Chapter 18 Human Intervention
HUMAN INTERVENTION
MAGNUS
The conference table stretches like polished glass, long enough for a small army.
Around it sit the city officials, each striking in their own way.
Councilman Grath, a dragon in a sharp navy suit, stone-gray scales glinting under the lights.
Maribel, a lamia, coiled gracefully in her chair, her emerald scales catching every flicker of the overhead glow.
A harpy delegate from the transit authority, feathers sleek, pen poised between talons.
And two humans, a man and a woman—he’s fair and clean-cut, and she’s got warm, honey-toned skin and glossy black hair—smiling, nodding, and holding their own with steady confidence among such impressive company.
On the other side, me. And at my right, Vanessa, perched like a vulture ready to swoop, her lipstick the color of fresh blood.
This meeting is supposed to be mine. Our campaign. Months of work I honed in the last few weeks with… Jamie. But Vanessa’s voice slices through the room before I can even finish my opening remarks.
“—and of course, the campaign hinges on celebrating what makes us unique at every level,” she says, her smile like a knife. “Magnus and I have worked tirelessly, but as Head of Creative, I’ve pushed this vision to where it needs to be.”
Head of Creative. That’s Jamie’s work. Jamie’s notes she’s pawing through like she has any clue what went into what he’s crafted. I clear my throat.
“Yes,” I say, forcing calm. “Uniqueness is—”
Vanessa barrels over me. “So, the concept is: everyone living and working together, side by side. Posters, bus ads, digital campaigns. It’s all simple enough.”
Simple enough. She says it like it’s been handed to her, shrink-wrapped, easy. Like Jamie didn’t pour himself into it. Like I didn’t watch him sharpen every detail until it sang.
I glance at my notes. Without him, they read like a foreign language. Phrases I recognize, but no melody. My tongue hangs heavy in my mouth.
Viktor Valance, a vampire councilman, clears his throat, fangs flashing. “That’s all very… pleasant, Ms. Voss. But what’s the hook? Every campaign claims uniqueness. What’s going to make this one… sing?”
Vanessa blinks. “Ours is authentic.”
The room tilts. I want to back her up, to add weight, but the words stick. Authentic. Without Jamie’s pitch, without him, it feels like we’re playacting.
“What we mean is, this isn’t just a message—it’s a movement,” I say. “Celebrating the world we live in. Everyone together. A campaign for the city, by the city.”
It sounds weak. The harpy across the table tilts her head, unimpressed.
Vanessa flips a page. “We’ll do billboards. Bus wraps. Merch.”
Merch. Gods help me.
And then the conference room doors open.
Jamie strides in, flushed, brown eyes blazing behind his glasses. His tie’s crooked, shirt sleeves rolled, like he sprinted here from another realm. The room stiffens. Vanessa sputters.
“Excuse me,” she hisses. “This is a closed meeting.”
Jamie ignores her, planting himself beside me like he belongs here—because he does. His gaze cuts across the table, steady, fearless.
“You want a hook?” Jamie says. His voice carries, confident in a way I’ve never heard before.
“Here’s your hook: we’re already celebrating our differences.
But now, we need more. We become each other’s lives.
Friends. Lovers. Neighbors. Colleagues. The campaign doesn’t pretend everyone’s the same—it highlights how we’re different and stronger for it. ”
The room stirs. The councilman leans forward. Vanessa’s mouth opens, but Jamie barrels on.
“Imagine this: a vampire and a human roommate arguing over thermostat settings. A mothman and a human teaching each other to dance—one on the ground, one in the air. Two humans learning to cook together, laughing as they burn everything. A werewolf and a human falling asleep on the subway together after a long shift. An orc and a human taking their engagement pictures in the park. A pair of trolls building a treehouse, arguing over whose design is better. Everyday moments. Honest. Funny. Real. Moments that make this city, and all of us in it, feel alive.”
My pulse kicks. This is it. This is him.
Jamie gestures, animated now, words spilling like fire.
“We don’t need glossy slogans. We need the truth.
Ads that make people laugh, cry, and see themselves.
Show everyone as extraordinary in their own way.
Highlight our beautiful differences—and what brings us together.
Put it in memes, in short videos on social media that go viral.
That’s the world we’re living in. That’s the world we should sell. ”
Silence. And then—murmurs of approval. The harpy nods slowly, feathers rustling. The vampire councilman bares his fangs in what might be a smile. The female aide at the end of the table leans forward, intrigued.
Vanessa tries to collect herself. “That’s… that’s all very dramatic. But our existing strategy—”
“Is boring,” Jamie cuts in, unapologetic. “It won’t move anyone. People are tired of corporations slapping buzzwords on posters. They want real stories. Residents of Crownpoint don’t need pandering. We need connection.”
He looks at me when he says the last part, and my heart almost bursts out of my suit.
The mayor’s aide clears her throat. “I like it.”
And just like that, the tide shifts. Voices rise, agreement circling the table. Excited. Eager.
I sit there, half breathless. Watching Jamie, I see him not just as the man behind Vanessa’s desk, sharp-tongued and reckless.
Not just as the man who made me laugh when I’d forgotten how.
But as a partner. A visionary. Someone who can set fire to a room and make everyone want to warm their hands in it.
Vanessa seethes, her nails digging crescents into a folder. “This is insubordination.”
“Or innovation,” the councilman counters smoothly.
Jamie turns to me, eyes finally softening, and for a moment, it’s just us. “This is what we talked about, Mags.” His voice is low, but his eyes radiate enthusiasm. “You believed in it. In me.”
My throat burns. My heart feels too big for my chest.
I rise, squaring my shoulders. “Jamie’s right. This was his vision. I only helped him sharpen it. If Crownpoint wants a campaign that will actually matter—this is it. He’s it.”
The words hang there, heavier than the crystal chandelier overhead. But they’re true. Gods, they’re true.
Mr. Olsevek, his scales sparkling like hammered bronze, leans forward and says, “With all due respect, Ms. Voss, it’s clear where the vision lies. We want this campaign.” He points straight at Jamie. “His campaign.”
Vanessa’s smile falters, then cracks, then shatters.
“I see,” she says crisply. “Well, if the city prefers to gamble its reputation on theatrics, that’s your choice. My talents are clearly wasted here.”
And with a swish of her designer coat and the click of her stilettos, she’s gone.
Applause ripples through the conference room, hesitant at first, then building. The campaign is Jamie’s. Ours.
He flashes me a smile, small but radiant, and in that moment, I know: I don’t just want him in my bed or my office. I want him in my life. Partner. Equal. Everything.