“They are beginning the spell tonight. I don’t know if he’s coming here, or to Atlanta, where I went, or somewhere else. Oh Ángel—Oh Ángel!” Oberon dropped gracefully again, kneeling in front of the chair, and Ángel found himself squeezed warmly against his chest. “What would you say? You would say, ‘Oh my God.’ Ángel, how will I wait?”

Ángel’s hands had gone cold. “That’s—” he started to say, but his voice sounded funny. Pull yourself together. But he was so shocked his lips were numb. “That’s wonderful.”

Oberon hugged him tightly against his chest. “I will have someone to talk to at last.”

Ángel bit his lip.

“Will he live here with you?” His voice had gone a little high and thready, and he cleared his throat.

Oberon didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t know. Perhaps. At least for a while. The DOR did not know he was coming, either, so they are not prepared at all. There is already security here. Perhaps they will make other arrangements for him soon, though, because he must travel the world to look at plants, and I will go wherever he goes.”

“Do you know him?”

“No, we have never met. He is younger than I. But soon we will meet. Perhaps tomorrow.” Oberon cupped Ángel’s face in his hands, and the touch of his skin was like champagne bubbles. He was all aglow.

“I’m happy for you.”

Whether it was his voice, or the way Ángel felt beneath his hands, but something seemed to alert Oberon. “You aren’t happy,” he said. “Why?”

“I’m— No, I—” Ángel flushed, horrified, but there was no way he could lie to Oberon. “I am. But I’m very self-centered, you know. I liked having you to myself. But that’s—”

“Oh, but I will introduce you,” said Oberon, grasping his hands and squeezing them. “I know he will love you too.”

“Thank you,” Ángel whispered. “I’m sure . . . I’m sure that will be . . . That will be nice.”

There was a long pause, while Oberon stared at him, and Ángel wanted to sink into the ground.

“You’re weeping, beloved,” said Oberon. “Why are you sad? Don’t you see how good this is? The isolation, it was torture for me.” He stroked Ángel’s hair out of his face. “Any shock, any grief could kill me. But if I have another here, if I have a friend, I will live long. Don’t you see?”

“I do. I do. I’m glad, Oberon. I really am.”

Oberon ran his fingertips through the tears that, despite Ángel’s best efforts, were spilling down his cheeks. “Why are you sad?” he repeated.

Ángel looked away. “It’s just a big change,” he said, inadequately. His voice was harsh, forced past the aching lump in his throat. “Maybe I’m reacting because it’s a big change. It’s okay.”