“–th.”

The rectangular opening winked out of existence and she wasn’t in Aught anymore–or anywhere in her world.

She fell through air that smelled like ozone from a burned capacitor. But now burned electronics smelled good, like burning was how flowers should smell. She tried to find up and down, but it was hard to orient because the gravity was lower and ever so slightly sideways. She wasn’t falling so much as floating.

Her lungs hurt and she realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to breathe. At least the air wasn’t poisonous. For all she’d known, the mad god lived in space or on a sun. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. She didn’t regret saving Mom, but she was terrified. She wished she’d had longer to say goodbye.

It took second for her to realize gravity had shifted. The sky was now beneath her feet and ground spun above her.

She closed her eyes. She was part god, she should be able to do something, like float to the ground. She listened. There was no breeze. No birds. No sounds.

Hopefully mom had been right. If the mad god was distracted by finally finding its old wife (husband?), maybe the daughter it never met would provide even more distraction. She wanted to imagine Mom and Cindy and her dads were now safe, but the truth was she just didn’t know.

Perhaps if she presented herself, that would help? She tried to think of some way deduce a direction to the mad god. The larger problem was what she would do once she found it.

“Is anyone there?”

The sky changed by degree until it was night. Flowers floated around her in a cloud. The petals danced around each other like little birds and… it wasn’t that they formed words, the movements cycled and somehow she could read the actual moves, like semaphore or sign language.

The dancing flowers read:

The ground stretched like rubber, obscuring the sky, up and around Miranda. Convex became concave, the edges came together until the entire landscape became the inside of an enormous ball and she floated in its center. The surface seemed to be perforated with millions of holes. Some of them expanded and she could see windows into space. Another shrank into a pinprick. For just a second, she thought she saw the earth, but the hole containing it shrank again.

She’d never felt this alone.

“Hello?”

The petals burst into dust. As it blew away it created one word:

WELCOME!

Miranda tugged.

Nothing happened.

Mom said, “Did you–“

Miranda’s stomach fell as the world shifted. A door-shaped rectangle of reality rolled down like an old window shade. Through the portal, reality fell away.

The door had it’s own gravity, like the whole world was tilted toward it, like she’d fall in if she even moved.

Through the door was just sky, disturbingly bright blue, dotted with fluffy clouds.

Mom squeezed Miranda’s shoulder. “Okay.” She wiped her eyes with her palms. “Okay, okay. Time to go.” Her breath came out in short gasps.

Petty immature thoughts flashed through Miranda’s head. She’d tug the string and close the door. She didn’t care about the world. She didn’t care about anything except holding onto Mom until everything ended.

Cindy’s dads struggled to stay standing against the gravity shifts. As they swayed, they leaned protectively around Cindy. Miranda had promised to protect Cindy’s dads, to protect the world as best she could, no matter what.

Maybe growing up meant sacrificing for other people. She tried not to cry, but tears dripped off her jaw. She wiped her nose.

Mom turned and grabbed her, sobbed onto the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, hon. If I had known it would to lead to this anyway, I would have done better with the time we had.”

Miranda tried to say Mom did the best she could. She tried to say Mom did everything right, but she just sobbed into Mom’s chest.

That moment could have lasted forever, for all Miranda cared, but the ground shook and Mom pushed her away. “It’s got to be now.”

She shook out her hands at her side. “Goodbye.”

The slightest leaning forward made mom fall toward the door, like the door held a vacuum sucking her in.

Miranda grabbed Mom’s shoulder with strength she didn’t know she had. Mom spun sideways away from the door. Miranda shot forward.

Mom screamed, “No!”

On the other side of the door the air was sparkling and thin. Through the rectangle, Miranda got a perfect view of Cindy pushing off from her dads, reaching out to Miranda.

Miranda yelled, “Love you bo–“

Outside was even more fragmented. The houses were staggered, some recessed and others right up against the river. Blue stones clattered melodically down stream toward town. Could you still call it down stream when the river was made of stones? The sound was beautiful, but nearly deafening. The air smelled of dust.

Miranda was numb.

Mom still held onto Miranda’s shoulders. “Please don’t argue. If I go back, I’ll distract the mad god and it won’t…” She motioned around her. “Wipe everything.”

Cindy’s dads stood around Cindy on the driveway. Their lawn was now a tangle of tiny ferns. Cindy eyes were huge. Her body was there, but Miranda suspected her brain had shut down from too many emotional hits.

Miranda couldn’t think clearly either. The practical part of her brain focused on the details. “You don’t have powers to go back to the god.”

