I shoved through the crowd, heart pounding, until I spotted her. Demi sat beside a teenage girl who looked like she didn’t belong—eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, watching the happiness around her as if it were a world she couldn’t enter.
Demi didn’t speak, but she studied the girl with quiet intensity. Her brow furrowed, her lip caught between her teeth, her beautiful eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She seemed to be feeling every emotion the girl carried.
Then Demi’s fingers brushed the girl’s arm, light as a feather.
“Oh, sorry,” she murmured.
The girl’s eyes shifted, brightening as if a veil had lifted. Her entire demeanor changed—shoulders straightening, mouth curving into a smile.
“It’s all right,” she said before darting off to join a group of girls who welcomed her with open arms.
I continued to watch Demi as she found her next subject. A middle-aged man, nice looking, wedding ring glinting under the streetlights, ran a hand through his graying curtain hair, agitation etched into every line of his face.
Same as before, Demi’s expressions shifted with his emotions—his frustration mirrored in her furrowed brow, his ache reflected in her glistening eyes. But then she smiled, soft and luminous, as if she already knew the ending to his story.
She brushed past him, casual as a breeze.
“Pardon me,” she said.
The man froze, his anger dissolving like vapor.
“No worries. It was my fault. Yes . . . it was my fault,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before striding toward a beautiful woman standing beneath the great arch of antlers, phone in hand, shoulders shaking.
“Honey,” he called.
She looked up, eyes wide, and ran to him.
He caught her in his arms, voice breaking. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” She buried her head against his chest, and the crowd around them seemed to fade into silence.
I watched as Demi repeated this strange behavior again and again—small touches, quiet words, each one fixing something broken in the people she chose.
It dawned on me then: She possessed the ability to do more than administer a love pulse. She could mend all kinds of broken hearts.
How was this possible? Her father was right—she was special. And here he and Zeus were gambling with her life, sending her on this quest. Why risk losing such gifts?
Finally, I had to interrupt her. While I enjoyed watching her work her magic, she would no longer have that magic if we didn’t find her true love.
Before she could find her next subject, I stepped in front of her.
“What are you doing?” My tone sounded more accusatory than I’d intended, but time was of the essence here.
“What I should have been doing ever since I found out who I really was.” She brushed past me.
I grabbed her hand and reveled in it and regretted it all at the same time. Our connection was undeniable. And I realized the reason she filled part of the void in me was because she could heal hearts, not just help them find love. Yet, her magic wasn’t enough for me to fully heal. Why was that?
“Demi,” I whispered, low enough for only her. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, and while I respect your helping people, there are bigger priorities. I hate to say it, but it feels like you’re not trying hard enough to finish this quest.”
She ripped her hand free.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m trying harder than you’ll ever understand. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that it’s probably not going to be enough. So, I’m going to help as many people as I can before I can’t anymore. But have fun touching every man here.”
The way she said it made me sound like a creep. And what did she mean by saying she’d tried harder than I’d ever know?
“Tell me what you’ve been doing and I’ll help. Did you make contact with the man you once loved?”
She laughed, sardonically. “You could say that. And it’s hopeless.”
