Page 60 of Seasonal Fears

“Okay, well this is very John Hughes meets George Romero, and I sort of hate it,” says Erin. “Why are you in our house?”

“I told you, I brought them home,” says Dodger.

“We found them first,” says Kim. “They were in the Starbucks when we stopped for coffee. The little one came over to talk to us. We didn’t realize there was anything weird about them, they just looked like people we should talk to…” She ducks her head, cheeks coloring red, and Harry realizes they must be very lonely.

Being two seemingly normal teenagers sharing a house with two manifestations of natural forces and one … whatever the hell Erin is, can’t really leave much room for a normal social life. He wonders where their parents are. He knows enough, despite his own relatively sheltered upbringing, to feel like it’s inappropriate to ask.

The thought of making friends must have been intoxicating, for the short while it lasted before they reached the farmers’ market and found him locked in unwilling conversation with their terrifying older sister. Much older sister. If she weren’t so clearly unsuited to being anyone’s mother, he would probably still have taken her for their mom. It seems a little unfair for someone in her thirties to represent a pivotal force of the universe. She’ll die soon, and they’ll have to find a new one.

Or maybe not. His great-grandfather was ninety when he died, and his own father has been grumbling recently about the approach of his fortieth birthday. Maybe Roger and Dodger and their terrible rhyming names will live forever, and Kim and Tim will never be able to make any friends. He’d probably find that a lot sadder if he weren’t suddenly concerned about how he’s supposed to ever make friends again, if he’s busy being dead all winter, and hanging out with anthropomorphic manifestations all the damn time …

Melanie has gotten her hair under control, smoothing it with her hands, and is now engaged in a sort of staring contest with Erin, who keeps cocking her head like changing the angle from which she stares at Mel will somehow change the information she’s receiving. Finally, she presses her fingertips to her temples and begins to rub in small, concentric circles, glancing to Roger.

They all do that, Harry realizes, even Dodger, checking with him before they decide anything. Roger’s the wheel they all turn around, and while they would probably deny it if he said the man was in charge, he clearly is. He wonders if they know it. He wonders if they resent it.

“The boy’s natural,” she says. “His genetics are as orderly as anyone else’s, which is to say they’re not orderly at all—he’s pure natural selection and chance. But the girl … she was constructed, Roger, and I recognize the maker’s mark. She may not be a sister. She’s a cousin, no question of that. An alchemist built her from the ground up, and what we have here isn’t the whole thing.”

Melanie blinks, looking alarmed. Jack turns on Erin, eyes narrowing.

“What do you know about alchemists?” she demands.

“I know I was designed by James Reed and Leigh Barrow, and constructed by Barrow by herself, pulled together piece by piece to be the representation of her smallest and least unfettered desires,” says Erin. “Hi. I’m the living incarnation of the force of Order. It’s not a pleasure to meet you.”

Jack looks nonplussed. “Oh,” she says.

Melanie, on the other hand, is sitting up straight and attentive, staring at Erin. “You know Dr. Barrow?” she asks, in that light, airy tone of voice that Harry knows means she’s about to bolt from the room.

“Leigh Barrow is dead,” says Erin, tone gentling as she shifts her attention back to Melanie. “She’s never going to hurt you again.”

“I don’t remember her hurting me in the first place,” admits Melanie. “She would come to see my father sometimes, and it always made me uncomfortable when she did, but she never touched me. I sometimes felt like she wanted to, but I’m pretty good at keeping my distance from adults I don’t trust.”

“Who was your father?” asks Roger.

“Dr. Roland Cosgrove,” says Melanie. “He’s probably really worried about me by now. We ran away when we were supposed to be going to a dance at our school, and I—I have a heart condition, I’ve never done anything like this before. He’s probably afraid I’ve died and Harry’s running because he doesn’t know how to deal with my corpse, or something.”

“Or he’s the alchemist who made you, like I keep saying, and he’s just mad that his pet science project got away,” says Jack. “Your father’s probably upset, but worried? No. He’s not worried. You’re not a daughter to him. You’re a thing, and broken things get replaced.”

“Cosgrove,” says Erin, venomously. “I remember him. One of Reed’s little sycophants, always talking about how if we could embody theoretical concepts like Chaos and Order or Hope or Honesty, we should be able to craft perfect vessels for the naturally occurring manifestations. Like the seasons. He shared a lot of his research with Reed, and Reed gave him the seeds all his work was built upon.”

Harry and Melanie both stare at her for a moment, struck silent by the size of what she’s saying. Melanie finds her voice first.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You know my father?”

“It’s a long story, kid, but I did, once, before we stopped changing the world,” says Erin. “You and I are probably built from the same seed stock, since Leigh also got her starting material from Reed. But she cultivated me on her own, grew me to contain Order and straight linear lines, and then let them kill my other half—my equivalent of your Summer, or Roger’s Math—and left me alone in the world.”

Roger and Dodger look uncomfortable at that. “I’m sorry,” blurts Dodger. “We tried to push the numbers that far back, but we couldn’t do it, not even by sacrificing other pieces. There was no winnable scenario without you, and you wouldn’t join us if he was still alive, but we could have kept trying, we could have done more—”

“And I told you, the universe is not a Mario Kart game. You can’t keep resetting it and trying again just because you don’t like how things are playing out. Eventually you have to settle for the high score you have. You saved me. You saved Smita. You couldn’t save everyone, and you knew that going in, and if I can forgive you for letting Darren die, you can shut the fuck up and forgive yourselves,” says Erin, not unkindly. She keeps her unsettling eyes on Melanie. “Sorry. The terror twins think that just because they represent two of the foundational forces of creation, they get to take responsibility for absolutely everything that happens, ever, to anyone. It’s boring and tedious and I wish they’d stop.”

“But we are responsible for everything,” says Roger, in a wounded tone.

“That attitude is why you’re never going to get laid again,” says Erin.

“Sure, it’s the attitude, and not the twenty-four seven psychic connection to his sister,” says Kim. “Every girl likes to get into bed with a guy who brings his sister along for the party. It turns us on.”

Erin shakes her head. “See how it is around here? I’m completely outnumbered. Leigh made me to be one thing and one thing only, and when I stepped up and did it, she called the project a success and went on to doing other things, while they loosed me into the world to serve as Roger’s handler. I kept him from manifesting for as long as I could, and when it wasn’t possible anymore, I helped him get to the Impossible City and light the beacons to bring the Queen of Wands safely home. And if that doesn’t make sense, don’t worry about it. It will, if it needs to, and it won’t, if it doesn’t.”

“We know Asphodel Baker was the alchemist who made James Reed,” says Melanie, somewhat peevishly. “How does my father fit into this?”