Despite everything, I float in a haze of bliss over the next few days. Cameron says I’m nesting, which I thought was something only birds and pregnant ladies did, but apparently so do new homeowners. I spend hours picking and choosing new furniture to decorate with, colors for walls, art to sigh over. Friends and loved ones come over to visit; impromptu mini parties are thrown to celebrate. Caleb comes to visit, and though he has no idea what to say about somebody else’s voice being in my head, even if just momentarily, I love seeing my old friend. But here’s another nice thing about being a homeowner—you get to christen your new home over and over again, in every single room.
I go out to lunch and shopping with Callie, ignoring the Guard that follow us around. Cora and I go to the movies, Lizzie and I to the park to attempt rollerblading. While I’m constantly monitored, I feel so free, just so damn happy. I don’t even mind that Sophie and I have yet another run-in at the grocery store, or that she makes lewd comments about what Jonah and Kellan’s bedrooms look like. I just brush her off and go back into my happiness bubble.
There are even some moments with Kellan that don’t hurt lately. When Jonah gets called into meetings, sometimes his brother and I will hit up our favorite hot dog stand and eat way too many. We laugh, and it feels so good. Just so wonderful, like ... like everything is turning out exactly how it should.
Which is why when things go bad it stings all the more.
Many of the Métis colonies built of half Magical, half non families across the planes have begun to migrate to Annar after a series of Elder attacks over the last year. Just weeks before, I worked day and night to help expand Annar’s boundaries to include room for new housing for our newest citizens. That said, the Council didn’t want to risk Métis immigrants feeling ostracized or segregated during their immigration, so all new apartment complexes were opened to the general public for purchasing, too, thereby opening up slots in older districts to help integrate old with new. Maybe it’s because Magicals’ lives are so very regulated that any change is a shiny, desirable new treat, so many within the city-state limits chose to move into the new region. Businesses are looking to the influx of new labor to join the workforce or expand it. That’s not to say there aren’t lingering prejudices against our newest residents, or long-held grudges and resentments; far from it on both sides, in fact. But it warms my heart to know there are people trying.
Nymphs, Tides, and other crafts have been dispatched to landscape the new regions; discussions during Council meetings have taken place to even erect a new mountain range and river system to buttress the new district. This has the Seasons and Elementals living in Annar in a delighted tizzy; the thought of a ski resort all to our own is more than alluring.
Annar, for the first time in millennia, is evolving, even if kicking and screaming.
While the Council debates whether or not to include Métis delegates as part of our whole, a separate, official Métis Council comprised of members from all planes has been slowly coming together. It comes as no shock that Erik and Cameron are founding members; their advocacy for Métis-kind is nothing less than admirable. Jonah and I have offered to throw any and all support we have behind them; various influential friends have also agreed to step up and do so, too. We cannot remain a stagnant society any longer. Change must occur, and there must be people willing to stand up for what’s right. I’m proud of each person I talk to that offers to lend his or her weight to the Métis cause.
We’re meeting with many of them today down in Kellan’s apartment since the Guard still recommends I try to stick close to the building at least part of the day for another week or so. Trackers are combing Annar for signs of Jens Belladonna, but have so far turned up empty handed. So here I am, sitting once more in Kellan’s apartment, desperately trying to cling onto all the happiness I’ve allowed myself to accept over the last few days, only to find it dissipating like air out of a balloon with the news Erik shares with us: the Elders have attacked and demolished one of the Métis colonies resisting immigration on the Elvin plane.
“We were in contact with them as recently as a week ago,” the nurse practitioner is telling us. “It’s a small colony, four families in total, but they were stubborn.” A harsh laugh escapes him. “A delegate was dispatched to try to better lines of communication after they accused those moving here of being traitors to our kind.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “And now ... nothing. Our delegate’s body is missing; pieces of the others were found scattered through the farmstead commune they shared. A few nons were found, too; we think they might have been seasonal workers.”
The room has fallen silent; so many faces are bleak or angry.
“You should have come to the Guard immediately,” Zthane says. “We—”
“Would have done what?” One of the Russian leaders, a stately man named Evgeni, barks in his harsh accent.
“A Guard should have accompanied your delegate,” Zthane counters just as angrily.
Evgeni pretends to stroke his neat goatee thoughtfully. “Ah yes, I can see how that would have gone over. These Métis believed us already to be dancing with the devil; how do you think they would have received just such a devil into the very homes they refused to abandon?”