An Artificial Night od-3

by Seanan McGuire

  Before I could follow that train of thought any further, the trail ceased to be a trail, resolving instead into a thick miasma of blood, manure, and spoiled grain, surrounding a rickety building whose walls were patched with a dozen types of decaying wood. A second roof had been constructed beneath the shattered remains of the original. Lanterns hung from each corner, casting pools of sharply delineated light and shadow across the ground. There was no door, just a broad, open archway leading to the inside. There was no point in locking the stable. Who would be stupid enough to steal these horses?

  I waved for Quentin to stay back. He obeyed, scowling. His posture told me that he wanted to bolt inside, but his training was stronger. He’d been hurt before. He wasn’t going to get hurt again just because he didn’t listen to me.

  Already dreading what we were going to find, I approached the archway. If it was too late to save Katie, none of my efforts to keep Quentin safe would be any good, because it would break him. He was too young to be hurt that way and not be changed by it. Maybe we’re always too young for that.

  “Toby …”

  “Come on.” The candle was still burning blue. I started forward, motioning for him to follow.

  Inside, the stable was just one long, low room, lit by lanterns like the ones we’d seen outside. They cast a sickly white light, making it harder to see, rather than easier. Rotting straw covered the floor, and strange things I assumed were used for the care and tending of horses hung on the far wall. I recognized the saddles. And the whips. Stalls lined the walls on either side, their doors sealed with gates of brambles and twisted wire. Wails and whimpers came from inside, muffled and modulated into high, nickering screams. They didn’t sound like children. They barely sounded human.

  Horses, I thought numbly. Faerie children are his Riders, and the human-born are his horses. I’d been warned, but somehow knowing that it was real made it worse. There are few things I can think of that are worse than unwilling transformation.

  Quentin stopped beside me and tensed, taking a sharp breath. I put a hand on his arm, keeping him where he was.

  “We’re taking this slow, Quentin. All right?” He blinked at me, expression betraying no understanding. “All right?” I repeated. He nodded. I relaxed marginally, taking my hand off his arm. “Good. Follow me.” I started down the length of the room, keeping close to the wall. Quentin followed, his footsteps sounding dangerously loud even through the muffling straw.

  Now we just needed to figure out which stall Katie was in without opening every door. Filling the stable with panicked human children would be a fast way to bring the guards down on our heads—if they weren’t already en route.

  Blind Michael’s lands followed their own rules, but those rules had been consistent and thus technically fair so far. What worked once should work again, unless the rules had changed, and changing the rules was cheating. I raised the candle, saying, “How many miles to Babylon? It’s three-score miles and ten. Can we find what we seek by the candle’s light and still get out again?”

  The flame blazed upward. I jumped, nearly losing my grip. I think I would’ve dropped it if I hadn’t internalized the rhyme so intensely: I could get there and back, yes, but only by the light of a candle. If we lost that light, none of us would be going anywhere. Slowly, the flame shrunk, becoming brighter until it was nothing but a small, nearly blinding spark. The wax was melting twice as fast as it had been before. Damn. We needed to hurry, or the wax would run out and our problems would get a lot worse.

  “Toby, what—”

  “We’re just gonna follow the candle.” I stepped forward and the flame dimmed, almost going out. I stepped back, and the flame brightened again. Quentin followed as I walked to the mouth of the stable, and we began making our way down the middle of the room, both of us watching the candle.

  We were halfway to the back wall when the flame turned red. There was only one door nearby. It was rough wood behind a gate of wire and brambles, just like all the others. I walked over to it, reaching out and trying the handle. It was locked.

  “I can’t break this with a knife, and I don’t have my lock picks. We need to find a key.” I let go of the handle. A loop of thorns immediately snarled my fingers, holding them in place. “Oh, crap.” I pulled, trying to free my hand. The brambles tightened. “Quentin, it’s got me.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, eyes wide.

  “Get me loose!”

  “How?”

