Page 43 of Search for the Lost

Crispin munched a cookie. “Oooh, this is good. Just the right ratio of chocolate to dough, and not too overcooked⁠—”

“Right?’ Leo uncrossed his arms, his face lighting up as he gestured excitedly. “You want a lot of chips, but you also want those nice empty sections in the middle, with just a little undercooked dough, so you….” He narrowed his eyes, and his foot began tapping like a rabbit. “She says she’s like a copy-paste of my real mother. Although now I know she was never real after all.”

After finishing his cookie, Crispin licked his fingers, and then let his anger return in full, filling him like wind in a sail. He jumped up and advanced on the Shadow-Puppet. “Why did she do this to you?” He punctuated his words with a jab in the air. “To use a Shadow-Puppet like that… to make Leo think he was loved, that he had real parents who cared for him… it’s monstrous. WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT?”

With each stab, the Shadow-Puppet shrank back a little, her face growing more and more troubled.

Crispin wasn’t used to his anger getting so out of hand. All his life he’d been in control, cautious, careful never to step too far out of bounds. But something about being in Leo’s body and the fact that his own mother had done this to Leo—it was just too much.

He could at least keep a good enough grip on his anger this time to avoid gianting again, but he wanted answers. He poked at the Shadow-Puppet’s chest. “Why did she make you? Why did she make Leo’s parents? Why did she cross the boundaries of common decency and fair play to twist an ephemeral plaything like you into this⁠—”

“Uh, Crispy?”

Crispin turned to glare at Leo, panting heavily. “What?”

Leo flinched, and he immediately felt horrible. “She’s just a representative.”

He looked back at Leo’s mother. The shadow puppet was pale, her eyes wide, and she was… crying. “What do you mean?”

Leo took his hand and guided him gently onto the couch. “Back on Earth, we have these evil entities called Corporations. They’re like huge monsters, made up of a bunch of smaller, evil men. They run everything, but when you call them for help, they send you to a representative. If you’re lucky. Otherwise you get lost in the phone tree and then end up talking to an AI and it just gets⁠—”

“Sure, okay. What’s the point?” And what in hades’ dark halls was a phone tree? Was that how humans made the ingenious mobile devices—they grew them on trees?

Leo continued patiently, his voice calm and even. “It’s not her fault. You’re yelling at the wrong person.”

At the word person, the Shadow-Puppet sat up a little taller, color coming back into her cheeks. “Thank you for saying that, Roly.”

Leo blushed. “It still doesn’t change anything.” But he sounded less certain—and less annoyed—than he had before.

Crispin looked back and forth, from mother to son.

Leo saw through to the heart of things. It was part of why Crispin loved him.

I’m yelling at the wrong person. She really was Leo’s mother, or at least as much as his original one had been. I’m being an idiot.

This time, he took Leo’s hand. “You’re right. Thank you for clearing that up for me.”

Leo grinned. “Thank you for being so angry on my behalf. Few folks ever stood up for me, besides my parents.”

A warmth filled Crispin that had nothing to do with the restorative drink. “I… had a thought.”

Leo raised an impeccable Crispin eyebrow. “What?”

He rubbed his jaw. “I’m not sure you are going to like it.”

“Tell me. I trust you, Crispy.” Leo squeezed his hand.

Crispin took a deep breath, and then barreled on. “You weren’t human before you escaped through the red door, and Mother sent you away, right?”

Leo nodded. “Right. I mean, I don’t remember. But it makes sense. I was a bundle of Chaos.”

Crispin smiled. You still are. “Good. So….” He looked over at the Shadow-Puppet. At Leo’s mother. He had to start thinking of her that way if this was going to work. “Your mother didn’t start out human either, right?”

“Right. She was one of the Shadow-Puppets.”

“What if she became human, for you? Just like you did?”

Leo’s sharp intake of breath startled him. He bit his lip, looking from Crispin to his mother and back, clearly torn. “Maybe.”