An Artificial Night - BK 3

by Seanan McGuire

  “She filled you in?” I let my hands drop to my lap.

  May nodded. “Yeah. Now get up, get something into your stomach, and get dressed before we’re late.”

  “Late? For what?” Cagney had recovered from her graceless tumble, and strolled down the bed to smack her sister awake. Lacey responded by biting her in the face. I sympathized.

  “I repeat, it’s almost sunset. On the first of May. That means what?”

  “Oh, no.” I groaned, falling back on the bed. “May, I can’t. Karen was in my head last night. She showed me this fucked-up . . . I don’t know if it was a memory or what, but it had Mom in it, and Oleander. I need to call and find out what the hell she was getting at.”

  “Cry me a river. The Torquills expect you to attend the Beltane Ball, and you’re attending. You can explain the situation when we get there.”

  “I hate you sometimes.”

  “That’s fine. We’re still going.”

  The Beltane Ball at Shadowed Hills has been one of the Duchy’s biggest social events for centuries. It’s a night of dancing, drinking, and welcoming the summer. In short, May’s sort of party. My sort of party involves less of a crowd, and a lot more physical violence. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It’s not,” she agreed. “But you can’t become Countess of Goldengreen, run out of the Queen’s Court like your ass is on fire, and then miss the social event of the season. Not if you want to keep the Queen from figuring something’s up.”

  “Fuck,” I said, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Basically.” I heard her sip her coffee. “You okay?”

  I laughed bitterly. “I’m peachy.”

  “There’s the manic-depressive sweetheart we all know and love. Get up. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a shower.”

  “Look, can’t you just call Sylvester and tell him I’m not coming?” I threw an arm over my face to block the light. “Tell him I’m busy saving the world. Better yet, how about you just be me for the night? You look the part.”

  “Uh, one, no way. Two, I look like you, the jig would be up the minute I opened my mouth.” She walked over and kicked the bed. “Get up before I get the ice water. You’re trying to wallow in your misery, and I’m not putting up with it.”

  I moved my arm, glaring at her. “I hate you.”

  “I know. Now come on. We’ll go to the Ball, and you can meet my date.”

  That was news. I sat up, blinking. “You have a date?”

  “I do. See, unlike some people, I know a good thing when I see it.”

  “I’m going to leave that alone,” I said, and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. My skirt snarled around me, hampering my movement. “I’m up. See? I’m up.”

  “Good girl. Just for that, you can have a hot shower.”

  “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

  “You can try. Now come on: breakfast, coffee, shower, clothes.” She left the room, whistling. I flung a pillow after her. It bounced off the doorframe.

  May was in her room when I emerged, clearly choosing retreat as the better part of valor. There was a cup of coffee on the hall table next to the phone. I had to smile a little at that. My Fetch knows me better than anybody else. I guess that should be creepy, but somehow, it’s actually reassuring.

  I dialed the Tea Gardens and leaned against the wall. I’d been waiting long enough for an answer to give serious thought to panic when Marcia picked up, saying, “Japanese Tea Gardens. How may I help you?”

  “It’s me, Marcia. How is she?”

  “Toby!” The relief in her voice was enough to make me wince. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “I would have called earlier, but I just woke up.” I sipped my coffee, nearly burning my lip. The pain wasn’t enough to detract from the relief of the caffeine. “May gave me a status report. Has anything changed?”

  “No. Lily isn’t any worse. That’s good, right?”

  I wanted to reassure her. I couldn’t do it.“I don’t know. Has there been any progress in finding her pearl?”

  “Not yet. Everybody’s looking.”

  “Keep looking, and make sure that whoever you have watching Lily knows to ask about it if she wakes up. I have to go to Shadowed Hills and make an appearance at the Beltane Ball before I can come. Call there if you need anything.”

  “Okay.” She sniffled. “I will.”

  There was nothing to say after that. We exchanged a few vague reassurances before I hung up, still unsettled. Attending a Ball while Lily was sick felt too much like Nero fiddling while Rome burned, but May was right; I didn’t have much of a choice, especially not the day after I’d been elevated to Countess. Playing by the political rules was suddenly a lot more important.

  Taking another large gulp of coffee, I dialed Mitch and Stacy’s. “Almost sunset” meant that everyone would be up; fae kids may be nocturnal, but that doesn’t make them immune to the allure of afternoon TV.

  “Brown residence,” said the solemn, almost too-mature voice of Anthony, the older of the two Brown boys. He was ten on his last birthday.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I said, relaxing a bit against the wall. “Is your sister up yet?”