  “Cut it!” The thorns burned cold, freezing all the way down to the bone. “Fast!”

  Quentin jerked the knife from my belt and swung it toward the briar. I gritted my teeth, doing my best to hold still. Having a killer thorn bush attack my hand was bad; accidentally losing a couple of fingers would be worse.

  Then the blade hit the brambles.

  The vines themselves seemed to scream, a thin, keening noise that came from everywhere and nowhere at once as they tightened, writhing and burying themselves more deeply in my hand. I shrieked before I could stop myself, crying, “Quentin, stop!”

  His hand shook as he pulled the knife away. The thorns stopped screaming, but didn’t let go. I stood there blinking back tears, listening for sounds of alarm. We couldn’t afford to attract attention to ourselves. If we got caught … I shivered. If they caught us, we were worse than dead.

  Fine: we couldn’t cut through the thorns. What else could we use to open the door? Blood obviously wasn’t the answer; it had plenty of my blood already. I could try a spell, but I don’t know any make-the-living-lock-let-go spells. I might have been able to manage an illusory key, but I didn’t know what it needed to look like, or how to make the lock believe it was real. Quentin wasn’t going to be any help until he calmed down, and the candle flame was so high that it was almost scorching my skin. I paused. Everything in Blind Michael’s lands had been affected by the candle. Why should the lock be any different?

  I brought my free hand up and around, shoving the candle into the brambles. The vines wrapped around my hand let go, and I staggered backward, swearing. The cuts they left behind were small but deep and ran across the length of my hand.

  “Are you okay?” Quentin asked, moving to brace me.

  “I’m fine,” I said. The vines were continuing to retreat. The flame returned to its normal height as the last bramble pulled away, dimming to a placid blue. It looked like we’d reached our destination, whatever it turned out to be. “I think it’s safe to go in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.” Unsurprisingly, the door wasn’t locked anymore. I pushed it open, stepping through into a narrow stall full of dusty straw and strange, unpleasant shadows. A trough stood along one wall, half-filled with murky liquid. It was too dark to see anything clearly. I lifted the candle almost without thinking about it, letting it illuminate the area.

  The light wasn’t merciful. I closed my eyes, whispering, “Oh, sweet Maeve …” Quentin stepped up next to me and stopped, putting his hand on my shoulder. I could feel the tension in his fingers, and so I opened my eyes, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. It wasn’t easy.

  Katie was in the far corner with her back pressed against the wall, watching the open door with obvious terror in her face. She wasn’t visibly injured, and her clothing was mostly intact; she hadn’t been beaten or raped. That was a point in Blind Michael’s favor. It wasn’t nearly enough.

  There’s an art to transformation. Lily once described it as being a sort of sculpture, using flesh instead of wood or metal: you take something that is and turn it into something that isn’t. Like any art it takes talent and practice. Someone truly skilled in the transformational arts can finish a change in an instant or stretch it out into a year. It all depends on the work itself … and on how cruel the artist wants to be.

  Streaks of white radiated through Katie’s hair, longer and visibly rougher than the human hair around them. Her ears had grown long, flexible and equine, sprouting a fine covering of short white hair a
nd moving up the sides of her head until they were clearly more horse than human. She flicked them back as Quentin started to approach her; it was an instinctive gesture, and that, in and of itself, was chilling—how much humanity had she already lost? Her hands were splayed on her knees, like she was trying to force the fingers to stay apart, and her fingernails had spread to cover the first knuckle, taking on a dark, glossy sheen as they warped into hooves.

  Her face was still human, even framed by horse’s ears and the beginnings of a mane, and the terror in her eyes told me that her mind was equally intact. Blind Michael was taking his time, making every inch hurt. That was the best way to get what he wanted; when the change was done, her spirit would be broken, and she’d be ready to obey. Bastard. Silently, I swore he’d die for what he’d done. It wasn’t the first time I’d made that promise. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  Quentin dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching out as if to pull her into his arms. She whimpered and jerked backward, almost falling. The reason for her oddly formal posture became apparent as she moved: her skirt had been split up the back and tied together with a dirty shoelace. A fully-formed horse’s tail protruded through the hole she’d made there, matted with muck and straw from the stable floor. It would’ve been pretty, if it hadn’t been attached to a panicked human girl.

