“Yes, please,” said Mendel.

“I would like that too,” agreed Oberon.

“You like vegetables?” Ángel remembered Oberon’s preferred diet. “Do you like noodles?”

“Yes!” said Mendel. “What are noodles?”

Chapter 32

Ángel would always remember that afternoon like a sort of strange party. People kept arriving, and then stayed, and talked, and ate, and played music.

First he called Marissa and told her what to bring, and then he had to call the DOR and tell them to let her in. They’d erected a security cordon around the building in response to the growing protests on the streets of Atlanta.

“It’s crazy out there,” she said when she arrived, greeting Ángel with a cheek-kiss, her arms laden with shopping bags. “There are protests, and there are counter-protests. ‘We hate elves’ on one street corner, ‘We love elves’ on the opposite corner.” Then she saw the two envoys and shrank back, uncharacteristically timid.

“This is my friend, Marissa Sommers,” said Ángel, grabbing her hand. “Marissa, here is Oberon—” her gaze was flickering between the two fae— “the one in the black shirt. And Mendel is the one in the gray shirt.”

“Hi,” she said.

“Thank you for coming. It is very nice to meet you at last,” said Oberon. “I have heard so much about you, I feel that I know you already. I enjoyed your letter that was made of MelodEye lyrics.”

Marissa dimpled at him. “Oh, well, it’s always nice to meet a fellow MelodEye fan.”

Mendel was quiet, and Oberon added, “Mendel is a little nervous, but he is happy to meet you too.”

“Is he?” Marissa’s eyes widened. “Uh. So am I. But, look, um, Mr. Mendel. I heard your radio interview. I brought you a gift.” Of course she had. In spite of all her rebellion, she was a Southern girl to the core. “To welcome you to, um, our world.”

She bent to put down her bags and pulled a potted orchid from one of them. Its green-white flower nodded as she approached Mendel with the plant.

“Oh,” breathed Mendel, reaching for the pot. Marissa snatched her hands back and dropped it, but the fae caught it adroitly. “How lovely. Thank you.”

Marissa bit her lip. She was staring at Mendel’s expressionless face, her eyebrows crooked uncertainly. Ángel nudged her. “He really does like it,” he said. “He’s not making fun of you.”

“No,” agreed Mendel. “I love it. I have had so little opportunity to see Earth’s plants.” He turned and showed the potted plant to Oberon. “Look, I think it is called dendrobium. I have seen pictures of them.”

“Did you also bring lunch?” asked Ángel. “Because the DOR goons who have been shopping for these guys run to Hot Pockets and canned stew, and they need some real food.”