Page 95 of Seasonal Fears

“He didn’t make you to be a better vessel, from what I hear told; he made you from top to bottom, snips and scraps, with nothing natural in the process,” says Carolyn. “You were a project, same as it used to be, and leave it to the alchemists to stumble into the way things were in their rush to change the way things are. They used to make vessels for the Summer out of roses and sunlight, and for the Winter out of owl feathers and snow. There was nothing human in them, and they were cruel. They reigned all out of control of mortal hands, and the world was poorer for it.”

Harry stares at her, suddenly feeling like she would have poisoned Mel’s coffee if she’d known where Mel came from before she served them. There’s something steely and resolutely unforgiving in her eyes. “Mel’s as human as anyone,” he says. “She loves me, and you have to be human to love someone.”

“Anyone who has a dog would argue with you about that,” says Carolyn. “Lots of things experience feelings that look like love from the outside. No way of knowing what they actually feel unless you can read minds, and most people can’t, thankfully. That’s the sort of terrible party trick that’s best left to the gods.”

“I love him,” protests Mel. “I’ve loved him my whole life. I know what I feel, and I know I’m a real person. Even if I wasn’t supposed to be, something went wrong while I was being born, and I’m a lot more human than you want to give me credit for being.”

“Bet a dog would say they felt love for their master, if a dog could talk.”

“Bet it wouldn’t make a bit of difference if they were wrong,” snaps Mel. “If the dog says what they feel is love, and feeling love makes them behave like they’re in love, makes them protect and look after their master, makes them want to be near the person they’ve given their whole heart to, does it matter if what the dog feels isn’t actually what a human being would consider ‘love’? The actuality and the appearance matter just as much under the right circumstances.”

For a moment, everything is quiet and tense. Then Carolyn laughs. “Oh, I like you,” she says. “I don’t know if you have it in you to win—I suppose the labyrinth will answer that—but you’re only the second parallel set I’ve seen, and you’re definitely the deepest-rooted into your seasons. You’re the first full package to come rolling up.”

“Full package?” asks Harry warily, not sure if this is another piece of terminology he doesn’t have the background to understand.

“Both seasons and their attendants, at the same time.”

“I thought you were an attendant too.”

“I am, silly. But I don’t belong to anyone.” Carolyn wrinkles her nose, like the very idea is ridiculous, and looks over her shoulder as the familiar sound of a garage door rolling upward rumbles through the house. “That’ll be Cliff. I’m glad. We can get this all sorted out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Melanie. None of them rise. A door opens and closes again, and a man emerges from the kitchen, presumably having used a heretofore-unconfirmed back door to enter. The air in the room gets … fresher, almost, like a good cleansing wind has just blown briskly through. It’s hard to look at this man and not trust him. It’s even harder not to like him, and so Harry doesn’t even make the effort.

The newcomer is tall, broad in the way of men with sturdy builds, rather than the way football players tend to accomplish the shape, wearing teal hospital scrubs. He just needs a stethoscope slung carelessly around his neck to complete the image of the genial Hollywood doctor. He has a pleasant, friendly face, and a completely hairless pate that catches the light like it’s been polished. Maybe it has been. Harry has wondered whether bald men shine their heads to get them so reflective, replacing the rituals of haircare with something more applicable.

He pauses at the sight of them, a broad smile covering his face. “Well, hello, y’all,” he says. His accent is, if anything, heavier than Carolyn’s. “Care, there any more of those scones?”

“On the counter,” says Carolyn. “Grab yourself a cup of coffee too and then come join us. I was just about to tell these nice kids how to get to the labyrinth.”

“Oh, that’s a speech I should be here for,” agrees the man. “Hold tight, and then we’ll handle introductions.” He ducks back into the kitchen.

Carolyn returns her attention to her guests, smiling placidly. “Cliff doesn’t function well without his coffee,” she says. “He needs caffeine to keep more than two thoughts in his head at a time. Like a Labrador that thinks he’s a pediatrician.”

“Didn’t you just try to convince us that dogs can’t feel love like people can?” asks Mel pointedly.

Carolyn’s smile sharpens as she redirects it toward Melanie. “I may have said something of the sort, yes,” she says. “But you countered me nicely, and I suppose it’s rude to contradict one’s guests.”

“Are you married, ma’am?” asks Harry quickly, before Mel can turn the sudden tension he feels in her into an assault on their hostess, whose capabilities are still unclear, but who is unquestionably connected to the labyrinth they have to navigate if they want to survive the season.

“Twelve years this October,” says Carolyn, with a hint of pride. “We met when Cliff was fresh out of college, before medical school. He’d just awakened to the strength of the living Spring, and he didn’t know up from down, the poor lamb. Not sure he’d have made it if he hadn’t found me to tether him when he did. Or maybe I’m being full of myself, and he’d have been just fine. He’s a surprising man, my husband. Tends to throw people off their balance.”

“That, and God talks like me,” says Cliff, emerging from the kitchen with a scone and a cup of coffee. He plops down next to Carolyn on the couch, grinning too widely, like this is the most entertaining thing that’s ever happened in his home, like he can’t wait to see what happens next. “Welcome. My name’s Clifford. So you kids are looking for the labyrinth? What do you think you’re going to do when you get there? I bet the crowd around the gate’s ten deep by now. You’ll never hit the center before you get overrun.”

“I think we’re going to enter the labyrinth, and we’re going to claim the crowns and take our thrones,” says Mel, in an exaggeratedly pleasant voice. “What’s more, I think if you’re a Jack in the Green to balance out the Stingy Jack next to you, the two of you are going to be working for us, so it would be nice if you could stop with this little ‘good cop–overly polite cop who cares more about propriety than anything else’ routine and tell us what we need to know.”

Clifford raises an eyebrow, holding his ridiculous grin for another beat before it falls away and he turns to his wife, commenting in a much more natural tone, “I think I like these ones.”

“Came right to the door,” confirms Carolyn. “Just … pulled up to the curb like it wasn’t anything at all to find us and come to the house. They tracked mud on my floors, but they apologized for it when I pointed it out, and I think they’re a bit distracted.”

Harry and Mel both stare at her as she speaks, not saying anything at all—not sure what there is they could say. Interestingly, it’s Jenny who finds his feet first.

“Wait, so that was all what, a routine? Is it not your job to welcome us?”

“Oh, it is,” says Carolyn. Even her tone has changed, still warm, but less artificially formal. She’s relaxing. “We constructed this labyrinth.”

“We’ve built six out of the last eight,” says Cliff. “Not easy to fit in around everything else we have to do, but it’s necessary. Once this one actually gets used, we’ll burn the remains, and then the alternate team will put the next one together. Hopefully it won’t be used, and then year after, we’ll get to build another one.”

“Why do you hope it won’t be used?” asks Harry.