Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
David
As the final day of the migration comes and goes, Caolan becomes more and more tense.
King Raeulfr and Percy agreed to allow a five-day buffer from when the last civilians arrived on Earth to when travel between dimensions was cut off permanently.
During those five days, a hundred soldiers went back and did one final sweep of the planet for anyone who might possibly have been living outside the protective shield and survived.
It’s a dangerous mission, and it was volunteer-only.
Today is day five. The last of the soldiers returned this afternoon—and nine of them were killed; it’s that dangerous without a shield as time slowly collapses.
These were highly trained and skilled warriors, watching each other’s backs.
There was never any chance that civilians had survived, but we had to check.
Tomorrow morning, King Raeulfr will permanently seal off their dimension from this one.
It wasn’t originally our intention—the king was just going to implement a travel ban, this time without any exceptions.
It sounds like the same thing, but it isn’t.
The way I understand it, the permanent seal will apply to all beings and species and dimensions in existence, whereas the king’s travel ban is specific to the elves and their portals.
This seal really will be permanent and eternal.
Apparently, the magic conveyed the need for this step to the king, Percy, Brandt, and all our species leaders—just so there could be no confusion.
Caolan’s a mess.
Not outwardly. On the surface, he’s been his usual self, stepping up to speak for the king and getting the job done.
But whenever he gets a free moment, time that’s not taken up with urgent tasks or people asking for his input, he gets quiet, his face becomes grim, and that warm energy I’ve always felt from him shrinks back.
He’s not sleeping—oh, he’s always careful not to wake me, but more than once these past few weeks, I’ve woken to find him staring at the ceiling, his beautiful pale hair spread across the pillows every which way.
I can’t even begin to imagine what he and all of them are going through.
For thousands of years, they’ve been watching their homeland crumble around them, forced to take shelter in a relatively small shielded area to survive.
And now they have to say goodbye forever, knowing they can never return.
It’s all well and good to say that at least they have their lives, but this kind of trauma isn’t something you can just let go of.
It’s going to haunt most of them for a long time.
I have an idea for how to distract Caolan tonight, but first I have to get through this meeting with Rabhya. We were both supposed to be here, but Caolan is debriefing the returned soldiers, so I’ve been left alone to face the PR machine.
“You want me to what?” I ask, sure I’ve misheard her. I’ve worked with Rabhya for years. She can’t possibly think I would agree to this.
“You and Caolan need an Instagram account,” she repeats.
“Our spin for the humans on the livestream was that you are a real couple who helped out a friend by appearing in his film assignment for a special effects course. That means all the follow-up from community members—and the elves and dragons who are already mastering social media—can be explained away easily.”
“We are a real couple,” I say dryly, although to be fair, we weren’t officially at the time of the livestream.
“I know.” The heavy patience in her voice is kind of funny.
“That’s why I think you should do this. You’ve seen from your visits to the resettlement camps how strongly the refugees have seized the idea of you and Caolan together as a symbol of hope.
We’re getting the same kind of response from within the community.
People are nervous and afraid, and they see you two as their knights who will protect them. ”
I squirm. “That’s not—”
“David, relax. We both know that taking down the bad guys is going to involve a lot of people and effort. But you and Caolan are symbolic as a couple—one from each culture, both strong and highly regarded. You stand as representatives of all the people who are fighting to restore the status quo—or make things better—and of a future where the community and the newcomers will meld together.”
Fucking fuckbunnies. She must see the horror on my face, because she bursts out laughing.
“It’s not that bad, I swear. I’m not asking you to wield a flaming sword or anything. Just post the occasional picture of you and Caolan together looking normal and happy.”
“I’m not really good at that,” I warn, wavering. How can I refuse if she genuinely thinks it will be helpful? Especially remembering some of the elves we met at the resettlement camp. They were so hopeful and excited to see us together.
“Well, someone here at CSG can manage the account, if you want. You’d just have to send us the pictures. Or you could ask Caolan if he wants to give it a shot?”
