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“I’m glad you think so.” He tilted his head to the side. “To explain what I do, I’ll need to give you a little backstory. Like all dhampir, or at least those not stolen and used for their powers, I was raised by my human mother. She was cold, though, held her emotions close, I assume to protect herself from her own trauma—I later found out her parents were…extremely unkind to her. Thankfully, she kept me around. Had she not, I would have ended up emotionless. But it was through my mother’s cold demeanor, her neglect, that I discovered what I could do.”

If a dhampir was separated from their human mothers at an early age, they lost the ability to feel emotion, which was what happened to Ronan and his sister.

“I’m sorry you went through that. It had to be tough growing up that way,” I said, not sure what else to say. He seemed like a nice guy, and no one should have affection withheld or be ignored like that. My own mother had been restless and absent, but she loved us. In her own way.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Jasmine,” he said. “But it was a long time ago now.”

He obviously didn’t want to get into his emotions, we barely knew each other, but I was used to caring for people’s emotional well-being. It was my job, and it came naturally. I shifted the conversation back. “So what is it you can do?”

“As you know, dhampir are born with an array of blocking powers. No two are the same, but they can be similar. As a child I learned I could block certain emotions I was feeling, put up a wall to completely protect myself from anything…unpleasant I was feeling. Compartmentalize, if you will. As it grew stronger, I could do it for others, for short periods of time, and now, after years of practice, I can locate intricate emotions, localize them and build walls, completely cutting off those feelings permanently.”

I stared at him stunned. “And that’s what you did for the female who just left?”

“Yes.” His gaze seemed to draw me deeper. “She’d grieved her mate for a very long time. The weight of it was more than she could bear. It was stopping her from living, from moving forward. So I concealed that pain from her.”

I blinked several times, trying to absorb the enormity of that, of what he’d just done. “Will she still remember him?”

“Yes. But the longer the walls are intact, the longer those feelings of grief will be starved and eventually wither and die. Now she can remember the good times without the pain. She can be happy.”

“That’s an impressive gift.” Extreme but impressive.

Could something like that work for Ren? Possibly, but I doubted he’d go for it, and he had me. I’d heal him, it’d just take a little time. I definitely couldn’t do something like that. Take away the way I felt about something or someone. Then I remembered telling Zinnia I wished I could take the way I felt for Ren out of my body. Maybe I could understand why someone would contemplate it, but that had just been words, said when I was feeling particularly low. I’d never actually do it.

“Your gift is impressive as well, Jasmine, I can feel it.”

I smiled and looked away from the intensity of his lavender eyes. “I’m no slouch.”

“What can you do exactly? I’d love to know.”

“I’m a medium. I communicate with the dead. I also have the ability to heal emotional scars via touch, which is why my sessions usually end with a hug. Receiving messages from loved ones who’ve passed on can be painful. I do my best to ease that pain before they leave me.”

He stilled, his gaze penetrating. “As I thought. Impressive.”

I smiled. “I guess we’re kind of in the same business, we just have different forms of treatment. Sadly, it doesn’t help my sister, or Death with his problem.”

“Death?” He frowned. “What problem is that?”

“Missing souls.”

He sat forward. “Missing?”

“The body count to soul ratio there isn’t adding up. Death and Lucifer are both missing souls.”

He sat back, looking surprised. “That’s astounding.”

“I was wondering if there was something you could do to help find them. If maybe you had the ability to sense them in this realm or others?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. If only I were that powerful. And your sister’s somehow involved.”

“My sister is Death’s consort. It’s this whole messed-up situation.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, thanks, Xavier. If you think of anything, or of someone else who might be able to help, could you call me?”

“Of course.”

I stood, and he did as well. He slid his phone from his pocket, typed my name into his contacts, then handed it to me. “Can I ask, the butterflies in your hair? My curiosity has gotten the better of me.”