Page 20

Leopold

P rior to meeting Crispin, Leopold’s knowledge of fairies and elves and such was…

limited. And pretty much based on cartoons, Keebler ads, Tinkerbell, and Lord of the Rings , for the most part.

He’d had the general impression that Crispin’s mother’s home would be a magical forest with giant mushrooms, or maybe a charming grassy glen with a fairy circle of stones.

Instead, they ended up in Las Vegas.

Okay, it wasn’t Vegas, exactly . It was more acid-trippy, which honestly Leopold wouldn’t have thought possible.

He and Crispin stood on a sidewalk alongside a busy street lined with enormous, flashy buildings.

The street traffic consisted of non-motorized vehicles: chariots, unicycles, and…

. Jesus, was that lady riding a unicorn ?

The buildings were either shiny and sleek or had themes.

Only instead of Paris or ancient Rome or pirates, these places apparently celebrated spaghetti, lawn mowing, and Des Moines.

The restaurants were themed as well; the closest one had a giant neon sign proclaiming that it was Marie Curie’s: Home of the Glowing Rib-Eye!

Just as in Vegas, many of the pedestrians clutched oversized plastic cups displaying bar logos, and many of the pedestrians seemed at least a little tipsy. But none of them were human, exactly. They were lots of other things though, most of which Leopold couldn’t identify.

“Come on,” said Crispin, his voice sounding resigned. “She’s this way.” He started marching down the sidewalk.

“What is this place?”

“The Estate. My mother’s home.” He paused. “Well, technically, it’s where the Estate is, at the moment.”

“You grew up here?” Leopold couldn’t picture that.

Crispin shook his head. “No. It doesn’t work like that. My mother’s Estate—her court—is wherever she wants it to be. I think she’s even made some brief visits to your world now and then, just for variety. However, this place is one of her favorites. Unfortunately.”

“What’s it called?”

Crispin made a sound like a brook burbling over stones.

“What?”

“It means Place Where Tourists Believe They’ll Get Rich But They Won’t Because Odds Always Favor the House. Hardly anyone but fae can pronounce it correctly, so most people just call it Odds.”

Well, that was fitting.

And hey, at least the frigging leash was gone.

They walked at a brisk pace past a gigantic store called Nothing But Pickles and a nightclub in which one could pay to watch ogres doing ballet. That I’d like to see. He imagined elephants on tiptoe wearing pink tutus….

The front display at one hotel, instead of dancing fountains or an erupting volcano, involved giant numbers swirling around in apparently complex math equations, none of which Leopold understood.

Other visitors, however, seemed delighted.

There were also buskers, singing what Leopold assumed were supposed to be songs or wearing costumes and encouraging people to take selfies with them.

Leopold was intrigued and would have liked to explore, but Crispin turned off the sidewalk and onto a sweeping ramp that led to the entrance of another hotel.

Leopold was a little disappointed that it wasn’t the one extolling Des Moines; he’d been curious to see what the theming entailed.

This hotel was called Prickles, which made sense because the décor centered on cactuses.

They’d barely stepped into an enormous lobby when Leopold dragged Crispin to a halt. “Hey, Crispy. All these cactuses. Um, do they sort of look like….”

“Penises.” Crispin heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes.”

There were a lot of them, some small and some large, some in planters on the floor, some on large pedestals, some displayed on elaborate hanging shelves. They came in different colors and with varying degrees of spikiness. But every one of them was phallic.

“ Why are there cactus dicks everywhere?”

“Because it’s Prickles.”

As if that explained everything.

“Come on , Leo. We need to find my mother before she decides to decamp to another world.” Crispin firmly grasped Leopold’s hand and tugged him past a registration desk and a couple of restaurants and then onto the floor of a vast casino.

Mercifully, the theming was lighter here, showing mainly in the carpet pattern and some of the light fixtures.

Other than the multi-specie customers, this could easily have been any of the high-end Vegas joints, complete with card tables, slot machines, and a sports book, although none of the sports looked like anything on Earth.

One of them seemed to involve kangaroos juggling hedgehogs.

Leopold had to hurry to keep up with Crispin’s pace.

“I went to Vegas once. I’d been fired from my job at a copy place after a couple of the Xerox machines exploded, and I figured I could find something decent-paying there.

