Page 54 of Seasonal Fears

“Your mom is a jerk, is what’s going on,” says Harry.

The boy wrinkles his nose, looking utterly disgusted. “Dodger is not my mother,” he says. “What a horrifying idea.”

“Technically, if I’m anything, I’m his older sister,” says Dodger. “Also legal guardian, even though neither I nor my brother have any business being responsible for children. We can barely manage to be responsible for ourselves. They’d never let us have these ones if they legally existed.”

“You’re responsible for half the forces governing the universe,” says Jack, sounding dazed.

“And two teenagers, and ask me which one is more trouble,” says Dodger. “You know these people, Tim?”

“We met at the Starbucks,” he says. “Kim and I gave them directions on how to get here. I didn’t expect them to run into you.”

“Meaning you didn’t expect them to be able to see me, meaning neither one of you picked up on anything strange about them,” says Dodger.

The teens look faintly shamefaced, Kim scuffing her toe against the pavement and looking down, while Tim puts a hand on her shoulder and frowns. Harry can’t take it.

“Neither did you,” he says. “You didn’t notice me until you realized I was looking at you when I wasn’t supposed to be able to be. Don’t go getting all superior just because you’re older.”

“Harry,” hisses Jack. “She’s not acting superior because she’s older. She’s doing it because she’s Mathematical Function Incarnate, fully manifest, and she could edit us out of existence if she wanted to.”

“Not quite,” says Dodger. “It’s nice of you to say, but editing people out of existence is more Roger’s thing than mine. I’m more likely to just stick you in a time loop and leave you there—but you might welcome that, huh? Cancel the coronation and let you stay where you are. Anyway, you three better come home with us.”

“What? Where? Why?” asks Melanie.

“We don’t live far from here,” says Kim, apparently trying to be helpful. “Roger and Erin are home, they can probably help explain what’s going on. Dodger doesn’t explain things so much as she hurls them at you and hopes they don’t cause brain damage or mental trauma when they hit you in the head. Which means that of course they do, half the time.”

“Oh my God, I am so glad our names don’t rhyme,” says Harry, glancing at Mel. “Can you imagine? School would be hell.”

“Harry and Mary,” she says, voice bland in the way it always is when she’s preparing to say something cruel. “Or Del and Mel, I suppose, if we assume I’d get to keep my name.”

“Can we not twit the basic fundamental forces of the universe today, please?” asks Jack, a little desperately. She steals a glance at Dodger, apparently waiting to see how the woman is going to react. If it’s poorly, they could all be in a lot of trouble.

Harry doesn’t care. This is all stupid. He came to the farmers’ market to stretch his legs and forget about weird metaphysical nonsense and murder for fifteen minutes, not to wind up posturing like shaken roosters with a woman who appears to scare Jack shitless just by breathing, who can wrap herself in stolen time and use it to disappear but uses that ability not for anything important or useful, just to get left alone while she buys produce. None of this is what he wanted. None of this has been what he wanted since he saw his girlfriend collapse on the football field, and he doesn’t have the energy to keep dealing with it. Any of it.

The only good thing about this stupid situation is Melanie, who still looks better than she has in years, at least when she’s not falling into weird fugue states and turning into some sort of blissed-out avatar of winter. And she’s only done that the once. Maybe it’s not something that’s going to happen again. If they can just stay away from situations that might make her feel like she has to freeze someone to death …

Which there’s no way of doing. Not easily. Harry sighs and takes Melanie’s hand, offering her the bag of kettle corn at the same time.

“We only have an hour on the parking meter,” he says.

“That’s no problem,” says Dodger. “Anybody got a quarter?”

Looking quietly embarrassed, like any teen whose adult authority figure insists on doing stupid magic tricks, Tim hands Dodger a quarter. She spins it between her fingers before making it disappear into her pocket. “There,” she says, somewhat smugly. “Now you have six hours.”

“You don’t know which car is mine,” Harry protests.

“I’m sorry, did I say ‘you’? Now every car parked on Shattuck within a mile of the Starbucks has six hours.”

“The city uses parking meter money to pay for lot maintenance,” says Kim, a sharp note in her voice. “That’s technically theft.”

“And if the city ever bothered to actually maintain the parking lots, I might feel bad about it,” says Dodger. “The potholes in some of them are deep enough to qualify as swimming pools for squirrels. Roger nearly broke an axle last week. I’ll worry about stealing from the city when the city stops stealing everyone’s quarters.”

“Like you just stole mine,” says Tim.

“Details.” Dodger waves his objection away before turning her sharp, gray-eyed gaze on Harry and Melanie. “Well, come on, little seasons. We can’t stand here all day, and we shouldn’t keep Roger waiting.”

“You didn’t know you were going to run into us,” protests Harry. “How would he even know?”

“You’ll be happier if you don’t ask,” says Tim. “Let’s go.”