Page 3 of Search for the Lost

“Give me a sec, boss. I was busy playing Houses and Humans with a dragon friend of mine…”

Subtext: leave me alone in my free time. Thea had become much more her own person since the Chaos cloud had infected her.

Crispin wasn’t sure he approved. But as long as she did her job…. “Sure. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Ready now boss. Let’s take a look-see… yikes! What in the four poky prongs of Forkton is that?” She vibrated in his hand, clearly disturbed.

“I was hoping you could tell us.” Thea was almost never stumped.

She whistled. “You’ve got yourself a Schrodinger’s Cat right there, boss. Now leave me be. I have a campaign to take the Kitchen to win.” Her screen went dark.

“Schrodinger’s Cat?” He’d never heard the expression. Crispin looked at Aspin, who shook his head.

Leo’s face brightened. “I know this one! It’s an old physics experiment or something. See, Schrodinger was this guy, and he had a cat in a box… only sometimes the cat was alive, and sometimes it was dead.”

“Is this another crazy morbid, human thing?” Aspin’s brow furrowed.

Crispin shared a rare look of understanding with his brother. “Probably.” To Leo, “Go on.”

“See, the idea was that something could be in two states at once. So this… Thing we have, it’s soft and sharp. Light and dark. Smells like Toll House cookies and Chevron.”

“Ah. That… kind of makes sense.” The Thing was an inherent contradiction.

“What is sense?” Minkis appeared before his eyes, hanging upside down on a vine that disappeared into the upper reaches of the treehouse. The squirrel spun around in a lazy circle, and when he spied Aspin, he made a mock hissing sound. “Nasty brother. Bad fae.”

“Welcome home, Mink.” Crispin rubbed the spot under Minkis’s chin that made the little rodent swoon. “This Thing down here.” He pointed at the Thing on the tray.

Minkis dropped unceremoniously onto the tray and took up one of the remaining crumpets, the one covered in rizzberry jam. He began to nibble at it and then leaned forward to sniff at the Thing. “Yes. Is strange Thing. Also, it like Leo crumpets.”

“What?” Crispin should be used to it, but Minkis wasn’t making sense.

Leo eyeballed the platter. “He’s right. The one with peanut butter lox is missing.”

The Thing rolled back and forth, opened a small aperture, and emitted what could only be described as a belch.

Minkis scooted backwards on his hind legs. “Rude Thing.” He finished his crumpet from a safe vantage point on Crispin’s lap.

“So what do we do?” Aspin’s shoulders drooped, and his mouth hung open.

Crispin had never seen his brother in such a bad way. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “We’ll go to the Oracle. It will know what to do.” That felt right.

Aspin and Leo looked doubtful.

“What? We always ask the Oracle when we need advice.” And the Oracle had brought him Leo, after all. Messy, loud-mouthed, burst-in Leo. Not that he regretted it for even a second.

“Isn’t the Oracle….” Aspin looked over at Leo.

“Squirrels?” Leo finished for him, glancing at Minkis. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Huge thanks for bringing us together. But… squirrels?”

“Oracle knows all.” Minkis nodded, then reached for another crumpet.

“I mean, technically, Minkis is a little biased, don’t you think?” Leo picked up one of the last crumpets.

“Or he’s on the inside, so he knows.” Crispin nodded. It made perfect sense to him. “It’s settled.”

It baffled him that Leo wasn’t on his side in this. Even if, yes, it was a little strange that one of the most powerful prophesiers in the Connected Worlds was actually an unruly pack of bushy-tailed acorn-loving rodents. But when had they ever been wrong?

“If you say so. You are the King now.” This time Aspin seemed almost happy when he said it. As if he really meant better you than me.