An Artificial Night od-3

by Seanan McGuire

  “She asked me to bring it to you.”

  “Did she tell you why?”

  “Because she misses you and remembers that you like roses? I don’t know. Luna, what the hell is going on here?” I glared at her, not bothering to hide my frustration. “I’m a kid, Katie’s turning into a horse, my Fetch is waiting with the car, you sent me off to die, and I’m pretty sure Blind Michael’s your—”

  “He’s my father.” Her voice was calm now; resigned. “I said to be careful of all his children, you know. You never listen. I watched you walk out of here, and I knew you wouldn’t be back, and I didn’t tell my husband, because he wouldn’t have let you go. I love you, Toby. I always have. But I hate my father more, and when you offered the choice of your life or my own, I took the one that kept me safe. You should have listened when I said to be careful. He has you now, whether you know it or not, and I don’t know if you can be saved.”

  I froze. “What?”

  “How many times do you need me to say it? Yes, he’s my father, and yes, I sent you to die. At least Mother’s always said he was my father, and I believe her. She’s never broken free of him.” She smiled bitterly. “They recreated Faerie more accurately than they dreamed; she doesn’t love him and hasn’t loved him in centuries, but she orbits him like the moon orbits the earth. He knows it and hates her, and they’ll never leave each other. Habit holds them.”

  “But …”

  “But what? I was the last of their children, born when they still thought they could love each other. When he still allowed the sun to rise.” Her smile faltered, fading. “There was sunshine then, and rainbows. We lived in his halls once; I remember that. But things changed. They fell out of love. The sun stopped rising. It was too late for us to leave his lands—my siblings were gone, scattered, and they couldn’t hide us—so Mother and I ran to the forest. The trees were strong because Mother was strong, and the roses were strong because I was there. I used to watch the Hunt sweep the moors searching for children … for me.” She shook her head. “I’m part of what he’s looking for. His lost little girl. And I will not go back.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “I escaped. Isn’t that how one always gets away? One escapes. One takes whatever route is open and gets out. The methods don’t matter.”

  “Sometimes they do.”

  “No, they don’t.” Her expression hadn’t changed, but her voice … she was begging, and I didn’t know what she was begging for. “Please, October, believe me. They don’t matter.”

  I looked at her. There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask, and years of history telling me I shouldn’t. Why should I care where she’d come from? She was my friend and my liege, and Sylvester loved her. And she sent me to my death.

  There were reasons to ask. There were reasons to keep my peace. Answers are bitter things, and once you get them, they’re yours and you can’t give them back. Did I want to know badly enough that I was willing to live with whatever answer she gave me?

  No. I didn’t. Swallowing hard, I said the first thing that came to mind: “Well, I guess that explains Raysel.”

  “Yes, it does. Blood will tell. I tried to pretend it wouldn’t, that we could change, but blood always tells. We carry the burdens of our parents.” She sighed, holding out her hand in an easy, imperious gesture. “My rose, if you would?”

  I considered arguing. Then I saw the look in her eyes, all bitter sorrow and broken resignation, and handed it to her without a word. She curled her fingers around the stem and heaved a deep, bone-weary sigh, closing her eyes as she whispered, “Hello, Mother.”

  The rose began gleaming like a star, getting brighter and brighter until everything was obscured save for Luna and the rose. There was a flash of black and silver light, burning pink around the edges like a sunset, and Luna was gone, replaced by someone I didn’t know.

  She was taller than Luna, with marble white skin and hair that darkened from pale pink at the roots to red-black at the tips. It fell past her knees, tangling in the rope of briars that belted her grass green gown. She looked like nothing I’d ever seen, and it hurt my heart until I stepped away from her, holding out my hands in the mute hope that I could push her away. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t mine.

  “Mother, please …” she whispered. The voice was still Luna’s.

  I bit my lip. “Luna?”

  The rose woman opened her eyes. They were pale yellow, like pollen. And then she was gone, leaving Luna standing in her place. Luna’s ears were pressed flat, and her tails were wildly waving. Blood ran between her fingers where the barbed thorns of the rose had broken her skin. They were long and wickedly sharp; I couldn’t see how I’d managed to avoid them.

  That was easy to answer: the thorns weren’t there when I held the rose, because it wasn’t intended for me. “Luna—”

  “She wasn’t trying to hurt me.” She walked to the nearest vase, tucking the bloody rose among the more mundane flowers with exquisite care. “She just forgets what I am these days.”

  “What are you?” I could taste her blood on the air, but it didn’t tell me anything that I could understand. Her heritage wasn’t Kitsune. It was nothing that I knew at all.

  She looked to me and smiled, sadly. “Who I’ve always been: Luna Torquill, Duchess of Shadowed Hills. I’m Kitsune, for all that I have a few more … unusual traits than most. I’m also my mother’s daughter, but I’m not as strong as she remembers me. Much of my strength is spent in staying as I am.”

  “What were you?”

  “Something else, when the world was younger and had more room for roses.”

  “Oh,” I said. What else was there? It made sense the same way everything in Faerie does: sideways and upside down, like looking in an underwater mirror.