  “Auntie Birdie!” he crowed, sounding delighted. Then he sobered, the moment of childish exuberance fading as he said, “Karen went back to bed, but she told everybody that if you called, we should say you know everything that she knows, and she doesn’t know why it’s important. Did she dream with you last night?”

  “Yeah, she did,” I said, resisting the urge to start swearing. “Look, when she wakes up, tell her to call if she thinks of anything, okay? And tell your mom I’ll try to come over soon.”

  “Promise?”

  “Double-promise. I miss you guys.” The Browns are some of my favorite people in the world, and that goes double for their kids. It just seems like there’s never time for the good parts of life these days, like hanging out with my old friends and their kids. It’s been one emergency after the other, practically since I got out of the pond.

  “We miss you, too, Auntie Birdie,” said Anthony gravely.

  Much as I wanted to stay on the line and ask him to tell me what he was studying, what his brother and sisters were doing, all the things a good aunt would ask, there wasn’t time. I repeated my promise to visit soon and hung up, realizing as I did that I was hungry. Looked like the coffee had been enough to wake up my stomach.

  I went to the kitchen and filled a bowl with Lucky Charms and coffee. Cliff used to make gagging noises and pretend to choke when I did that, but it’s how I’ve always liked my cereal. I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth as I realized that, for the first time in a long time, the thought of Cliff didn’t hurt. It made me sad, sure—he wasn’t just my lover and the father of my child; he was one of my best friends, and losing friends is never fun—but it was only sadness. No pain. No longing.

  Maybe I was starting to move on.

  I did feel better after eating, and a shower would probably make me feel almost normal. I left my bowl on the counter, fighting with my dress all the way to the bathroom. I’ve worn enough formal gowns to know how to move in them, but they were almost all illusionary, making changing out of them nothing more than a matter of dropping the spell. This dress was heavy, dirty, and all too real. Getting it off felt almost like a moral victory.

  The apartment has excellent water pressure. I turned the taps as high as they would go before stepping into the shower, letting the spray sting my arms and face. I stayed that way long after I was clean, breathing in the steam. There’s something reassuring about standing in the shower; as long as you’re there, you can’t get dirty.

  May was waiting on the couch when I came out of the bathroom. She looked me up and down before asking, “Feel better?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Told you so. Now get dressed.”

  I flipped her off amiably. Her laughter followed me down the hall to my bedroom, where Cagney and Lacey curled up
on the bed in the remains of the sunbeam. Lacey lifted her head, eyeing me.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re the lucky ones. You get to stay home.” I started for the dresser, pausing with one hand stretched toward the top drawer.

  The Queen’s habit of transforming my clothes is incredibly irritating, especially since I lack the magical oomph to change them back. There are only a few bloodlines in Faerie talented at transforming the inanimate; the Daoine Sidhe aren’t among them, which is why we depend on illusions and chicanery to enhance our wardrobes. But if I happened to have a dress formal enough for the occasion . . .

  I grabbed the crumpled gown off the floor, holding it up. If I could figure out how to get the grass stains out of the skirt . . . I stuck my head out of the room. “Hey, May, you know anything about cleaning silk?”

  She leaned over the back of the couch, eyes widening when she saw what I was holding. “Are you seriously thinking about wearing that?”

  “I don’t think I should be throwing magic around if I can help it, do you? It’s not like I have much to spare.” Every changeling has a different amount of power, and pushing past your limits is a good way to fuck yourself up. If I was going to stay at the top of my game, I needed to avoid magic-burn for as long as possible.

  May hesitated before getting off the couch and walking toward my room. She bit her index finger, looking torn, and finally said, “I can help. Go get your knife.”

  I blinked. She met my eyes, nodding marginally. Something in that gesture told me to listen. I stepped past her, heading for the rack by the front door, where my knives still hung. I unsnapped the loop holding my silver knife in place and glanced back to May. “I assume I can use the silver, and not the iron?”

  “Yeah,” she said, with another nod. “Bleed on the dress.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Just trust me.” She offered a wan smile. “It’s a funky Fetch thing.”

  “Right,” I said, slowly. I didn’t have any better ideas, and so I nicked the back of my left hand, my stomach doing a slow flip as blood welled to the surface. I hate the sight of my own blood. I glanced at May before wiping my hand on the bodice.

  The fabric only darkened for a moment, drinking the blood like dry earth drinks the rain. I tried to jerk my hand back. May grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stay where I was. “Trust me.”

  “May . . .”