  “Katie—” Quentin said helplessly, and reached for her again. This time she screamed. It ended in a high-pitched, inhuman whinny. Things were changing inside her as well as out.

  “Quentin, move away from her,” I said.

  “But—”

  “Look at her. You need to move away.” Katie looked toward me and cringed, falling silent. She’d already learned the value of obedience. I guess terror is a good teacher.

  Quentin rose and walked back to me, shivering. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

  “Besides the obvious?” I gestured toward my ears, then his. “We’re what’s wrong with her. She’s already confused, and she thinks you’re human. Right now, you look like another part of this nightmare.”

  “I—” he began, and stopped, staring at me. “Oh, root and branch.” He looked back to Katie, who was trying to vanish into her corner. “She thinks I’m one of them.”

  “Yes, she does,” I said, gently. “You can’t go to her. She won’t let you.”

  “But …”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me do this?”

  Quentin bit his lip, nodding. I could see how much the gesture had cost him.

  The scratches on my hand were still bleeding, and that was a good thing; blood always makes things easier for me when there’s magic involved. I walked over and knelt in front of Katie, holding my candle between us. “Hello,” I said. She whimpered. I ignored it, continuing, “My name’s Toby. I want to take you home. Do you want to go home?” She burrowed farther into the corner, flattening her ears. She wasn’t going to believe a word I said, and that was fine; it just meant I’d have to work without her permission. With fresh-drawn blood on my hands, the lack of permission wouldn’t stop me.

  “ ‘If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended,’”I said. The smell of copper and cut grass rose around us, damped down and made small by the alien nature of Blind Michael’s lands. “ ‘That you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear …’ ” The spell wasn’t taking hold. I needed more blood; I wasn’t strong enough to catch her without it. I’ve never been strong enough to work without the blood.

  I raised my wounded hand to my mouth and sucked at the deepest of the scratches. The blood was hot and bitter. “ ‘And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream.’ ” The smell of copper burst around us, leaving me with a pounding headache. Magic takes strength, and I was running out.

  Katie’s face went slack as the spell took hold. I shook my head to clear it and said, “Katie, you don’t feel well. You have an upset stomach, and you want to go home. You don’t see anything strange, you just feel a little sick. Your boyfriend is going to walk you home. Do you understand?” She nodded, expression unchanging. I patted her hand, and she didn’t pull away. “Good. Quentin will be here in a moment.” She nodded again and smiled, settling in to wait. She’d wait until Quentin came or the spell ran out, whichever came first. As long as nothing broke my illusions, she’d be fine, but any major shock could jolt her back into the present. I needed to keep her away from mirrors and away from Blind Michael.

  I stood, breathing unevenly. “Quentin, hurry. You need to get her out of here.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “It’s just a little magic burn. I’ll be fine. Now hurry.” He nodded and walked back over to Katie, kneeling in the straw. “Kates? You okay?”

  She smiled. The spell was working; thank Maeve for that. “Hi, Quentin. I’ve been waiting. Are you gonna take me home now?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and smiled back. I don’t think she could see his tears through the illusions clouding her eyes. “I’ll take you home. Are you ready to go?”

  “Oh, yeah. I just don’t feel good.” She stumbled as she stood, and Quentin caught her. The tail was throwing her off-balance. Katie frowned. “I think I need to lie down.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, leading her toward the exit. “I’ll get you home.”

  I followed as fast as I could, trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt to leave the other locked doors behind. There were more children behind those doors, changing into something they didn’t understand, and I couldn’t save them. That much magic wouldn’t just hurt me; it might kill me, and then what would my children do? Blind Michael was going to pay for everything he’d done, but most of all, he was going to pay for making me walk away and leave those children behind. I’d come back for them if I could, but my kids needed me first. And it wasn’t fair. Life so rarely is.