  Luna lifted her wounded hand, studying it. “I paid for the right to bleed when something cuts me. Mother won’t understand that, and I can’t expect her to. It’s not in her nature.”

  “What isn’t in her nature?”

  “Bleeding.” She closed her hand.

  I looked at her, shivering, and said, “Now what?”

  “Now you take the rest of your children home.” She smiled wanly. “Sylvester and I will … we’ll make our peace. We’ll do what we can for the children staying here, and for Quentin’s lady love. There must be a way around what Father did to her. Spells can always be broken.”

  “All right,” I said, nodding. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Are you sure?” Her smile faded. “My father knows your name, and you’ve chosen Death for your driver. I’m sure she’s a sweet death, and one who wears your face most prettily, but she’s Death all the same. I’m sorry to be part of the reason that she’s here, but if you come back, it will be a miracle.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “As you say.” She looked down, watching the blood trickling down her fingers. “You should go. The day is waning.”

  I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I bowed and turned toward the door, shivering despite the warmth in the hall. Nothing was what it was supposed to be; I wasn’t sure I even knew who Luna was anymore. I certainly didn’t know who I was, and now I was going to die. The week just kept getting better.

  I stepped back into the mortal world, closing my eyes as the door swung shut behind me, trying to reorient myself. The shock of transition is always there when we move between worlds; just another little consequence of being what we are.

  For some reason I wasn’t surprised when I heard a familiar voice behind me, sounding amazed and a little frightened. It had been that kind of week. “That wasn’t you, was it?” I opened my eyes and turned to face Connor. He stared. “I saw your car, and you were with it, but you looked right through me. I thought you were mad, but you’re not, are you? That wasn’t you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Oh, there was a clever lie.

  “Of course not. Toby.”

  “Why are you calling me that?
” My voice sounded childish and shrill, even to my own ears.

  He shook his head, walking toward me. “Did you think losing a few years would fool me?”

  “I sort of hoped,” I said, shoulders sagging.

  “Wrong answer. I knew you when you were a kid, remember? You tried to drown me in your mom’s garden pond and got angry when I wouldn’t die. I used to spend hours watching you chase pixies in the hedge maze. I know you, October Daye, and you can’t hide from me.” He paused. “I’m sorry you feel like you need to. I don’t understand why.”

  “I don’t,” I said, reeling. I don’t need anyone to know me that well. “This wasn’t voluntary—the Luidaeg did it to me.”

  His eyes widened at the Luidaeg’s name, and he asked, “Why?”

  “She said she needed to.” If he wanted the details, he could damn well drag them out of me. I didn’t feel like sharing.

  “I see.” He looked at me for a moment, deciding not to press the issue. Smart boy. “So who’s the clone with the car?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “That’s May.”

  “She looks just like you.”

  “We’re sort of related.”

  “I didn’t think you had a sister.”

  “She’s not my sister.”

  “So who is she?”

  “My Fetch.”

  The world stopped as Connor stared at me, shock and terror warring for dominance of his face. Finally, voice barely audible, he said, “What?”

  “She’s my Fetch. She showed up just after you called this morning.”

  He swallowed hard before asking, “Is that why you didn’t eat anything at breakfast?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “You could have said something.”

  “I was in denial.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “Sorry. Next time Death decides to show up at my door, you’ll be the first to know.”

  He dropped to his knees with a barking sigh. I stepped forward to meet him, and we clung to each other like we could stop the end of the world, me on my tiptoes and Connor kneeling. Spike leaned against me, chirping as Connor buried his face in my hair and shuddered.

  “Don’t die,” he whispered. “Please, don’t die …”

  Funny—I shared the sentiment. I didn’t say anything, but I held him and let him hold me. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but it could help, for a little while.

  We let go of each other after a long while. Connor stood, asking, “Where are you going?”

  “I have to get the rest of the kids home.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  I paused, thinking about arguing, and then shrugged. If I was going to die and he wanted to be there, I wouldn’t stop him. “Fine. I do have one question, though.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to drive?”

  NINETEEN

  MAY MOVED TO THE BACKSEAT with surprisingly good grace, pausing to stage whisper, “He’s cuter than I remembered!” Connor heard her and turned beet red; May winked at him, grin broadening as I glared. If she hadn’t been my personal incarnation of death, I’d have smacked her. As it was, I was strongly tempted.

  Connor eyed May, saying, “Toby—”

  “I know, Connor.” I climbed into the car, fastening my seat belt. Spike jumped up onto the dashboard and chirped, thorns rattling.

  “Okay,” Connor said, settling in the driver’s seat and reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror. He paused before turning to look, disbelieving, into the back seat. “Uh, Toby? When did your car get this big?”

  Only the kids I’d originally gone to save were left—Jessica, Andrew, and the children from Tybalt’s Court. Most were sleeping, but Raj and Jessica were awake, eyeing him balefully.

  “The Luidaeg did it,” I said. “We needed the extra seats.”

  “Uh, yeah, I can see that. Where did you—”

  May poked her head back into the front, still grinning. “Look, big guy, I don’t mean to stress you out or anything, but you know we’re running on a time limit, right? We should probably make these drop-offs while Toby’s here to help.” In a weird way, she was saying what I would’ve said in her place. The faster we got the kids home, the sooner they’d be out of the walking blast radius that I’d become.