  My magic flared before I could finish the sentence, rising with an eagerness that was almost scary. I was pulling less than a quarter of the power I’d need for an illusion, and it was coming nearly on its own. May’s magic rose, adding ashes and cotton candy to the mingled scents of copper, fresh-cut grass, and blood.

  The Queen’s magic snapped into place, filling my mouth with the taste of frozen salt and damp sand. I stared at May. She let go of my hand.

  “The spell’s fresh enough to argue with. Now tell it what to be.”

  I stared for a moment more before reaching out with my still-bleeding hand, grabbing for the Queen’s spell the way I’d grab for mists or shadows when shaping an illusion. I hit a brief resistance, like the air was pushing back. Then my fingers caught, my magic surging to obscure everything else, and I understood what to do. The Queen taught my clothes to become a gown. I couldn’t break her spell—not even blood could give me that kind of power—but as long as I wasn’t trying, I could change the definition of “gown.”

  Visualization is important when you’re assembling an illusion, and this was close enough that the same principles applied. I fixed the image of a simpler, clean dress in my mind and muttered, “Cinderella dressed in yellow went upstairs to kiss a fellow. Made a mistake, kissed a snake, how many doctors did it take?”

  The magic pulled tight before bursting, leaving me with the gritty feeling of sand coating my tongue. My head didn’t hurt. May’s magic had fueled the spell, not mine; my magic only directed it.

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” I whispered.

  May held up the dress. I stared.

  The Queen designed a dress too fragile for heavy use and too impractical for anyone expecting to do something more strenuous than a waltz. It wasn’t that dress anymore. The fabric had changed from silk to velvet. It was still the color of dried blood, but the material was slashed to reveal a dark rose underskirt, which looked decorative, yet left me able to both conceal and reach my knives.

  “Here.” May thrust the dress at me. “Go get ready.”

  I slung the dress over one arm before putting my knife back into its sheath and taking the belt off the rack. “You want to tell me how we did that?”

  “Radical transformations stay malleable for a day or so; her spell was fresh enough to transmute. And you bled.” She shrugged. “I’m your Fetch. I know when things are possible. Just go with it.”

  I eyed her, trying to figure out what she wasn’t telling me. She smiled guilelessly. I finally sighed. “Be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I managed to resist the urge to slam the bedroom door, but only because it would have bothered the cats.

  Getting into the transmuted gown was a hell of a lot easier than getting out of it had been. Most of the hooks and ties were gone, replaced by buttons; my knife belt went over the interior skirt, the slight bulge it made hidden by a band of gold brocade that rode low and easy on my hips. Maybe it’s tacky to go to a formal party armed, but these days, I try not to go anywhere without a way to defend myself. Sylvester would understand. He always did.

  I raked a brush through my hair, scowling at my reflection. It scowled obligingly back. One good thing about having hair with no real body: if I brush it out and clip it back, it stays clipped. “The things I do for Faerie, I swear,” I muttered, before dropping the brush and calling it good.

  May was waiting in the living room. Spike jumped onto the back of the couch when it saw me, rattling its thorns, and chirped as I walked over and started to stroke it. There’s an art to petting a rose goblin without injuring yourself. They’re basically animate, vaguely cat-shaped rosebushes, and you have to make sure not to move against the grain of the thorns.

  “Let’s go!” May gestured at the door.

  I straightened, only flinching a little as Spike leaped onto my shoulder. “Are you coming?” I asked. It chirped, rubbing a prickly cheek against mine. “Of course you are.” Spike likes riding in the car a bit too much. I’ve had to fetch it from Stacy’s twice, after she left without checking for hitchhikers.

  “Think of it as a fashion statement,” said May. “Ladies used to wear parrots and little monkeys. You wear a rose goblin. It’s very chic.” She waved her hands. The smell of cotton candy and ashes rose, fading to leave us both looking entirely human. I also appeared to be wearing an outfit identical to hers.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “What? You said you needed to save your magic for later, and you can’t go out looking like you just escaped from a Renaissance Fair.” May grinned. “I’m not on the super-saver plan. I’ll make myself something when we get there, after I see what my date’s wearing.”

  “Showoff.” I grabbed my jacket, slinging it over my arm before opening the door and pushing May out. She huffed as she went. Her giggles sort of spoiled the effect.

  She waited on the walkway as I reset the wards. “Are you ready yet?” she demanded, with a playful stomp for emphasis.

  “As ready as I’m going to get,” I replied. “Come on.”

  Still giggling, May grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the car. One way or another, I was going to the Ball.

 

 

 
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