  Just once, I’d like to find a real hero, someone who can save the day, because I’m obviously not cut out for the job. I followed Quentin and Katie out of the stable, half blinded by pain and anger, and once we were safely hidden by the shadows of the plains, I let myself cry. I’d have to stop before we reached the forest—the kids needed me to look strong—but for the moment, it helped.

  Where the hell’s my hero?

  SIXTEEN

  JESSICA CAME RACING OUT OF THE TREES as we approached, already sobbing. She slammed into me and buried her face against my shoulder. I managed to brace myself enough to absorb the impact without falling over, but it was a close thing; we were too similar in size for that kind of collision to be comfortable. “Aunt Birdie!” she wailed, voice muffled. “I thought you weren’t c-coming back!”

  I sighed, letting go of Quentin’s hand and stroking her hair. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” Spike came slinking out of the woods and sat by my feet, thorns bristling as it whined in the back of its throat. I understood the warning it was giving us; we couldn’t afford to dawdle. Blind Michael promised safety once we were out of his lands—or at least he’d promised safety for the kids I’d bargained for, and I didn’t want to consider what that might mean for the rest—but he’d never said anything about leaving us alone inside his borders.

  “Are you back for keeps? Can we go home now?”

  “I’m back.” I looked over Jessica’s head to watch Quentin guide Katie the last few yards.

  Katie had fallen into brittle silence as we walked, using Quentin as much for guidance as for balance. The spell clouding her vision could only take so much abuse, and she could keep it alive longer if she refused to see what was going on. Smart girl. I wondered numbly whether Quentin realized she’d lost a shoe, and whether, if he did, he realized that it was because her feet were already broad and blackened, more than halfway to being hooves. The changes were continuing. They were slow, but they weren’t stopping.

  “Come on,” I said, shifting Jessica so that she was just clinging to my arm. “We need to get back to the others.”

  “And then we’ll go ho
me?” whispered Jessica.

  “Yeah, baby. Then we’ll go home.” I started walking, heading toward where we’d left the rest of the children. The word “home” seemed to give Jessica some of her confidence back, because she let go of me after a few steps, darting ahead and vanishing into the trees.

  Raj and the others had been hard at work while we were away. Five of the older kids were busy lashing bundles of sticks together as they finished Helen’s litter, and there were sentries posted in the trees, almost invisible through the leaves until you walked under them. I smiled faintly. “Leave it to the Cait Sidhe to take to guerrilla warfare without blinking,” I said.

  “What?” asked Raj, appearing accompanied by the smell of pepper and burning paper.

  Quentin jumped, nearly knocking Katie over. I just shook my head. One good thing about spending years being tormented by Tybalt: I don’t surprise as easily as I used to where the Cait Sidhe are concerned.

  “I was just saying that you seem to have things pretty organized,” I said, taking a better look around. The kids that Raj didn’t have on sentry duty or building a litter had mostly gone to sleep, pillowed in the leaves and clinging to one another. Those that were still awake but unoccupied were sitting with Helen, listening raptly as she spoke. From the way she was moving her hands, I guessed she was telling them a story, and for a moment, I almost envied her. Whether we lived or died, the pressure wasn’t on her. She was taking care of the children and leaving the heroics to Raj—and to me. Lucky us.

  “Busy is easier than idle,” he said, one ear flicking back. Turning, he looked at Quentin and Katie, and frowned. “Is this your friend?” he asked.

  Quentin nodded. “This is Katie.”

  “I thought you said she was—”

  “That’s enough,” I said. The spell I’d cast on Katie was keeping her from noticing the changes in her body—and don’t think I didn’t see the irony, considering what the Luidaeg had done to me—but it wasn’t going to stand up to someone questioning her humanity where she could hear it. “Raj, is the litter ready?”