Then Oberon began to play something shining and staccato. For a moment Ángel listened with drawn brows, trying to place it. Then Shawn said, “It’s ‘Take On Me.’”

Marissa laughed first, her big infectious laugh, and pretty soon everyone in the room was cracking up. Because the cultural envoy from the Otherworld was playing A-ha on a grand piano.

Oberon lifted his hands from the keys. “People often laugh at songs,” he remarked to Mendel. “I’ve never been able to pinpoint why, or which ones.”

“Okay, wait, wait,” said Marissa, through her giggles. “I know this one. Oberon, from the top.”

With wooden spoons on a pot, she played the drum intro. Oberon launched into the keyboard riff. Ángel began to sing the chorus, and the rest of the humans—except for Victor and Chandler—sang along. They killed it until they got to the verse, when not one of them could hit the high notes. The song fell apart again as they all collapsed, laughing.

Victor waved his hands urgently. “Listen!”

He turned up the NPR broadcast.

“The anti-elven protests began in Atlanta at about noon,” said the radio newscaster, “when word leaked that Oberon and Mendel were housed in the DOR building on Marietta Street. But then something new happened: counter-protesters filled the streets of Atlanta.”

“I’m on Washington Street near the State Capitol,” said a reporter, “and I estimate that there are tens of thousands of people here, waving signs and chanting. I’ve seen signs that read ‘No Hate’ and ‘We Aren’t Afraid.’”

“Is it peaceful?”

“Oh yes,” said the reporter. “It’s joyous. It’s like a festival atmosphere. I haven’t seen any violent acts at all, and the counter-protesters outnumber the original protesters on a scale of something like ten to one.”

“What’s that I hear in the background?” asked the newscaster.

“The most amazing thing,” said the reporter. “Several local church choirs have come out onto the streets, and they’re singing Oberon’s name.”

“What?”

“His elven name,” repeated the reporter. “It’s kind of a little song. He sings it on every episode of the podcast, and these choirs have come out on the streets and . . . and they’re singing.”

Ángel stared at Oberon. Then he got up and went to the balcony and threw open the sliding glass window.

The sound of the crowd rose up to them: the loud, chaotic cacophony of tens of thousands of people. Chanting, shouting, singing. Church choirs, identifiable by their matching robes, had gathered in the street, swaying as they sang, belting out the nine syllables of Oberon’s name. Harmonizing, improvising, riffing on his name, and the crowd was swaying, chanting along. As they stood and listened, a compelling mezzo-soprano voice rose above the crowd, unamplified and powerful, drawing out the nine notes into a hymn of welcome.

Oberon stood still, listening, thunderstruck.