An Artificial Night

FOURTEEN

QUENTIN CROUCHED AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST, staring at the plains like he expected them to rise up and attack at any moment. Considering everything that had happened so far, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had. My candle was in his right hand; the flame was burning a soft green that shifted to a cobalt blue as I approached. Apparently it also reacted when allies came closer—good to know.

He was so fixated on the horizon that he didn’t hear me coming. I put my hand on his shoulder, saying, “Quentin.” He jumped back to his feet but managed not to scream as he whirled to face me. Good; he was learning.

Folding my hands behind my back, I grinned. “Hi. Miss me?” Spike chirped a greeting, rattling its thorns.

“I—you—I—” he gasped.

“Yes, I snuck up on you, and you let me get away with it,” I said, trying to conceal how glad I was to see him alive and unharmed. “If I was something hostile, you’d be dead by now. Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Now give me back my candle.”

He stared at me, eyes wide, before flinging his arms around me and hugging me so tight I was afraid he’d break something. Like my neck. “Whoa! Quentin, hey, come on, let go—”

“I thought you were dead!” he wailed. “You fell down, and then that woman came out of the woods, and I tried to follow you, but the trees kept closing in, and I couldn’t see—”

“Oh, Quentin.” I wrapped my arms around him as well as I could, given our relative sizes, and I held him until the shaking stopped. “It’s okay. I was scared, too.” He was a brave, cocky, annoying, headstrong kid that had been through a lot with me, but he was still a kid. If he needed a few minutes to calm down, he could have them. Even if I had told him to stay at home.

Eventually he pulled away, wiping his eyes. I looked at him, asking, “You okay?” When he nodded, so did I. “Good. What happened? How did you get away?”

“Once you gave me the candle, it was like they didn’t see me anymore.”

“Good. That means the Luidaeg’s spell doesn’t just cover me; if anything happens, you can take the candle and get home.”

“Not without you,” he said stubbornly, “and not without Katie.”

“Right,” I said, smothering a sigh. There’s nothing more stubborn than youth, with the possible exception of old age. “Still, it’s good to know that you can, if it’s necessary.”

“Are you hurt? You were hurt. I saw.” Quentin twisted around to look at my leg, using the movement to cover his clumsy change of subject. I decided to let it go as I snatched the candle out of his hand. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” I said. “It’s my candle, and I’m fine. Acacia healed me.”

“Acacia?”

“The one you saw carry me away. She healed me and told me where to find you.”

“But why?”

“So we could save the others. Come on. If we follow the trees for a bit, we’ll have a better shot at getting across the plains without being seen.” I started walking, hoping the activity would be enough to kill the conversation, at least for now. If he questioned me too deeply I might tell him what I’d learned about Luna, and that really wasn’t mine to share.

Whatever Acacia was, I knew enough to be worried. I knew she was Firstborn; she was old, possibly as old as the Luidaeg; and she called one of my best friends daughter. The implications of that hurt my head. I tried to remember what little I knew about Luna’s past—where she came from, who she was before I knew her. There wasn’t much. Popular legend says she was waiting when Sylvester came to establish the Duchy of Shadowed Hills, already tending her roses. When he arrived, she smiled and said nothing more complex than “you’ll do.” They were married the day the knowe was opened.

Was there anything else? She’d mentioned her parents once or twice, but she’d never said anything specific about her past. It was always just “I was the youngest, the others were grown when I arrived” or “my mother taught me about roses.” She’d never mentioned Japan, not once, even though the Kitsune were born there. She wasn’t fully Japanese, either; Luna was the only half-Caucasian Kitsune I’d ever seen. Lily served a perfect tea service, but Luna never did. She served rose wine, yes, and milk with honey, but never tea.

“Maeve’s bones,” I muttered. “She never had to lie.”

“What?”

I looked over my shoulder. “Nothing. Just plotting the things I’m going to say to the Luidaeg when we get home.”

“Oh,” he said, drawing up alongside me. “Yeah.”

We walked in silence for a while before I said, “What did she charge you?”

“Charge me?” he asked, sounding too innocent.

“Yes. Charge you.” I kept walking. “The Luidaeg never works for free; I don’t think she can. You said you’d do what I told you to if I let you stay, and I’m telling you to answer me. How did you find her, and what did you pay her?”

“Oh.” The candlelight played across his cheek and forehead, turning him into a ghost out of someone else’s memory. Not mine. For that moment, he wasn’t mine. “I followed you when you left Shadowed Hills.”

“You followed me? How? You don’t drive.”

“I swiped your spare car key while you were on the phone.” He had the good grace to look embarrassed, ducking his head as he said, “I hid in the backseat and cast a don’t-look-here to keep you from seeing me.”

I stopped to stare at him. “You hid in my car so I’d take you to the Luidaeg?” I demanded, following the question with, “You stole my car key?” I wasn’t sure which was pissing me off more.

“Pretty much,” he said, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

“You realize how stupid that was, right?”

“I figured it out. But I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Quentin. I told you I’d take care of it.”

“You didn’t even care that I love her! How was I supposed to trust you to bring her home?” He looked at me, expression pained. “I had to.”

“Quentin …”

“I know you’re a hero. Does that mean no one else gets to even try?”

“I’m not a—”

“You can deny it. I don’t care. Do you even care anymore about what happens? Or are you just here because you think you have to be?”

“Quentin, are you seriously standing with me in the middle of Blind Michael’s realm and asking if I care? Because if you are, you need serious help.”

“Do you really want to know what she charged me?”

Narrowing my eyes, I nodded. “Tell me.”

“Fine.” His face was filled with a grim determination that I recognized even as I tried to reject it. “I get out with you. Not before, not after; with.” He paused before adding, more softly, “Not without.”

I stared at him. “That isn’t funny.”