Mom looked her level in the eye. “I don’t, but you can send me.”

Her brain chewed on that. She only vaguely noticed the words coming out of her mouth. “I won’t do it.”

Mom didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t look angry or defeated. She looked calmer than she ever had. “Miranda. We’re talking about everything. If I go back, who knows what will happen, maybe I’ll be fine, but if we don’t do something, the mad god will… reset us.”

Mom turned to Cindy and her dads. “Mr. …Bauteils, will you take care of my daughter?”

Bill looked from Miranda to Mom. Bill said quietly, “We’d be honored.”

A wind picked up and blew Mom’s hair into her eyes. She put her hands on each of Miranda’s shoulders. “I was with the mad god longer than you can imagine.”

With Mom leaning over her and Cindy and her dads in a line behind them, it felt like a funeral. Miranda’s mind picked at details. The Bauteil’s driveway sloped right down into the river. She wondered if their car was now a boat.

Her eyes were blurry and she absently wiped them. “What keeps it from just killing you?”

Mom shook her head. “The mad god never gets angry. Everything is fun and interesting. The worst thing is to bore it.”

“What if this doesn’t work?”

Mom sighed. “Honey, if this doesn’t work, none of us will ever know it.”

The total annihilation of everything. Miranda couldn’t get her head around it. She forced herself to look up into Mom’s eyes. “Except you.”

Mom’s voice hitched. “Except me.” In Mom’s eyes, Miranda saw endless years of pain and fear, never ending. She’d go through it all again, all to save Miranda.

The steel returned to Mom’s eyes. She wiped off each with her thumb. “Okay, let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

Miranda shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

Mom pushed on like Miranda had agreed. “Do the opposite of everything I ever taught you. Imagine something for me.” She turned Miranda so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Think about the world as a series of strings. Everything interconnected.”

One of the houses down the block popped into a puff of smoke. In its place was a golden tree.

Miranda shook her head no, but when she blinked, the strings of reality were there, threads between her and Mom and Cindy, between all things around her. Threads to the river and the sidewalk, the edges of things.

She tried to will herself not see the strings anymore, but she couldn’t. She felt reality cracking. Things were changing each second. They’d change until everything just … popped.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cindy rest her head on Bill’s arm.

Miranda nodded.

Mom swallowed. “There’s a string to open a door to the mad god.”

The power came easily. Terrifyingly easy. Everything was real, and at the same time everything was a page in a book with infinite pages. All she had to do was flip. Everything fit together in infinite ways.

It was exhilarating.

Mom squeezed her shoulder. “Pull, honey.”

Seeing two realities at the same time was like surfing, like she might fall over at any moment. She wished Cindy was holding her hand, but Cindy was too far away. Miranda could change that, pull a string and make Cindy right next to her. Everything was barely perched in its current reality. The slightest touch would send it somewhere else. Something new would take its place.

She had to shake her head. The power was intoxicating. It was hard to keep on track.

Mom’s voice was calm, hypnotic. “The door. Pull the string.”

The many days of exhaustion felt like concrete on Miranda’s shoulders. She would give anything to just sleep.

Cindy stood in the middle of her room with her arms crossed. “Now what?”

The look on Cindy’s face said she didn’t really want to know. Miranda wasn’t sure she could have this conversation, but she felt trapped in Cindy’s room till Mom was done.

Miranda realized she still had the towel around her neck. She wiped it over her hair to give herself a moment to think.

She realized she was running through ways to lighten the blow, to downplay it. She sighed. “Cindy, I made you.”

It was like the words reverberated around the room. Miranda heard them in her head over and over. She couldn’t read Cindy’s face.

Cindy just stared at her. She uncrossed her arms. “I don’t know what that means.”

There was nowhere to put the towel, so Miranda just dropped it on the floor. She took a step toward Cindy, but Cindy took a step back.

“I just found out myself. Mom … the mad god is my father.” Miranda could hear the pleading in her own voice.

She looked out the window. The sun was above the horizon. The red river glimmered in the light.

Now she knew why Mom had so much trouble looking at her when Mom was upset. Nothing could make her look at Cindy right now.

The silence dragged out so long, Miranda convinced herself that Cindy had somehow disappeared, that Miranda was alone with her own guilt.

She finally forced herself to look away from the window.

Cindy screamed, “What does that mean?”

She fell to the floor like a rag doll. Miranda ran over. A shiver ran through Cindy’s whole body. She pulled her knees to her chest.

Miranda leaned in hug her, but Cindy screamed, “Don’t touch me!”

She rolled back, stunned. “Nothing’s changed. I … it’s not my fault!”

