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It crept across the stubbornly colorless water toward them, as if it were as unsure about the place as he was.

Crispin raised his free hand and drew a square. Blue fire flared in the air where his finger had been, leaving a perfect form. “Hurry, do another.”

“That’s chill. Definitely not the Zima.” Leopold poked at the glowing figure hanging in midair.

Thea chose that moment to break into song again, belting out something about a lake and fire and the sky.

“Deep Purple’s ‘Smoke on the Water.’ Sweet playlist, but she already did that one,” Leopold said.

Crispin eyed the advancing smoke cloud. It had shifted shape and now resembled a nasty mouth full of trailing teeth. He remembered that deep rumble. “So sorry to rush you. But if you don’t mind? We seem to be running out of time.”

Leo blinked again, and something seemed to snap into place in his head. “Oh crap, sorry.” He blushed, probably the most color the area around Disappointment Pond had seen in ages. “Sorry. I get distracted easily. My friend Pete says?—”

“Squares.” Crispin was busy drawing more, each one intersecting another, building a burning wall between the creature and the two of them.

“Sorry.” Leo joined him, still holding his hand.

Where the human’s hand passed, perfect circles remained, glowing with the bright blue light.

“Oops, you said squares.”

“Circles work too. The important thing here is Order. ” If he was right, they could still save themselves.

“Like, from Amazon?”

Crispin had no idea what a nine-foot-tall warrior woman had to do with it.

“Just draw.” He continued to inscribe squares, this time above them and to the side, and Leo followed in the other direction.

They had to turn to complete the enclosure, but soon they had a glowing dome of circles and squares around them on all sides.

Crispin let his hands drop, reluctantly. It’s done.

Strictly speaking, he hadn’t minded holding hands with Leo. It had been necessary, after all, in order for him to share his small magic with his charge.

The cloud slammed into their makeshift protection, but even though the enclosure looked porous, the smoke remained on the outside, flowing past them, crawling up and over them, blocking out the disappointing light of day.

It was absolutely quiet in their strange carved-out space, except for a sizzling sound where the smoke touched the glowing shapes. Even Thea had stopped singing, a relief after the strange cranking sounds she’d been emitting earlier.

“Why can’t it come in?” Leo stared at the prowling cloud.

“It’s Chaos.” He’d seen it once before, behind The Door in his mother’s Estate.

“Pure Chaos is the root of all magic, but it can’t be allowed to roam the world unchecked.

” His brother had explained, days after what came to be known as The Incident, that The Door—and the pure energy locked behind it—was the key to the Estate’s power.

“Chaos.” Leo reached toward it as if mesmerized, his hand reaching the barrier and passing through. Sparks flew where his hand touched the cloud, and he jerked it back. “Fuuuuck.”

Crispin stared at him. “You’ve got to be the most….” He took a deep breath. He was not that kind of person.

Leo’s eyes met his. “The what?”

“I’m sorry. I’m tired. I didn’t mean to say?—”

“Spit it out, desk elf .” Leo’s hands were on his hips, and he looked none too happy.

“Not an elf.” Crispin swallowed hard. “And not to be coarse….”

“Never.”

“But you can be, a little, a wee bit, well, sort of dense sometimes.”

Leo stared at him.

Crispin closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve gone too far.”

Leo burst into laughter.

“What?” The human’s reaction puzzled him.

“That’s it? I’m a wee bit dense ?”

Did I say it wrong? “Yes. I’m sorry, Leo.”

For once, the man didn’t correct him about the name. “Crispy?—”

“Crispin.” He was not going to let Crispy become a thing.

“ Crispin . I’ve been called worse than dense five times before breakfast. Moron.

Idiot. Nincompoop. Shit trail. Even bastard spawn of a Saint Bernard and a pile of rocks.

Rather proud of that one actually. I was filling a gas tank and forgot to put everything back together first, which could have been really bad if?—”

“Leo.” Crispin put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“What?”

“Look.”

Leo’s gaze followed his down to the pond. The water beneath them had become as still as a mirror. It was shiny, sparkling, pretty much undisappointing in its smooth perfection.

Thea’s voice came out of the transport device, suddenly clear as a bell. “Prepare for transfer in five….”

“Where are we going?” The smoke raged above them, trying to break through.

“Four….”

The water flashed black, and then golden, the color of sunrise on half a dozen worlds Crispin had visited.

“Three….”

“This is the best trip I’ve ever been on.” Leo took his hand again and squeezed it.

“Two….”

Maybe things were about to get back on track. Maybe Thea was working again, and he’d be back in the Office in a couple more seconds, none the worse for wear, his perfecality score intact—or at least only slightly dinged up. A fae can hope.

“One.” Thea’s voice changed, becoming deeper, somehow ominous. She continued:

One lethéd hour that duty never brings,

Oh! one dim hour to drift, Moth Moon, with thee! *

Then three things happened at once.

The Dome of Order that had been protecting them flashed and disappeared, letting the smoke in.

Someone screamed. It might have been him.

And the world dropped away from under their feet, leaving them in free fall.

* From the poem “Moth Moon” by Florence Ripley Mastin, public domain

https:// poets. org/ poem/ moth-moon