Page 53 of Seasonal Fears

The woman is still watching them, although she hasn’t moved. Maybe her weird invisibility only works as long as she doesn’t draw attention to herself? People hadn’t noticed her talking to him before, although they’d noticed him easily enough; maybe she’s staying quiet so Jack won’t see her too. But he allows himself to be tugged away, relief stronger than concern as Jack leads him toward Melanie.

“We have a stalker,” says Jack smoothly.

Harry glances over his shoulder. The woman is following them. He wishes that were a surprise, but it’s not, and it was never going to be. Quickly, he returns his gaze to the front, resisting the urge to walk faster and get the hell away.

“You can see her?”

“Sure can. Wait, she’s not a Summer candidate?” Jack glances back this time, frowning a little. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“She doesn’t feel like Summer to me,” says Harry. “I figured she was Winter if she was anything.”

“No. She feels like time, but she’s not a part of my season. She’s…” Jack stops. Stops dead, dragging Harry to a halt as her hand tightens on his elbow and makes it impossible for him to keep walking without yanking the smaller girl off of her feet. “Aw, damn.”

“What do you mean, ‘damn’?” But she’s ignoring him as she lets go of his elbow and turns to stomp back toward the woman, who looks surprised but not shocked by her approach. On some level, she’d already figured out that Jack could see her too.

Oh, this has the potential to go very badly. He’s not sure how, exactly, but he’s also not sure how having their guide alone with a woman who steals seconds from the future and murders them so she can go shopping without being bothered can possibly be a good thing. He scans the crowd for Mel again. Despite Jack’s claims, she doesn’t seem to be looking for him; she’s too busy talking to the teens from the Starbucks, both of them clutching paper cups and watching her talk with serious expressions on their faces.

“Guess this is my problem, then,” he says, and turns, walking back toward Jack and the woman.

They’re eyeing each other warily, two tigers trying to share the same hill. Jack gestures to the woman with her chin. “You get a name off of her?” she asks Harry, as he approaches.

“No,” he says. “She got one off of me, but I was a little too freaked out to ask.”

“And I’ve learned the hard way not to volunteer,” says the woman. “Information is currency and knowledge is power.”

“And you’re an adorable bumper sticker,” says Jack. “How are you sidestepping the flow of time?”

“Your little sister’s about as subtle as a head trauma,” says the woman.

“She’s not my sister,” says Harry. “She’s my girlfriend’s … Fuck, Jack, you never told me how to explain this. ‘She’s my girlfriend’s personal servant’ doesn’t really work and it makes people look at me funny.”

“My name is Jack Frost,” says Jack, looking steadily at the woman. “Or at least it is now, but since that’s a title as much as anything else, it doesn’t give you any power over me. I am my own thing, and you cannot touch me.”

“Oh, I could touch you, kid,” says the woman, suddenly much more relaxed. “You’re all Seasonals, aren’t you? That explains a lot. My brother said he was putting the light on for you folks, but I wasn’t sure he’d get any Incarnates. Cool that it worked. He’s gonna be smug for a month.”

“Are you alchemists?” asks Jack, with audible loathing.

“Nope,” says the woman. “We’re something better.”

“Um, where I come from, we don’t go around telling kids we can touch them,” says Harry. “And I come from Portland, so it’s not like it’s all that far away.”

“Portland … Oh my fuck.” The woman blinks, less terrifying and more human as she focuses her attention on him completely. “You’re not the first Seasonals we’ve seen in the last few days, although you’re the first to include an Incarnate—or two. You’re a Summer boy, aren’t you?” She doesn’t pause for his response as she focuses on Jack. “There’s a coronation on, and that’s where you’re heading, isn’t it?”

“Um, yeah,” says Harry. “How do you know that, if you’re not … You’re not Summer and you’re not Winter, so what are you?”

“As you measure things? With your quaint little calendar fetish and everything? I guess you’d call me Time.” The woman smiles, baring all her teeth at once, and just like that, she’s terrifying again. She doesn’t even really have to try. Raising her right hand, she snaps her fingers and says, softly, “Okay, Kimmy, let’s go.”

The white-haired girl jerks upright, eyes wide, and turns to scan the market until she spots the red-haired woman. She looks surprised to see her talking to Harry and Jack—or maybe she’s just surprised to see her talking to anyone, since she’s still wrapped in rainbows. The white-haired girl—Kimmy, he supposes—says something to Melanie and starts walking briskly in their direction. Her brother follows.

After barely a beat, Melanie does too.

The redhead sighs at their approach. “Black hair, white skin—did you really have to be that on the nose? I guess the seasons have their sensibilities, but it’s a little cliché.”

Melanie pauses, blinking rapidly. Then she looks at the redhead with more interest, and asks, “Are you really one to talk? You’re one cartoon bird short of an animated special.”

The white-haired girl barks laughter before clapping a hand over her mouth and looking, briefly, ashamed of herself. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

“I’m sorry,” says the boy, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with one hand. “What’s going on here, exactly?”