I liked all the noise and flashing lights and how there were people stumbling around any time of night.

It’s fascinating how people lose track of time and discard all sense of caution. ”

“Did you find a position?” asked Crispin, who was now leading them toward a curving escalator.

“Briefly, yeah. I had to sweep and mop the floors in one of the big casinos. Normally I hate cleaning, but this was sort of fun ‘cause I’d find all kinds of stuff. Money, unredeemed winnings receipts, jewelry, phones, clothing…. Once I came across a wedding cake just sitting on the floor behind a blackjack table. I turned everything in—I’m not a thief. But it was interesting.”

Crispin gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I wouldn’t think that you’d take things that didn’t belong to you.”

That warmed Leopold’s heart. People rarely believed in him. “But I’m Chaos.”

“Chaos isn’t evil. It’s like… like fire. I told you. It can be very dangerous, but it can also help create valuable things. Think of how terrible food would be without fire.”

Not evil. That was a surprisingly big relief. Leopold had caused a lot of bad things to happen in his life—maybe even his parents’ deaths—but he hadn’t intended to.

They were on the escalator now, experiencing a leisurely rise, spiraling around several gigantic glass phallic cactus sculptures. They were sort of pretty if you didn’t think about them too hard.

“Leo? If you liked the position, why did you hold it only briefly?”

“Same reason as always. Things blew up. Um, not literally, in that case.” Leopold frowned at the memory.

“I was working near the quarter slots when suddenly all hell broke loose—everyone who was playing won a jackpot, all at once. And that continued for a good ten minutes until security came and cleared the area out. The bosses figured it was some kind of weird technical glitch. But then the same thing happened the next day when I was nearby, and then again the day after that. So they fired me.”

Actually, first they’d dragged him into an office in which some extremely scary men interrogated him about how he was fixing the machines.

Leopold, frightened half to death, had insisted that he had nothing to do with it.

They’d held him for a while longer, but when the security cameras showed him doing nothing more sinister than sweeping, they had to let him go.

Not without threats, however, and a clear warning to never return to that casino or, for that matter, anywhere else in the city.

“That’s not fair,” said Crispin.

“In retrospect, maybe it was. Now I know I probably was messing things up somehow.”

“Injecting chaos into probabilities.”

That made sense, Leopold thought as they got off the escalator and strode down a long, wide corridor lined with shops selling clothing and jewelry, most of which wouldn’t work well on human bodies.

However, he did spy a suit that might fit him perfectly but would undoubtedly be out of his budget, even if he had whatever currency this place used.

“What?” asked Crispin when Leopold lagged in front of the display window.

“I’m a jeans-and-tee kinda guy. But I always wondered what it would be like to afford nice duds. Not that I’d have anyplace to wear them.”

Crispin looked thoughtful. “Well, meeting royalty would be an appropriate occasion to dress up.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll remember that if I ever have lunch with a king.”

“Leo, you’re about to be presented to the Queen of the High Holy Fae.”

Oh. Leopold had forgotten who Crispin’s mom was. He looked down at his clothes, which weren’t exactly fresh at this point in the adventure. “She’s just gonna have to deal with me like this.”

“Maybe not. Come on.” With an odd little smile, Crispin dragged him into the shop.

The salesclerk looked more or less like a very handsome human, only with slightly iridescent bluish skin, deep green hair, and no nose. He glided over immediately. “Can I help you beings?” As he spoke, Leopold noticed what looked like several rows of tiny sharp teeth.

“That suit in the window, for my friend here,” said Crispin.

The clerk grinned a sharp smile. “Excellent. Just a moment, please.” He hurried away and disappeared behind a door.

“I can’t afford that,” protested Leopold in a stage whisper.

“Not a problem. I’ll put it on my mother’s account.”

“But I?—”

“She has more money than she knows what to do with, and I feel as if you’re partially her responsibility. She can pay.”

Before Leopold could protest, the clerk was back. “Follow me to the fitting room, please.”

They entered a large room, and both the clerk and Crispin seemed to think it was appropriate to stand there and watch as Leopold tried on the outfit.

Well, whatever. Pretending to be blasé, he stripped to his underwear and then donned a black silk shirt and wool trousers and jacket.

From a distance, the suit looked dark brown, but up close it had a subtle leopard-spot pattern.

