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Crispin

C rispin’s rage burned white-hot—stronger than the sun that peeked through the windows as it settled toward the edge of the world—but to no avail. He was trapped in Juzir’s spell, and there was no way out until the abominable thing wore itself out.

It gave him time to think. And to stew in his anger.

He’d given his whole life to service at the OotL. He’d done everything they asked, and done it exceptionally well. His former perfecality score said as much. So what if he’d had his mother’s help getting the job? He’d made it his own, and he was proud of that.

And this was the thanks he got. They’d sent someone into his home to take away the one person he cared for. His anger surged anew, molten lava on the shores of an acid lake. He’d been to Hellvin once to collect an incendiary fungus, and the visit hadn’t been pleasant.

Think, Crispin. Think. If only there was a way to free himself from this spell sooner. Every second counted.

All magic is based on Chaos.

It was something his mother and tutors had pounded into him as a child.

And yet he’d never been able to draw on it like the others.

Instead, he had an almost pathological sense of order, a trait he’d shown early in life, being nearly obsessed with keeping things in place.

In a human, Leo might have described it as OCD. In a fae, it was just strange.

His obsession with Order was part of the reason his brother had always hated him, he was sure, and why his mother had sent him away.

It was also why he was so good at his job.

Sometimes he could manifest it in the real world, as he had done at the Pond of Disappointment on Vlotho, saving them both—so he’d thought—from the attack of the Chaos Cloud.

Order was the natural enemy of Chaos. So where does my power come from?

Maybe if he imagined himself imposing Order on the spell that confined him….

He pictured himself drawing perfectly square boxes in the air, one after another. They were all exactly the same size, each one a replica of the first, gradually creating a circular cage on all sides of him.

Searing blue squares appeared around him, lighting the tree house in an eerie glow. It’s working!

He held his concentration, creating Order with the skill of an artisan, connecting one box to the next until they finally surrounded him.

As the last box was completed, the very air around him shimmered, the world shook, and the force that had been holding him up dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor, forcing the air from his lungs in a sharp ooof.

Blue lines shattered and dissolved into the air.

When he could breathe again, Crispin grinned. “It worked!”

His eyes fell upon poor Minkis, who had played a hero’s role, if unsuccessfully, in the Great Raid on Crispin’s Tree House. He scampered over to his best friend’s side and repeated the exercise, this time using his hands to draw the squares, and soon Minkis was free too.

The squirrel leapt onto one shoulder and danced, merrily and manically, between the left and right one, his furry tail tickling Crispin’s neck and ears.

“Happy to see you again too, my little friend.”

Crispin’s mind was abuzz. Without Leo, he was stuck here on Torevor, unless he could find a way to summon help.

Why had Bidulla sent Juzir and Qyl—not one of the other curators—after him?

It was not unheard of to use off-the-books help, just rare.

Maybe she’d foreseen the need to have someone with Juzir’s ability to contain Leo.

His wizarding abilities were far stronger than the average curator’s…

in fact, Crispin didn’t even know the full extent of his strength.

Or maybe she didn’t want the Office to know about it.

Out of habit, he reached into his pocket for Thea.

Her cracked screen lit up, and he recognized the Earth song she played. He’d heard it on a foray to London, retrieving the Crown Jewels and replacing them with exact replicas.

“God Save the Queen?” Did she mean his mother?

He had no intention of returning to the Estate. He’d been burned there more than once, and his mother was just as bad as Bidulla. Besides, he had no way of going there, unless….

He slapped his head. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? I am a bumble-footed idiot.

“Thea, I’m going to try something.”

She emitted what he hoped was a pleased sound.

He set her down on his table and pulled up one of the hand-carved oak chairs.

Minkis scampered up another chair to land neatly on the far side of the tabletop, his little nose twitching and his head darting back and forth.

“I’m going to try to fix Thea.” He closed his eyes, working to remember what her magical circuit board looked like.

He’d seen them before in the Production Room.

With his memory as a guide, he began to draw an intricate and very orderly series of squares and circles and squiggly lines in the air above her.

The details were important, and he could see them in his head as clearly as if he’d noted them only yesterday.

