Page 68 of Search for the Lost

Dietrich shrugged. “She had a special whistle she used. She would blow it, and it would bring the house down.”

Leo laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Dietrich glared at Leo.

Crispin chuckled. “Yes, we do. What did it look like?”

Dietrich frowned. “The house? It’s right here!”

Crispin rolled his eyes. “The whistle.” Why did I always fall for pretty but dumb? At least he had broken that pattern with Leo. Leo was anything but stupid.

“Ah. It was silver, about as long as your hand.” Dietrich took said hand in his, running his index finger along Crispin’s palm.

Crispin shook him off, ignoring Leo’s displeased look. “Stop that. And yes, I remember it. She kept it in her jewelry box in her bedroom.”

“Fat lot of good that does.” Then Leo grinned. “What if we⁠—”

“I don’t think we should do anything rash.” The last thing he wanted to do was blow this, especially after they’d come all this way. He wondered how the King of Chaos had entered. Maybe the eagles had landed on the roof?

Aspin protested, his hands out wide. “But we should at least try⁠—”

“We can figure this out,” even though he was exhausted and his reasoning abilities were taking a beating. Maybe they could determine what the cabin liked to eat, and entice it to⁠—

An ear-splitting whistle cracked through the clearing like audible lightning, and he turned to find Leo with his index finger and thumb between his lips. “Leo, no!” But he was too late.

The cabin shifted its bony golden legs nervously, then turned and sprinted off into the forest, shaking the ground underfoot as it fled.

Leo fell silent, and shook his head. “Well, craptastic. That sure didn’t work.”

Crispin sighed for the seventy-third time since entering the forest. It wasn’t Leo’s fault; he was impulsive by nature. “No, it did not. But come on. We have a cabin to catch.”

At least this time there was a clear trail to follow.

24

Leopold

Leo was having fun.

He didn’t realize it at first, maybe because the sensation was fairly new to him. Well, not exactly new—he’d had fun lots of times—but usually the enjoyment was tainted by the knowledge that whatever exciting thing he was doing was going to end in disaster for himself or others. And if he was completely honest, the current situation was also ripe for catastrophe. After all, they were chasing a chicken-legged house through the hot-as-hades woods, accompanied by—among other beings—a traitorous faun who’d casually mentioned something about a King of Chaos. Another King of Chaos. Yeah, that probably won’t end well.

On the other hand, they were chasing a chicken-legged house through the woods, and how awesome was that? And Crispin was there, his amazing fae lover who chose Leo over dimwitted himbos and overly flirtatious fauns. Plus there was Leo’s fae brother-in-law, who’d turned out to be less of a jerk than Leo had believed. And there was a talking squirrel. Oh, and he couldn’t forget the pack of WOLFs who adored him. Yeah, definitely fun.

Except… his physical condition wasn’t as good as that of his companions, and after a while he started to get winded. And he developed a cramp in his side. “Hey, guys?” he wheezed. But they didn’t hear them—it was a really noisy chase—and when he sat heavily on a fallen log, the rest of the party continued to thunder onward. Well, not all of them. The WOLFs lay down on the ground around him, panting slightly and looking pleased with themselves.

And some of the vines, the vines that wanted to twist around him because he was Chaos, noticed he was a sitting duck and began slithering in his direction. That wasn’t fun at all. It was creepy. And Crispin wasn’t around to scare them off with his Orderliness. Crispin, who really should have noticed Leo’s absence by now. Although Leo had to cut him a major break, seeing as the guy’s mother was possibly in danger and was possibly being held captive in a chicken-leg hut. Leo would have risked a lot to protect his own mother—or even Mom II.

Despite his abandonment and the stalking vines, he spent a moment thinking fondly of his parents and all that they’d done for him. Like reading to him, for example. Every night, even when he was old enough to read his own books. His attention tended to wander when he was alone with a book, but he never had trouble focusing on his mom or dad’s voice. And when they shared fantastical tales with him, he always felt slightly less like a weirdo. After all, Alice got really big and really small and chased rabbits, and Max cavorted with Wild Things, and Baba Yaga⁠—

Oh my gods.

Leo leapt to his feet, energy restored, and took off at top speed after Crispin and the rest. He jumped and feinted around vines like an action movie star, WOLFs howling beside him, and as he ran he yelled at the top of his lungs: “Baba Yaga! Baba Yaga!”

He collided with Crispin, sending both of them tumbling to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs, and words. It didn’t help at all when the WOLFs apparently decided this was a wonderful new game and piled on top. From the periphery came a bunch of shouting, but no actual assistance.

With considerable difficulty, Leo regained his footing and helped Crispin leverage himself upright. “What in the name of Xibril’s socks are you doing?” Crispin demanded. He looked adorable when he was angry, but Leo had enough good sense not to mention this.

“Baba Yaga,” said Leo.