Page 1 of Search for the Lost

1

Crispin

A sharp banging at the door brought Crispin back to the present. Or rather, to the past, when Leo had been taken away from him by Juzir and Qyl.

They shared a look. Leo was clearly thinking the same thing.

Wordlessly, he gathered up his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, snicking the lock closed.

We have a bathroom lock now? Crispin brushed away the thought. “Coming!”

He hoped Leo wasn’t in trouble again. After all, they’d fixed everything. There were no more flattened citizens aimlessly lying about. Well, except on Tarkon, where most of the wildlife and half of the people were naturally pretty flat. And they’d thrown a big party to smooth the waters with all their new friends, including the Mucklins, even though Molly the moth-woman had planned to feed Leo and Crispin to her children. But that was all in the past.

He opened the door, half expecting an angry mob. Instead it was his annoying older brother, Aspin, staring at him forlornly. “Hey, Elly….”

The old much-hated nickname—derived from his middle name, Eladrin—brought a rebuke to Crispin’s lips, but it died when he realized how dejected Aspin looked. “All clear!” he called over his shoulder. Crispin made way for Aspin to enter. “Come in. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Aspin nodded, looking as if he’d eaten a canary—or Minkis, Crispin’s pet squirrel.

“Who is it?” Leo had appeared, dressed formally for company—which for him meant flip-flops and a loose white T-shirt that he’d made a half-hearted attempt to tuck into his jeans. His hair, which usually stuck straight up, was slightly more tamed. “Oh, hey Aspin!”

Even though Aspin clearly despised him, Leo never held a grudge, one of the many things Crispin loved about him.

Aspin threw his arms around Crispin. “She’s gone, Elly. She’s gone.”

“Who?” But then it dawned on him: Aspin had only one her. And Aspin confirmed it with a single word. “Mother.”

Crispin stiffened. “Mother is dead?” Oh sordid heavens. I’m not ready to take over yet.

Aspin ended the embrace, returning to form. “No, you idiot. I said she was gone, not dead. Three days ago, and no one knows where she is or if she will come back. You have to help me find her.”

“Gone.” Crispin eased himself down onto their newest piece of furniture, the hideous old couch from Leo’s Earth apartment.

Leo stared at him, blinking, then sat on the cushion next to him. “She’s gone. So that means….”

Aspin sank down onto one knee. “Hail to Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin, King of the High Holy Fae.”

Oh flack. If there’s one thing that Crispin was positively absolutely emphatically five-thousand-percent not ready for, it was to take his mother’s throne. He had no aspirations to power, and he certainly didn’t share his mother’s proclivities for seducing mortals. Well, maybe just the one.

A new thought lit up his mind. “Hey, why can’t you do it?” It makes perfect sense. Aspin is older, and he loves pomp and pageantry. And he was already a huge pain in the⁠—

“No.” Aspin frowned, his pretty face partially ruined by the unhappy expression. “You know why. Mother chose you.” His grimace said he’d take the job in a second, if it was offered. But he knew as well as Crispin that the order of succession had already been laid down with the Grimm Council. And you didn’t cross the Grimms unless you had a flawless argument, very strong magick, and a foolproof escape plan, just in case.

Crispin had to concede that Aspin was right, even though it killed him a little inside—he could feel his spleen getting slightly wrinkly, his appendix edging toward a reckless explosion, and his lungs threatening to shrivel up and stop processing air entirely.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to suck in and hold a deep breath for five seconds. Then he blinked and sighed. “All right then. Come sit down and tell us exactly what happened.”

Leo brightened. “I’ll grab us some tea and crumpets.”

Ever since Leo had discovered that crumpets were an actual thing, not just a made-up fairy-tale food—and that Agnes Turtlerump ran a gourmet crumpet café just three trees down from Crispin’s house, serving specialty crumpets with nightshade jam or hoofrig egg or some strange human food called Captain Crunch—he’d been crazy for them. He vanished into the kitchen, where an immediate clattering commenced.

Crispin led his brother over to the small, lumpy brown couch in the middle of the living area—Leo’s couch. Crispin hated the look of the alien thing, but he wanted to keep his new beau happy, so he’d said yes. Something he was already regretting. Maybe I can infect it with magical mice and then we’ll have to throw it out.

Aspin raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow at the sight of the great brown beast but said nothing. He took a seat with the grace of a dancer and the poise of… well… their mother.

I don’t hate him. I don’t hate him. I don’t hate him. Crispin sat next to him with perfectly fine form, managing all the grace of an office drone. Office manager, now. “Go on.”

Aspin deflated, his poise deserting him like ink squirting from a squid beetle on Othrox Prime. “When we got back to the Estate, everything seemed normal. For a while. Mother ranted and raved about the usual things… the staff taking abnormally long ear-cleaning breaks. All the mortal food spoiling because fewer and fewer mortal men have been coming through the veil to see her. That damnable mirror in her bedroom, which refuses to tell her anymore that she’s the fairest of them all—that honor seems to be going to some sweet young thing named White Sow, or something of the kind. It’s quite dreadful.” He shuddered. “But none of that was out of the ordinary. Mother can be a lot.”