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C rispin checked himself in the mirror. Everything was in place, his brand-new bowtie crisp and green as the forest canopy, his gray tweed vest neatly pressed.

He was letting his hair grow a bit longer—his one concession to Leo’s admonition that he “loosen up a bit.” In fact, he had loosened up much more than a bit over the last few weeks, and if he was honest with himself, that wasn’t a bad thing.

A sly whistle emanated from the bed.

He turned to find Leo—still deliciously shirtless—staring at him.

“Looking sharp. You sure you don’t have time for….” He patted the mattress next to him.

Crispin considered it. After all, he was the boss now, what with Bidulla being sent on administrative leave due to “a series of poor judgement calls that damaged the reputation of the Office.” That had almost destroyed the Connected Worlds, more like, but whatever.

His mother didn’t need him yet, though she was making noises about eventually stepping down. The longer, the better, as far as he was concerned.

He looked around the space they shared. Together they had magicked it bigger, as it had been too small for two men, let alone two men and Minkis, who also seemed to have gotten a promotion and was home less and less.

He was still talking—had he always been able to?

Crispin’s best friend was a little cagey on that matter—but Crispin let the new Ambassador to the Oracle have his secrets.

The idea to make the treehouse bigger on the inside but not on the outside had come from Leo, from some TV show about a blue telephone booth, apparently.

Crispin had promised to watch it with him, but the last couple weeks had been a whirlwind.

The place was a compromise between Chaos and Order, stuffed full of Crispin and Leo’s stuff that was—at least technically—put away, even if toes of socks and sleeves of shirts did hang out of mostly closed drawers and the refrigerator was almost bursting with half-empty containers.

What once would have driven Crispin to distraction now reminded him that Leo lived here. Truly lived here.

Leo slid up behind him and kissed his neck. “At least let me make a little contribution.” He wrinkled his nose—something he called The Samantha—and Crispin’s bowtie shifted down on the left, just a little. “There. Perfect.”

“ Im perfect.” But Crispin resisted the urge to straighten it. “So what are you going to do while I’m gone?”

“Juzir said he’d give me a tour—a real one this time—of the Connected Worlds. At least, all the good ones.” Leo grinned. “Dude seems to think he owes me something.”

Crispin smiled in return. “And you’re… milking it?” He was still getting used to Earth idioms.

Leo flashed his pearly whites, which were just a little crooked. Charmingly so. “All the way to the bank.”

Crispin frowned. What did cows lactating have to do with an institution where humans kept their money? It didn’t matter. It was all part of Leo’s messy charm.

Maybe he would have time for one more quick?—

A sharp banging at the door brought him back to the present. Or rather, to the past, when Juzir and Qyl had shown up to take Leo away from him.

They shared a look—Leo was clearly thinking the same thing.

Wordlessly, he gathered up his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, snicking the lock closed.

We have a bathroom lock now? Crispin brushed away the thought. “Coming!”

He hoped Leo wasn’t in trouble again. They’d fixed everything; there were no more flat citizens lying about aimlessly.

Well, except on Tarkon, where most of the wildlife and half of the people were naturally pretty flat.

And they’d had a big party to smooth over the waters with all their new friends, including the Mucklins, even though Molly the moth-woman had planned to feed them to her children. That was all in the past.

He swung open the door, half expecting an angry mob.

Instead, it was Aspin, staring at him forlornly. “Hey, Elly….”

The old, much hated nickname brought a rebuke to Crispin’s lips, but it died when he realized how dejected Aspin looked. “All clear!” he called over his shoulder, and to Aspin, “Come in. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Aspin nodded, looking as if he’d eaten Minkis.

“Who is it?” Leo appeared, dressed formally for company—which for him meant flip-flops, jeans, and a loose white T-shirt that he’d made a half-hearted attempt to tuck into his pants. His hair, which usually stuck straight up, was slightly more tamed. “Oh, hey Aspin!”

Leo never held a grudge, one of the many things Crispin loved about him.

Aspin stepped inside and threw his arms around Crispin. “She’s gone, Elly. She’s gone.”

“Who?” But then it dawned on him: Aspin had only one her .

He confirmed it. “Mother.”

Crispin stiffened. “Mother is dead?” I’m not ready to take over yet.

Aspin ended the embrace, returning to form. “No, you idiot. I said she was gone . Three days ago, and no one knows where or if she will come back. You have to help me find her.”

“Gone.” Crispin sank down onto their newest furniture addition, the old couch from Leo’s Earth apartment. It was lumpy but yet the most comfortable thing that had ever graced the treehouse.

Leo stared at him, blinking, then sank down onto the cushion next to him. “So that means….”

Aspin sank down onto one knee. “Hail to Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin, King of the High Holy Fae.”

Oh crap.