“You made me!” Cindy curled into a tighter ball.

“I didn’t mean to! It wasn’t conscious.”

“I’m not even a real person! My dads …” Her voice hitched so hard, she choked. “My dads aren’t real!”

“Cindy–“

Cindy shot up so quickly that her shoulder clocked Miranda under the chin. Miranda fell back as Cindy ran out.

Her vision filled with spots. She tasted coppery blood in her mouth.

For a second she couldn’t think about anything but the pain. The floor felt cool against her cheek.

She had to fix this, somehow. She started to push up from the floor, but the thought of seeing Cindy’s pain again sapped all Miranda’s strength. She crumpled.

It was her fault. Everything. She’d ruined absolutely everything.

Something about that Cindy’s wails, deep and muted through the door, made Miranda feel selfish and alone. She pushed herself up from the floor again. This time she stood. Before she could think about it, she dragged herself to the door and into the living room.

Cindy was curled up between her three dads on the couch. Mom stood by the counter, looking ashamed.

The silence dragged on. Miranda would have given anything for someone, anyone to tell her she was okay. She tried to catch Tom’s eye, but he stared blankly right though her.

Mom glanced at Miranda, but didn’t make eye contact. Cindy’s sobbing was the only sound.

“There must be something we can do.” Miranda was startled her own voice. It sounded brittle and hopeless.

Mom shrugged.

With a sound like the wind, Bill exhaled. He wiped tears from both his eyes with hard, quick jabs. “Mrs. McGee, You think it will work?”

It took forever for Mom to nod. She put her face in her hand.

What would work? Miranda heard the pleading in her own voice. “Mom, you suggested we clear the river. I could change it and we could all just drive out of here.”

Mom didn’t answer.

Miranda was missing something. Bill smiled hollowly and tapped the window behind his head. “Your mom thinks the four of us are lightening rods for the mad god.”

The practical part of Miranda’s mind could see that. Miranda was connected to the mad god. Each time she changed something–Cindy sobbed again– each time she made something, it was another crack in the wall between the mad god and here.

She pushed the thought away. What was done was done. She threw up her arms. “What do we do?”

Thunderous noise shook the windows, like an avalanche. The light changed outside. The window glowed blue. Bill pushed back the curtain and gasped, but Miranda couldn’t see what he saw.

The house shook. Mom started to speak, but Bill interrupted her. “Maybe if there were less of us?”

“What are you talking about?” Cindy lifted her head. She looked dazed.

Bill motioned out the window. Something huge and blue drifted by. “There used to be five of us.” Tom nodded. “If there were less of us, would it help?”

Cindy shot up. “What?” She pressed a hand to John’s chest, like she was about to push herself off the couch.

“Darling, if we can fix this… we have to.” John gently moved Cindy’s hand and brought her into a hug. Tom put a hand on her head.

Bill looked to Miranda’s mom. “Mrs. McGee, can you take care of Cindy?”

Thunder crashed outside. Cindy coiled like a wild animal, but John didn’t let her go. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Cindy searched around the room like she was looking to escape. Almost randomly, she made eye contact with Miranda. She struggled again. “Miranda, stop this!”

Miranda’s stomach dropped like she was on a roller coaster. Everything was happening so fast. Where was Miranda’s say in this? Where was Cindy’s?

She caught Mom’s eye. Mom sighed and wiped her face again. Miranda felt cold.

Mom said, “I’ve been only thinking about myself, trying to get you to sacrifice yourselves so we’ll be okay.” She stepped over and put her arm on Miranda’s shoulder. “I know what we need to do.”

Cindy froze. Her dads waited for Mom.

Mom squeezed Miranda. “I’m going to need your help.” Miranda felt a deep chill down her spine.

Mom’s eyes were wet. “What the mad god really wants is me.”

Miranda sat on an old blanket on the Bauteils’ couch with Mom’s head on her lap. They were both soaked with flower oil. John made coffee in the kitchen while Bill and Tom found them towels.

The couch had changed, but Miranda couldn’t remember how it had looked before. Now it was covered with some sort of corduroy fabric. Mom was going to have lines on her arm when she got up. Miranda stroked Mom’s head.

Cindy came back from her room with one of her dresses. “Do you want to change?” The dress was green, probably the least girly thing Cindy owned, which was probably why she’d never seen Cindy wear it.

The dress looked even more plain against the yellow frilly dress Cindy wore now. Miranda felt warm inside. Cindy wasn’t just looking out for her, she knew to offer her least frilly dress.