  Connor stiffened and turned his attention to the wheel, pulling out of the parking lot without another word. May withdrew to the backseat, fastening her belt, and there was silence. I didn’t mind it; if no one else was talking, I didn’t have to. There was nothing for me to say.

  We were halfway to San Francisco when I raised my head, blinking away tears, to find us at the base of the Bay Bridge. Connor was staring at the road, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. Maybe he hadn’t noticed my crying. Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of Faerie. I wiped my cheeks with vicious swipes of my hand, scowling. Damn it. I hate crying almost as much as I hate bleeding. They’re both signs of weakness, and I can’t afford either one.

  I caught a glimpse of the rearview mirror as I lowered my hand. There were half a dozen motorcycles on the freeway behind us, weaving in and out of traffic, never quite letting us out of their sight. That wouldn’t have bothered me—there are lots of motorcycle gangs in the Bay Area—but they were following us. And that wasn’t possible. When we left the Luidaeg, she cast a don’t-look-here spell on the car. She’s Maeve’s daughter. We should have been so hard to see that we could be in an accident without anyone noticing, and we were being followed. That meant that something was very, very wrong.

  Eyes narrowed, I whispered the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet. Connor gave me a worried glance. I held up my hand for quiet, the smell of copper and cut grass rising as I concentrated on the bikers. Their illusions wavered for an instant, revealing the outlines of horns and axes, and horses running where motorcycles had been an instant before. I hissed the next line, and their mirror images changed, becoming a line of dark horsemen riding their steeds at unnatural speeds down I-80. Great. California has its weird points, but homicidal faerie horsemen aren’t usually among them. Those were Blind Michael’s men.

  I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw a line of normal motorcycles. My enchantment was only affecting the mirror. “Connor?”

  Spike raised its head, following my gaze. Then it hissed, jumping from the dashboard and onto the back of the seat, thorns rattling. That confirmed it: I wasn’t seeing things.

  “What?” asked Connor.

  “Look in the mirror, would you?”

  He looked up, and froze. “Oh, dear.”

  “Yeah.” I turned back to the front. Most of the kids were sleeping, stretched out on seats that would have looked more natural in a school bus. At least the outside of the car looked normal. “Watch the road. I’ll figure out what to do next.”

  “Right,” he said, and turned his attention back to driving. His shoulders were stiff with obvious anxiety, but he was going to trust me. Good man.

  May looked up from braiding Jessica’s hair, frowning. “What’s going on?”

  “Be quiet, I’m thinking.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged, turning back to Jessica, who was sound asleep and snuggled between May’s knees. Andrew was watching them, sucking his thumb and leaning against a catnapping Raj. It would’ve been cute if the bikers hadn’t been closing rapidly. There were seven of them, and now that I was aware of what they really looked like, I could see the flickers in their disguises; they were being eroded by the iron in the bridge and the passage over moving water. Their illusions would probably shatter by the time we reached the other side of the bay, but by then it wouldn’t matter; they’d be too close, and they’d take us. I somehow doubted they’d stop just because they were exposed. Blind Michael wasn’t likely to care about what the mortals did or didn’t see. There were reasons for the Burning Times. If they ever come again, there’s going to be a reason for that, too.

  “Have we passed the Yerba Buena exit?” I had to stay calm as long as I co
uld; there was no point in starting a panic before I had to.

  “A little while ago,” said Connor.

  Great. Once you pass Yerba Buena, there are no more turnoffs before you reach the city; we were crossing the bridge whether we wanted to or not. “I’m starting to think that people attacking me on this damn bridge is becoming some sort of a trend.”

  “What?”

  “Hang on. I’m thinking.” How were we supposed to get out of this one? The last time someone tried to kill me while I was in a car, I drove through downtown like a madwoman until they were too disoriented to catch me. Sure, it got me shot, but I survived. That wasn’t an option this time; I was too short to work the pedals, and Connor drove like an aging grandmother afraid of breaking something. What are you supposed to do when you’re stuck on a bridge in a car full of kids?

  “Titania’s teeth,” I muttered.

  “Huh?” May stuck her head over the back of the seat, ignoring Spike’s hissing. “Wanna keep it down? Some of the kids are trying to sleep back here.”

  “Be quiet, May. We’re being chased.”

  “Really?” She turned to look out the back window. “Wow, we are. Hi, guys!” She waved to our pursuers, grinning. “Hi!”

  Andrew pulled his thumb out of his mouth and grumbled, “Noisy.”

  I privately agreed. “What are you doing?” I grabbed her arm, yanking it down. A few of the kids were stirring, rubbing their eyes and making grumbling noises. “They’re chasing us!”

  “I know—isn’t it cool? This is the first time I’ve been chased!” She leaned on her elbows, still grinning. “What happens if they catch us?”

  “We die!” I snapped. “Shut up and let me think!”

  “Fine.” May folded her arms over her chest, sulking. “Won’t let me wave, won’t let me drive, why do I even bother …”

  I stared at her. “What did you just say?”