“Oh, Seven!” Cyprus said. She’d changed back to the image she often used in such discussions with Seven: that of a young woman with ancient knowledge—or that of an ancient woman with young appearance, according to his (or her) point of view. “You’re Lydia’s oversoul, after all. How could you let her do such a thing?”

“She gets me confused,” Seven protested. “In her last life, she didn’t believe in me at all. Then once she realized that she had a soul—after death—she wanted truth handed to her on a silver platter, if you’ll forgive my earth vernacular. On her own, she decided to be born as Tweety, Josef and Bianka’s daughter. But if you ask me, she’s carrying this free will business too far. Now she’s not sure she even wants to be born again at all, unless she—”

Seven broke off. In his dismay, he’d forgotten to maintain the hallucinatory doctor’s office; or his own image, for that matter. He and Cyprus were two points of light in the middle of nowhere. Quickly Seven reestablished the environment, hoping that Cyprus hadn’t noticed, but she just smiled wanly. Since she didn’t comment, Seven continued as if nothing had happened.

“It’s hard on the father-to-be, too. In fact, I had a little trouble with Josef.

First he wanted to be an artist, free, with no responsibilities. Then he wants a wife and children—”

“And now, “Cyprus interrupted, “with his wife about to go into labor, he doesn’t know if he wants to be a father at all.”

“You’ve been checking up on me,” Seven protested. “You knew about this all of the time!”

“And Lydia wants the world to stop while she tracks down the gods. Is that it?” Cyprus asked. Vowels and syllables started to glitter in the air again, spinning down to the red velvet couch in the corner and landing on the dark leather chairs.

“Now don’t start that again,” Seven cried, but it was too late. The sounds went flying all about, some tinkling like crystal, some booming like thunder as they fell apart into fragments of light-and-sound; linked. They fell onto the lush rug, twirling in the pile. And ignoring the entire display—indeed, only half aware of it—Cyprus said, “Looking for the gods can be a very tricky, serious, and funny affair all at once. Now, listen to me. Remember that Lydia and Josef are both your personalities, so they have some of your characteristics. Lydia says that she really doesn’t believe in any gods, which is why she wants to find them so badly, of course. And—”

“She’s coming,” Oversoul Seven cried. “Please don’t tell her that we discussed all this. She has the most exaggerated sense of privacy—”