I don’t love the idea of giving up control of something with my name on it to some random person in the PR department, so that’s probably not going to happen.
The taking pictures part is what I’m terrible at, anyway, so it wouldn’t make a big difference if someone else is posting them.
But asking Caolan… that’s not a bad idea.
He loves his phone—I mean really loves .
And he already takes photos of stuff all the time, although he’s yet to learn about selfies.
I’ve been grateful for that, but maybe I need to introduce him to the concept.
Or get someone else to. And learning to use Instagram would be a good distraction for him right now.
“Let me talk to Caolan,” I concede. “No promises, though.”
We wrap the meeting with her extorting promises that Caolan and I will do another round of visits to resettlement camps and an interview with an online community magazine—I’m not sure how she got me to agree to that one.
I was definitely saying no, but somehow ended up with her emailing me a list of questions to answer. These PR people are super sneaky.
I head back to our office. Chances are the people I need to speak to will be there—or if not, Sam will know where they are. I’m in luck, though, because we have a full house. I pause in the doorway to absorb it. It’s not often we’re all at our desks at the same time, especially not these days.
“…only takes about three days before your body digests itself,” Alistair finishes. From the looks of horror on everyone else’s face, it’s a good thing I didn’t hear more of that story.
“I swear you wait until you know I’m here to say this shit,” I declare, and Alistair blinks innocently.
“What shit?”
“Never mind.” I shake my head and deposit my organizer on my desk. “I’m glad you’re all here. I need some help.”
“What’s wrong?” Sam demands. He grabs his phone. “What do you need?”
I am so, so glad we found him.
“Two things, actually. I might need someone to show Caolan how to take selfies—”
“Me! Me! I can do that!” Alistair leaps out of his chair and looks around wildly, as though to take down anyone who might try to prevent him from doing this.
“—and use Instagram.”
“Oh.” He flops back down, dejection crossing his face. “I don’t do social media.”
“For which we are all so, so, so grateful,” Ellie says dryly. “You can still teach him how to take selfies, though. I’m surprised you didn’t cover that when you showed him how to use the phone.”
“I can show him Insta,” Noah volunteers as Alistair brightens.
“And the reason Alistair didn’t show the elves how to take selfies when he was demonstrating how to use the phones is because he’d already spent too long showing them Candy Crush and all its spinoffs.
” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how your phone can even function, you’ve got that many crappy apps on it. ”
“Why does Caolan need to use Instagram?” Sam asks, a voice of sanity.
“I don’t know yet if he’ll want to,” I caution, “but Rabhya wants an account for us both. Pictures that show how happy we are. She says people will find it comforting.” I shrug awkwardly.
Alistair sucks in a breath.
Fuck. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“You’re gonna be Insta-famous! Oh oh oh, it’s going to be the best—your romance will span the globe and multiple civilizations, a beacon of hope and peace and multiculturalism—”
Andrew puts a hand over Alistair’s mouth, thankfully ending his rambling.
“It’s a good idea,” he says, jabbing Alistair in the ribs as he struggles, then adjusting his grip to cover his nose as well.
Hah. As if oxygen deprivation would stop Alistair.
“There’s been a lot of positive feedback about you two.
” He levels me with a steady look as Alistair finally stops wriggling.
“Are you okay with being such a public figure?”
“He’s already a public figure,” Ellie points out. “There’s a website called IwannahaveDavidsbabies.com, remember? It gets updated all the time with news about what he’s doing, and there’s a page where people can comment with what they’d be willing to do for a night with David.”
I close my eyes. I’d forgotten about that site. Or rather, I deliberately pushed it out of my mind.
“That site’s been chaos since Caolan came on the scene,” Sam says chattily. “Nobody’s sure if they want to be happy that David’s happy or rip Caolan apart for daring to touch him.”
My eyes snap open. Before I can say anything, though, Sam holds up a hand. “Metaphorically rip him apart. There have been no actual threats of violence.” He grins. “I showed it to Caolan the other week. He was chuffed to have won you when you have so many admirers.”