It took longer than he anticipated, but soon enough he had the outlines finished. He looked it over one last time, satisfying himself that it was as accurate as he could manage. “Wish me luck.”

Minkis chittered.

He pushed the construct down onto Thea’s rectangular form, where it settled in and vanished with a sizzle.

Nothing happened.

Minkis edged toward the phone, sniffing the air.

Damn it all to Hellvin. “I’m afraid I’ve failed. Again.” Crispin sighed as he pushed his chair away from the table.

He was just starting to get up when a strange sizzling sound issued from Thea.

He sank back down with a thump and stared at the little mechanical-magical creature.

A sharp crackling accompanied a blue shimmer of light that started at her base and crawled up her broken screen, healing the glass into an unbroken smooth surface once again.

Old dents and scratches disappeared, and there was another sound—like steam escaping a kettle—as something dark and smoky poured out of her speaker holes.

Chaos—a little bit of Leo, left behind. It resolved itself into a miniature cloud as Thea’s healing completed, leaving her looking as shiny and new as the first day Crispin had bonded with her, before his initial mission. He stared at her and then at the little, angry, roiling cloud.

“Thank you, Crispin.” Thea’s voice was as clear and strong as he remembered it. “I was wondering when you’d figure out how to fix me. I was running out of songs that you knew.”

“Oh thank the seven gods.” Relief flooded through him, at least until he noticed the tiny bit of Chaos hovering forlornly in the air over Thea’s screen. “But what do we do with you?”

He reached toward the puff of cloud, but Minkis was faster. The squirrel leapt at it, consuming it in one bite as if it were a particularly scrumptious acorn.

“Mink!” That little bit of Chaos had been the only piece of Leo he had left. And what would it do to the insides of the little creature?

Minkis belched, then patted his stomach, looking quite pleased with himself and so far seeming none the worse for wear.

“Are you all right?” Crispin peered at his friend. “Nothing… feels weird?”

It was Thea who piped up. “He says he feels fine, and could he have some of those acorns in your pocket?”

Crispin blinked. “You can talk to him?”

Thea whirred a bit before responding. “I can hear him. I think it’s something to do with the Chaos he consumed that used to be inside of me, maybe? Wait, no. He says he’s always been able to talk.”

Crispin blinked three times. “So why has he never spoken with me?” The idea was as believable as the zoucberry bush outside the tree house wanting to pop in for a spot of tea.

Minkis shrugged. “Never the right time. Acorns?” His voice was adorable, just how you’d imagine a squirrel would talk.

“Oh yes, of course.” He’d forgotten about the nuts he’d scooped up from his desk at OotL. “Here you go.” He dumped them unceremoniously on the table. “Wait… you’re talking to me now, too?”

“Sure, Acorn Man.” Minkis picked one up and began to nibble contentedly.

Crispin had always had a bond with the squirrel, ever since he’d found Minkis on the forest floor with a broken leg.

Mrs. Dollywip fixed him right up—she was an herbal witch in addition to a house mother—and he and Minkis had been thick as thieves ever since.

Not that Crispin would ever condone thievery.

He’d known that Minkis was special but not that he could talk. How that would have eased his loneliness, all those nights alone in the tree house after work. “You and I are going to have words about this, my friend.” He couldn’t help but suppress a smile.

“Minkis has a lot of words.”

Was it his imagination, or was the squirrel grinning at him? He was starting to get used to Minkis’s voice, which made him worry just a bit for his sanity. He turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Thea, are you now… fully operational?”

“I believe so. You have an excellent memory for circuitry.”

Crispin blushed. He’d always been able to remember things. Maybe it’s a part of my gift. “Why did you want me to go and see my mother again?”

“Did I?” Her screen flashed again, a bewildering combination of colored lights. “Oh, I did. I think that was the Chaos talking.”

Leo. Did Leo want me to go home? Crispin thought back on their conversations.

They’d talked about repairing the damage they’d caused, and Juzir had dropped a hint that his mother’s Estate was in poor shape.

And he did need someone’s help to find and rescue Leo.

Not that useless brother of his, but his mother knew more than she was telling about Crispin’s gifts. “Thea, can you get us to the Estate?”

“Yes. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not even a little bit.” His old self-doubt resurfaced. Can I do this?