“You’re wondering about the rain.” Ander extended an open palm beyond the limit of the porch. “In their immediate vicinity, Seedbearers have power over wind. One of the more common ways it’s used is to create atmospheric buffers. The buffers are called ‘cordons.’ They can be any shape and many magnitudes.”
“That’s why you weren’t wet when you came through my window last night,” Eureka guessed.
Ander nodded. “And that’s why no rain falls in this yard. Seedbearers don’t like to get wet if they can help it, and they can almost always help it.”
“What else do I need to know about them?”
Ander leaned in to her right ear. “Critias,” he whispered in a voice that was nearly inaudible. She followed his gaze to the male Seedbearer on the far left and realized Ander was giving her a primer. “We used to be close.” The man was younger than the other Seedbearers, with wild cowlicks in his thick silver hair. He wore a white shirt and gray suspenders. “He used to be almost human.”
Critias watched Eureka and Ander with such inscrutable interest Eureka felt naked.
“Starling.” Ander moved on to the ancient-looking woman wearing slacks and a gray cashmere sweater who stood to Critias’s right. She seemed barely able to hold herself up on her own, but her chin was lifted assertively. Her blue eyes beamed a frightening smile. “She feeds on vulnerability. Show none.”
Eureka nodded.
“Albion.” The next Seedbearer in line was the man who had knocked on Eureka’s back door. “The leader,” Ander said. “No matter what happens, do not take his hand.”
“And the last one?” Eureka glanced at the frail, grandmotherly woman in the gray floral sundress. Her long silver braid draped over her shoulder, ending at her waist.
“Chora,” Ander said. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. Every scar on my body comes from her”—he swallowed, and added under his breath—“almost. She crafted the wave that killed your mother.”
Eureka’s hands balled into fists. She wanted to scream, but that was a kind of vulnerability she refused to show. Be stoic, she coached herself. Be strong. She stood on the dry grass and faced the Seedbearers.
“Eureka,” Dad said. “Come back here. What are you doing—”
“Let them go.” She called to the Seedbearers, nodding in the twins’ direction.
“Of course, child.” Albion extended his pale palm. “Simply place your hand in mine and the twins will be unbound.”
“They’re innocent!” Rhoda moaned. “My children!”
“We understand,” Albion said. “And they’ll be free to go as soon as Eureka—”
“First unbind the twins,” Ander said. “This has nothing to do with them.”
“And nothing to do with you.” Albion turned to Ander. “You were released from this operation weeks ago.”
“I’ve reenlisted.” Ander glanced at each Seedbearer, as if to ensure they all understood which side he was on now.
Chora scowled. Eureka wanted to lunge at her, to yank every long strand of silver hair from her head, to yank out her heart until it stopped beating, like Diana’s had.
“You’ve forgotten what you are, Ander,” Chora said, “It is not our job to be happy, to be in love. We exist to make happiness and love possible for others. We protect this world from the dark encroachment this one wants to enable.” She pointed a hooked finger at Eureka.
“Wrong,” Ander said. “You live a negative existence with negative goals. None of you know for sure what would happen if Atlantis were to rise.”
Starling, the eldest Seedbearer, gave a disgusted cough. “We raised you to be smarter than this. Did you not memorize the Chronicles? Do thousands of years of history mean nothing to you? Have you forgotten the dark, hovering spirit of Atlas, who has made no secret of his aim to annihilate this world? Love has blinded you to your heritage. Do something about him, Albion.”