Her heart clenched. Did Cindy know so much about Miranda’s taste because Miranda had made her? Was Cindy anything more than a collection of things Miranda was missing in her life?

She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Her clothes felt surprisingly comfortable, considering. The flower slime was drying away, leaving her clothes feeling softer and lightly floral smelling. Her hair felt conditioned.

Cindy waited. Miranda shook her head. “Thanks. I think I’ll just let these dry.”

Cindy folded the dress, She looked a little disappointed, but she shrugged. “I’ll get you some milk.”

Was Cindy anything more than a playmate? A servant Miranda had dreamed up?

The towels Tom brought were warm and fluffy. Maybe he’d run them in the dryer.

“Thanks.” Miranda put one on her neck and rubbed Mom’s hair with the other.

Mom opened her eyes and coughed. “We need a plan.”

Either Mom’s voice or the open window made Tom stop. His face ran through confusion and recognition. “That… river…”

Miranda stopped rubbing Mom’s hair.

Mom sat up, “Yeah?”

Tom looked as if he were thinking deeply. Cindy said her dads had noticed something was weird about town, but they’d never been able to say specifics before.

Cindy watched her dads from the bathroom door. John and Bill came over from the kitchen and joined Tom by the window.

It was like watching them wake up. Tom said, “That river is new. We used to have a road.”

Bill nodded. “I checked the garage, how would we use the car?”

Mom nodded. She grabbed Miranda’s knee. “This is new.” She observed the three dads like they were lab animals. “No one, besides you, ever notices the changes.” It made Miranda uncomfortable that Mom was speaking as if the dads weren’t right there.

“I do.” Cindy came from around with a glass in each hand.

Mom’s fingers dug into Miranda’s knee. “I assumed Miranda convinced you.”

Cindy shook her head. “The school keeps changing. Dad didn’t believe me at first either.” The glasses of milk formed condensation around her fingers.

“This is new.” Mom repeated.

After everything they’d been through, Miranda couldn’t see why this was a big deal.

“It’s been like constant deja vu lately.” Bill shrugged. “The library has always had a drive through, but I remember it otherwise.” Tom and John nodded.

Mom shot up from the couch like a spring. The Bauteils parted for her. She paced to the kitchen and back. “It used to be only I noticed the changes, even before… the god changed me.”

Bill frowned. “The god?”

Mom waved her hand. “In a second.” She pointed at their house across the street. “Sometimes I thought even I was missing changes.” She looked at Miranda. “Like with Alice.”

A little pain twitched in Miranda’s chest.

Mom didn’t seem to notice. She sat down on the couch again. “But now people are starting to notice.”

Cindy finally noticed she had the milk glasses. She handed one to Miranda. “At least us. I still don’t think anyone in town notices.”

Mom nodded absently. “Just me and people Miranda has m–” Miranda knocked Mom on the hip. Mom stumbled. “The… people in this house.”

Cindy’s glass froze halfway to her mouth. She looked from Mom to Miranda. “What’s she saying?”

The uncomfortable silence drew out. How would people she’d made react to finding out she’d made them? She coughed.

To her credit, Mom picked up on Miranda’s tension. Cindy and her dads looked like they were waiting for an answer.

Mom stood up from the couch. She dragged Miranda to her feet. “I think the Bauteils and I need a minute.”

The tension felt so thick, Miranda could barely breath. She realized she was still clutching the full glass of milk. She set it on the side table. They were all standing in an awkward circle.

Bill sighed and wiped his face. “Cindy, hon, maybe you and Miranda should go in your room for a little bit.”

Mom gave Miranda a look. She’d probably meant to speak to Cindy too. After a pause, she nodded.

The relief at not having to explain, made Miranda feel giddy, but it was immediately followed by guilt. Without thinking about it, she leaned in to hug Mom.

Mom gasped and stiffened like she been shocked. Miranda felt three awkward pats on her back.

Embarrassment ran through Miranda. She knew Mom didn’t like to be touched.

She was just about to apologize when Mom hugged her so hard, Miranda could barely breath.

Mom’s voice cracked. “It’s going to be okay.”

Mom gently pushed Miranda back and looked her in the eye. “I guess things are changing.”

The look passed and the Mom’s face got hard again. She pulled Miranda close and whispered, “Don’t change anything. The mad god is too close to waking up.”

She pushed Miranda in Cindy’s direction. Cindy seemed to realize she hadn’t drank her milk either. She set it on the counter. As Miranda followed Cindy to her room, Mom invited the Bauteil dads to sit on the couch.

As Miranda closed Cindy’s door behind her, she heard Mom say. “We don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to be blunt.”