?” My voice cracked. Panic surged through me—Mount Vesuvius eruption–level panic. Lava-in-the-veins, ash-in-the-lungs kind ofpanic. He was kicking me out.
“This is not coming from me,” Father was quick to say. “This comes from Zeus himself.”
“I thought he loved me? He said he appreciated my snark. For crying out loud, he gave me a golden eagle for my eighteenth birthday.”
He’d told me I was one of his favorites, but I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. He didn’t hand out golden eagles to just anyone. So many of my cousins were jealous beyond belief. Getting Lady Goldy was the highlight of being a demigoddess. Okay, that and free rent. Which, apparently, I was about to lose.
“He does love you. That is why he wants you to use your divine potential. And how can a goddess of love do that without knowing love herself?”
“First, I’m a demigoddess. I have only half the divine potential. And second, Bureau employee job satisfaction is way up since I took over. That should count for something.”
Father offered me a placating smile. “Don’t you see that being both mortal and divine makes you more powerful? Who better to help humans navigate love? And, my dear daughter, I know the powers you have kept locked inside of you. And I also know what you did to your heart.”
Holy Hades. How did he know? I looked down at my painted-black toenails, each one adorned with a tiny skull.
Cassie had outdone herself. If she ever decided to live in the mortal world, she should open a nail salon. Maybe I could work for her. Sweep floors. Manage appointments. Learn the difference between gel and acrylic.
It would mean a name change, of course. And a lot of hyperventilating. And getting used to a much lower standard of living. No more celestial pantry stocked with ambrosia-infused chocolate. No more rent-free penthouse with a view of the California coastline. The coastline that held so many sweet memories of my mom and me.
And . . . I’d have to learn how to shut off the powers my father spoke of. Powers I once thought were just intuition. Before the accident, I just thought it was neat that I had a knack for knowing who should be together and who shouldn’t. I could sense when someone was cheating. Or when heartbreak was waiting just around the corner. Sometimes, I could hear the deepest longings of someone’s heart. And not just the romantic ones. The aching-for-purpose ones. The please-see-me ones. The I’m-not-okay ones. It’s what made me such a good friend. A cheerleader, even, for others.
Now that I knew what it was, it didn’t seem right. How could I be around mortals day in and day out knowing things about them I shouldn’t?
