“That’s enough,” said Oberon again. “There is no need for threats or ultimatums. This quandary is easily resolved.” He was doing something with his voice, using some soothing tone, like warm maple syrup. “Chandler, please let Ángel read the letter. Ángel will explain to you the letter’s import, if it has one, and then we will all understand.”

The muscle in Chandler’s jaw was working. “And if he doesn’t?”

“I think he will. Please, Chandler.”

She reluctantly handed Ángel the folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it, and read it.

Oh my sweet Rebecca,

How your sadness claims you, how your loneliness chains you.

I haven’t heard you on the telephone, but I know you’re all alone. My heart has been broken since the day you said goodbye. My tears flow, but they don’t show in the Baltic rain. How can I go on without you?

Feel the spirit of the sky, feel the birds flying by. The angels fly over your head, we’ll be friends until the end.

You don’t have to face it alone. Look at the stars, remember how the world was all ours. Call my name. Someday I’ll see your smile again. My love is strong enough to last until the end of the world.

I love you,

Ricardo

P.S. In a strange place, in a new land, remember he’s your brother under that different skin.

He sat down and read it again.

“Well?” said Chandler, impatiently.

He looked up at her, his mouth trembling with the urge to either laugh or cry. “You read this and thought ‘secret code conspiracy’? You have got to be out of your fucking mind.” She drew an indignant breath. Ángel pointed at Oberon with the letter. “He is from Magical Fairy Land. You have no goddamn excuse.”

“Why does she sign her name Ricardo?” demanded Chandler.

Ángel met her eyes and sang, “‘I love you, Ricardo, Ricardo, I love you, Ricardo, do you love me still?’”

Chandler’s eyes widened.

“Do you want me to sing them all for you?” Ángel asked. “I can. ‘Oh my sweet Rebecca, how your sadness claims you,’” he sang, filling his voice with mocking tenderness, “‘my sweet Rebecca, how your loneliness chains you.’”

She held out her hand for the letter. He gave it to her, and she studied it. Then she snarled, “Seriously,” dropped the letter on the floor, and stalked out of the room.

“Apology accepted!” yelled Ángel at her disappearing back.

Snorting, he bent and picked up the letter.

“Ángel,” said Oberon, and the laugh died in Ángel’s throat. He warily eyed the envoy, still sitting impassively at his desk.

“I am from Magical Fairy Land,” said the envoy drily. “Will you explain this to me?”

Ángel returned to his perch on the edge of the uncomfortable leather chair, folding the paper nervously between his fingers. “It’s all lyrics,” he explained, “from MelodEye songs.”

“MelodEye?”