Everything fit him perfectly, as if it had been tailored for him. Fae magic, probably.

“I bet I look dumb,” said Leopold, suddenly self-conscious.

But his audience shook their heads firmly. “You look wonderful,” said Crispin.

“Delicious,” agreed the clerk.

When Leopold finally braved the mirrors he saw… a man with messy hair and a really awesome suit. “Wow.”

“Shoes!” announced the clerk, as he produced—seemingly out of thin air—a pair of shiny black oxfords that fit as if custom-made.

The clerk stuffed Leopold’s old clothes into a fabric bag adorned with the shop logo, and then the three of them walked to the sales desk.

“Put it on Cerillia Ailedrin Moss’caladin’s account, please,” said Crispin. “She’s my mother.”

The clerk frowned. “But you’re not Aspin. Oh! You’re the other one .”

Crispin looked distinctly unhappy about that but didn’t say anything. Moments later he and Leopold were back in the corridor, now moving at a much faster pace.

“What was that clerk?” asked Leopold, slightly breathlessly.

“A merman, of course.”

“But he didn’t have a tail or fins or….”

“He’s one of the amphibious kinds.”

Leopold didn’t know what to make of that.

A few seconds later they turned down another hallway, this one with thick carpeting and gold-colored lighting fixtures that continued the phallic cactus motif. In front of a set of double doors stood a large person in a dark suit. He had tusks and a long snout like a boar.

“Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin and guest.” Crispin sounded slightly imperious.

The guard gave a little bow, stepped aside, and held one of the doors for them.

“Where are we?” whispered Leopold into Crispin’s pointed ear.

“The high rollers’ lounge.”

It didn’t look like Leopold’s idea of a lounge, more like the type of casino that James Bond or Cary Grant might hang out in.

Everything was luxe and glittery, including the people, who wore what Leopold assumed was designer clothing on their worlds.

Waitstaff in tuxedoes or cocktail dresses glided around with trays of drinks and food, and there was also a large bar at one end of the room.

No jangling slot machines here, and the conversations, although steadily flowing, were quiet, as might be heard in a fancy restaurant.

“Oh, Oberon’s golden balls.” Crispin was staring across the room, but Leopold couldn’t tell at what.

Leopold blinked. By balls , did he mean parties, or…

? He scanned the room desperately, certain the Chaos fog was about to start chasing them again.

Although he didn’t know what would happen if the fog caught him, he was certain he didn’t want to find out.

But there was no sign of it, and nobody but Crispin seemed alarmed.

“What is it, Crispy?”

Instead of answering, Crispin squared his shoulders, muttered something unintelligible, and took a few deep breaths. He marched forward as if to certain doom, shoulders squared, Leopold trailing behind him.

Their destination soon became clear: a large table at which about a dozen people were playing a game involving twelve-sided dice, a deck of cards, and jewel-toned beetles that toddled along the arcanely-marked felt.

Leopold assumed that this group was all fae because they resembled Crispin: slender, pretty, sharp cheekbones.

At the center of this crowd stood a woman with a distinctly regal air. She wore a black leather motorcycle jacket over a short black dress, and her auburn hair was arranged in an elaborate braided bun inset with what were probably rubies. She was stunning.

To her right stood an unusually tall man with piercing eyes and lush lips.

His long tresses—the color of butterscotch—were drawn back from a perfectly chiseled face and tied behind his back by an engraved leather thong.

Beneath the tuxedo was an obviously trim, athletic body.

He looked as if he’d stepped straight off a romance novel cover: a roguish duke, perhaps, or a naughty billionaire.

The entire group stared at Crispin and Leopold, and then the woman spoke. “Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin. What are you doing bringing a human here?”

“He’s not, um, exactly human. This is Leopold Lane.” Crispin’s face had flushed slightly.

The Queen of the Fae visibly blanched, becoming, if possible, even paler than she had been before.

Leopold didn’t know what to do. Should he bow? He settled on an awkward nod instead. Man, that guy in the tux was gorgeous. It was hard not to drool.

Crispin turned to look at Leopold and frowned. “Leo—uh, Leopold Lane. Please meet Her Majesty, the Mother of Fae, Cerillia Ailedrin Moss’caladin.” Then he added, rather quickly, “And my brother Aspin.”