“I think we should,” said Ángel. “I think you should explain to all of us why you told me Oberon didn’t want to see me, which was a lie, and why you told him that I didn’t want to see him, which was also a lie.”

The room was so silent, he heard someone drop a pen.

Jeremy said, “This is private business.”

“Yeah, it is.” Ángel stalked closer. “But Mendel just announced my private business on NPR. My private business is probably going to be on the front page of the New York Times before morning, and I’d like an explanation.”

“That—that should never have happened.” Jeremy seemed to abandon his effort to get Ángel into his office and came out into the main room, hands spread placatingly. “Mendel’s phone has been taken from him. Listen. None of this should have happened. Oberon asked us to find him someone who would be willing to go up there and be his friend. That’s all. We had no idea that he—that he expected—”

“What are you even talking about right now?” demanded Ángel.

“There’s going to be an outcry about this.” Sweat shone on Jeremy’s forehead. “People are going to want to know why the DOR procured—”

“‘Procured’?” repeated Ángel. “Do you mean pimped?”

The word rang through the room, and all around him he heard people gasp.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” said Ángel, deliberately keeping his voice slow and low, and his audience leaned in a little to hear him. “The DOR did not pimp me, because I am not a sex worker. I am not some boy the DOR picked up off the street. I have sex with who I want, when I choose, and my decision to have sex with the cultural envoy from the Otherworld was mine, and it had fuck-all to do with the DOR or with you. But you made a decision to lie to me, to lie to Oberon, in a misguided attempt to protect the DOR’s public image, and that decision made Oberon sick.”

“No!” cried Jeremy, lifting his hands in a warding gesture.

“No what? You didn’t lie? You didn’t cause Oberon’s illness?”

“No, I— We—we weren’t trying to protect the DOR’s public image. We were trying to protect you.”

Fucking spare me.

He didn’t say it, but his exasperation rang in his voice anyway. “Great. Thanks for that extremely patronizing explanation.”

“Anyway, now he has another elf to be with, so you don’t have to be with him,” said Jeremy.

The guy was not listening. He was so committed to his idea of Ángel as a victim that he couldn’t see him any other way. Ángel let that go and said, “Except it’s not working. Mendel said himself that he can’t heal Oberon.”

“They just need time—”