“There are speakers in most of the rooms,” said Oberon, picking up a tablet and tapping the touch screen. His hands were long and weird, but graceful as they moved across the screen. “Very good ones. You can listen to music wherever you are. Here.”

He handed Ángel the tablet, which showed a list of pieces of music.

Ángel sat cross-legged on the white rug, his interest engaged despite himself. “You have a lot of stuff,” he said, scrolling. The list seemed endless.

“This is one of the projects I’m working on,” said Oberon. “I’m sending Earth music back to the Otherworld, along with transcriptions and annotations about the historical and cultural context of each piece.” He leaned over Ángel’s shoulder, causing chills to skitter up Ángel’s spine; Ángel kept his eyes on the screen.

Everyone knew that the elf-lord sent information back to the Otherworld—but how? And why music?

“You see,” continued the fae, “the ones with the yellow dots are the ones I’ve decided to send.”

“What’s the blue dot mean?”

“It means I’ve listened to them, but I’m not sending them. Red means I haven’t decided.”

“So no dot means you haven’t listened to it yet?”

“That’s right.”

Ángel thumbed through the endless list. Oberon was a musician himself, of course. But while he had played Chopin at the White House that one time, Ángel had never pictured him listening to human music.

No surprise Oberon hadn’t gotten to it all—there was so much music on here, in every possible form and genre: symphonies, operas, chamber music, folk music, dances, country, jazz, pop, rock. Fascinated, Ángel scanned the enormous collection, trying to find any organizational principle or logical pattern. Blue dots for the Violent Femmes and Anton Bruckner. Yellow dots for Bob Marley, Richard Strauss, Thelonious Monk.

He tapped on a muezzin’s call to prayer, which also featured a yellow dot, and a clear, rippling skein of song filled the room from hidden speakers. For all the room’s ghastly decor, the acoustics were indeed excellent.

“Nice,” said Ángel, when the last echoes had faded.

“I think so too,” said Oberon.

“But why do this? Your people are interested in our music?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I’ve heard your music. It’s completely different from ours.”

“It is the same in many ways. And the differences are interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you really like it? You’re not just . . . just studying it? Studying us?”

Oberon paused. Ángel kept his eyes on the tablet, afraid to look at him. After a moment, the fae said, “I have studied music my whole life. I would not do so if I didn’t like it. We are a musical people.”