Page 19 of Search for the Lost

“It was a rhetorical device—never mind.” Crispin thought it through. “What if the only way to go forward⁠—”

“Is to go backward?” Aspin grinned and held up his fist.

Crispin bumped it awkwardly. It was the first time in his life he could remember getting Aspin’s approval. He blushed from his cheeks to his toes. “So… should we try it?”

Aspin shrugged. “What do we have to lose?”

They packed their things up quickly and the infinite luggage went into Crispin’s backpack.

They linked arms—Leo’s idea—and started walking backward in lockstep. The end of the road—or was it the beginning?—appeared again, and receded in front of them. With a full belly and a soothed throat, Crispin felt infinitely better. Even the ramblings of Leo’s brain didn’t bother him. It was almost like being on vacation, his mind freed up to roam and without any concern for mundane things like work and money and responsibility.

Leo began to sing something about going to see a wizard—Crispin recognized the tune from that Wizard of Oz movie. After a chorus or two, Crispin joined in, and then Cypher, and soon all four of them were making fools of themselves merrily strolling backward through the strange countryside.

When they finished, Crispin looked around and was surprised to find all the Thing stuff had disappeared. He stopped to stare, bringing the others to a halt too.

The strange contrary landscape had been replaced by lovely rolling hills covered in emerald-green flowers. Little lime-green hummingbirds like the one that had flown out of Thea’s hair flitted from flower to flower, and in the distance a turquoise waterfall plunged over a looming cliff that might have been malachite.

“Um, Crispy?” Leo tapped him on the shoulder.

Crispin turned to find himself looking up at an impossible sight: a staircase with no rails ascended hundreds of meters into the sky, ending at an exotic city composed of floating red rocks topped by wide green grassy hummocks and giant trees. Everything was connected—tree to tree and rock to rock—by rope-and-slat bridges.

A verdant, leafy emerald city suspended in midair as if by an invisible hand.

Leo flung his arms out wide. “Welcome to Oz.”

6

Leopold

“Seriously,” Leo groused, “they couldn’t have an elevator? Or an escalator even?” He was out of breath after climbing endless flights of stairs, even though the group had paused on occasional landings. The views were gorgeous—red flowers spread over rolling hills almost as far as the eye could see—but Leo was too exhausted to enjoy it. He glared at Crispin. “I thought you’d be in better shape than this. You’re fae for goodness sake.”

“Desk fae,” Crispin wheezed. He was gasping even worse than Leo, which was galling since that was Leo’s out-of-shape body he was hauling upward.

“When this is over….” Leo paused to pant for a moment. “Adding an exercise room to the treehouse.”

Crispin simply nodded at that.

The only thing that kept Leo going without even more complaint was Cypher, who tip-tapped up the stairs easily, occasionally making mysterious notes in that book he carried. He wasn’t out of breath. Nor was Aspin, who kept racing ahead of everyone, pausing now and then so they could catch up. And while he waited, did he stand there recuperating like a normal person? Of course not. He thrust and feinted with an imaginary sword as if he were rehearsing for a part in The Princess Bride.

Leo lacked the oxygen to complain about it, and Crispin merely glared murderously. Leo had never realized how scary his own face could be. It was impressive. He’d have to practice that expression after he resumed custody of his body.

About three-quarters of the way up—God, Leo hoped it was at least three-quarters—Crispin got to a particularly wide landing and collapsed onto his back, where he lay motionless like a beached sea mammal. Leo wasn’t proud: he beached himself right alongside him.

Aspin took the opportunity to sit with his feet hanging over the edge and finger-comb his hair into perfection, while Cypher scribbled furiously in his notebook. No, not scribbled. His handwriting was probably perfect.

“I was thinking,” Leo said when he’d gained enough oxygen to formulate a coherent thought.

“Don’t strain yourself.” That was Aspin, of course, but the comment was sort of lackluster and short on his usual snippiness.

Leo didn’t even acknowledge him. “I was thinking that the story’s kind of mixed up.”

“What do you mean?” Crispin sounded somewhat recovered but hadn’t yet moved.

“Well, we’ve sorta gone Oz-ish here. But the whole having to go backwards to move ahead thing, that’s not Oz. I think maybe it’s Alice in Wonderland? Maybe.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, beloved.”

Leo smiled. He liked it when Crispin called him that, even if it was a little bit corny. And even if Crispin tended to use the term when he was slightly exasperated with Leo, but also slightly charmed. It did Leo’s poor, neglected heart good to be reminded that someone cared about him despite who—or what—he was.