He walked back to the kitchen, where Evie was seated on a stool, blowing her nose. “She’s gone?” she asked.

“Looks like it,” he said, opening the cupboards for more clues. “And the milk in the fridge expired three months ago.” He picked up the box and shook it so its contents sloshed. “Curdled.”

“But the milk’s always expired when we get it.”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” said Carlos, who wanted a huge delicious glass of fresh milk right now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move across the kitchen window and jumped. “Who’s there!” he called.

No answer.

“I thought I saw something,” he muttered, and not for the first time, he wished they were back home safe in Auradon. This wasn’t home anymore, and it probably never had been, not really.

“She leave any clues?” Evie asked.

“No, just her furs,” said Carlos.

“Interesting. But isn’t Cruella obsessed with her fur coats?” asked Evie, who had once been stuck in that very closet, until Carlos rescued her from its bear traps.

“Obsessed is putting it mildly,” said Carlos.

“Evil Queen left her makeup, and Cruella de Vil left her fur coats,” said Evie. “But they’re definitely both gone. Maybe they thought they would be back quickly. I mean, they should be at the meeting tonight, right? Otherwise why would they leave the things that mattered to them the most?”

Carlos didn’t point out how insane it was that cosmetics and furs were what mattered the most to their mothers. He was used to coming in second in Cruella’s affections—make that third, after the car. Probably fourth, after the wigs, if he was being truly honest.

A twig snapped outside. This time Evie heard it too.

“Who’s there?” Carlos called again, opening the door. “Show yourself!” he said, even though he was shaking in his boots. He wished Mal was with them. Everyone was scared of Mal.

He heard snickering in the bushes, and whispering. “It’s him, it’s really him. And her, I think that’s her. The pretty one.” Two figures stepped out to the light. One was tall and skinny and the other was short and round.

“Harry! Jace!” Carlos said.

“Your friends?” asked Evie.

“Not exactly,” he told her. Harry and Jace were the sons of Cruella’s most loyal minions, Jasper and Horace. The three of them used to hang out since their fathers were scared of Carlos’s mother, and had forced their boys to befriend Carlos. They had helped decorate for the howler of a party Carlos had thrown for Mal at Hell Hall not too long ago.

“You’re back!” said Harry.

“What are you doing here?” asked Jace.

“Can’t a guy visit his mother?” asked Carlos. “What’s up with you guys?”

“Nothing much. We saw you on the telly,” said Harry. They sounded exactly like their fathers, down to their Cockney accents.

“At the Coronation?” Carlos said.

“Yar,” said Jace. “When the dome broke and Maleficent zoomed out of here, fast as her dragon wings could take her, we all cheered.”

“We thought it was finally our time, that she’d take Auradon for us!” said Harry.

“Evil rules!” cheered Jace, raising a fist.

“But o’course you all had to stand up against her, eh?” Harry shook his head. “And Mal, turning her mama into a lizard!”

“Mal’s the new Big Bad, huh,” said Jace. “She ever turn you into a lizard?”

“No,” said Carlos.

“You scared of her?” Harry wanted to know.

“Of Mal? No,” said Carlos again. “I used to be, but not anymore. Mal’s…changed.”

“Crikey! You mean she’s a lizard too?” said Harry.

“No. Mal’s not a lizard,” he told them, rolling his eyes as Evie tried not to laugh. Carlos remembered why he didn’t miss hanging out with Harry and Jace. Conversation tended to go around in circles. “Hey, do you guys know where my mother is?”

“Who?” asked Jace, affecting a blank look.

“Cruella de Vil!” yelled Carlos.

Harry and Jace exchanged shifty looks. “Don’t worry ’bout your mama, now; we’re here, right?” said Harry.

“Righto, guvnor, welcome home!” said Jace, with a menacing glint in his eye.

“Shhh,” said Harry. “Don’t spoil it.”

“Spoil what?” Carlos wanted to know.

But the two junior henchmen wouldn’t say and only laughed uproariously. Obviously, something was up, and it made Carlos’s stomach churn. Harry and Jace had never been good at keeping evil schemes to themselves, and it sounded as if that’s exactly what was about to hatch here.

Jafar’s Junk Shop looked as it always did, like a dilapidated dump. Through the grimy window, Jay could see the shelves filled with broken radios, lamps, and chairs as well all manner of old appliances that no one used anymore. Jafar had filled his mind with dreams of endless riches, and Jay used to imagine that all the twisted and rusted metal and the knockoff jewelry they sold would magically turn into piles of real gold and jewels. Of course, that never happened.

Jay picked the locks on the front door (all twenty-four of them) and let himself inside, skulking around a little, afraid of what his father would say when he saw him. “Dad?” he whispered. “Dad? Are you here?” he asked, a little more loudly. The air was musty and stale, and a fine layer of dust covered the gadgets and trinkets on the counters. There was no answer, until a rusty squawk from the back of the room echoed, “Dad? Dad? Dad?”

Jay ran to the private sitting area behind the shop, pushing back the heavy velvet curtains to find Iago, Jafar’s loyal parrot, looking terribly scrawny and out of sorts, with molted feathers covering the newspaper at the bottom of his cage. The bird practically snorted and put his wings on his hips when he saw Jay, as if to say, About time, kid!

“Where’s Jafar?” Jay asked.

“Gone,” said Iago. “Gone gone gone gone gone.”

If there was one thing Jafar could be said to care about, it was his loyal sidekick. Jay didn’t think his father would leave Iago to starve, so wherever he’d gone, he must have expected to return shortly. Jay changed the newspapers and refilled the bird’s water and cracker supply.