“I’m not kidding. That was the price for her showing me how to follow you. She gave me my passage in, but I don’t get out without you. You’re my ticket home.” His chin was set, making him look very young, and very scared. “I’m on the Children’s Road, just like you, but I don’t have a candle. I have to make it home by the light of yours.”

“Oh, root and branch.” I stared at him, fighting to keep my hands from shaking. “That’s what you agreed to? That’s what you paid?”

“That’s what she asked for,” he said. “I didn’t have anything else.”

“So you came to save Katie without knowing whether or not I was alive.”

“And because you needed me.” He looked at me, expression an odd combination of determination and hope. “You do need me, you know.”

I paused, and then nodded, slowly. “You’re right. I need you.” I offered him my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.” After a moment, he slid his hand into mine, squeezing my fingers. I smiled at him, and we turned together, stepping out of the shadow of the woods.

And then we stopped, staring.

The landscape had shifted, but the changes weren’t apparent until we left the shelter of the trees. The mountains were barely a half mile away, glowing purple-gray against the sky. I could see the rough shapes of Blind Michael’s halls scattered around the base of the mountain like abandoned building blocks. They all seemed to have shattered walls or broken turrets, outward signs of their decay.

Quentin’s fingers tightened on mine as he asked, “Is that—?”

“It’s Blind Michael’s place,” I said. “Come on.” I took note of the location of the one solid building—it would make a good prison—and then we started across the plains.

I never want to have another hour like the one that followed. We crept across the ground like invading soldiers, trying to stay low. The light of my candle offered some protection, but I didn’t know if it could cover us both, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen if we pushed it too far. Spike raced ahead in a blur of gray and green, waiting behind each new obstacle until we caught up. Quentin had taken the first steps toward knighthood in Sylvester’s Court; he knew how to be silent and patient. My training has been less formal, but it’s had a lot of the same results, and I can keep my peace when I need to. Somehow, trying to hide in plain sight in the lands of a mad Firstborn was really driving that need home.

We stopped when we reached the walls of the first building, sliding behind a pair of water barrels and sinking to the ground. The wall was hot, like there was a fire-place behind it. “All right; here’s the plan,” I said, voice pitched low. “The kids are in one of these buildings. We find them, we grab them, and we go.”

“And Katie?”

“Katie …” Getting her first might be the easiest way; she wouldn’t be with the others, so we could hide her in the woods while we went back for the others. If she would stay hidden. Terror is an unpredictable thing, and Katie was human. She had less experience with monsters than her fae counterparts.

Katie’s humanity raised another issue. The twisted children I’d encountered said the human children would be ridden and changed, becoming horses. If she wasn’t herself, I didn’t want Quentin to see her until we’d already done everything else we had to do. “We may have a problem there.” When his eyes widened, I raised my hand, saying, “I need you to stay calm while we go over this, okay?” He nodded. “Okay.”

Lowering my hand, I explained what I’d seen during my brief time as one of Blind Michael’s captives—and what they’d said to me. Quentin’s eyes narrowed as I spoke, and when I finished he asked, coldly, “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Because there wasn’t time. I’m sorry, and you can hate me if you want, but even if I’d told you before, it wouldn’t have changed where we wound up, which is here, needing to rescue all of the captives. All right?” He nodded, reluctantly. “Okay. We go for the others first.”

That was the wrong thing to say. He sat bolt upright, quivering with fury. “We aren’t abandoning her just because she’s human! We—”

“Be quiet!” I hissed. “We need to go for the others first because there are more of them, and they’re a lot less likely to be traumatized by all of this. You said yourself that Katie doesn’t know about the fae. How do you think she’s handling this?” He sagged, expression going bleak, and I nodded. “Exactly. We get the others first, because they might be able to help us find her, and if not, at least they’re less likely to make things more difficult.”

“Fine,” he muttered.

“Hate me later,” I said. There’d be time to worry about Katie after we found the other children—but that was the real problem. How were we supposed to find them? I turned the candle over in my hand, muttering, “You can get there and back by the candle’s light …”

“Toby?”

“Just thinking out loud about how we do this. We don’t want to open the wrong door.”

“No,” he agreed. Neither of us wanted to see what skeletons Blind Michael might be keeping in his closet.

I shook my head. “There has to be a way to find them. Blind Michael has to play fair.”

“Why?” Quentin frowned. “What’s going to make him?”

“The rules. This is a kid’s game, and they’re always fair—that’s what makes them worth winning.” I turned the candle again. “There has to be a way.”

“Oh.” He sighed. “I don’t really hate you.”

“I know.” I paused, eyes widening as I stared at the candle. The game was fair. The game had to be fair. “Hang on a second.”

“What?”

Shushing him, I raised the candle. The Luidaeg used my blood to create it, and it sang to me. More and more, I’ve been finding that most of my strength is in my blood; there had to be a way for me to use it. Everything in Blind Michael’s lands seemed to be based off broken, childish logic, all doggerel and jump rope rhymes. If the rhyme said that I could get there and back by the light of a candle, I probably could, as long as it was the right candle. It was the only lead I had. I might as well try taking it.

“How many miles to Babylon? I fear we’ve lost our way,” I chanted, ignoring Quentin’s quizzical look. “Can we get there and back by the candle’s light …” I tapered off, cursing inwardly. Rhyming has never been one of my strengths.

“Before the break of day?” Quentin finished, putting his hand over mine. I flashed him a grateful look as the flame changed colors, going from blue to a hot amber gold.

That wasn’t the only change. Runnels of wax began dripping down the sides, streaking the previously smooth surface. There was no actual blood, but I could feel the tingling burn of blood magic taking hold around me. “That’s our cue,” I said, standing. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“If this is working, to the kids.” And if it’s not, I added silently, straight to hell.

The flame brightened as we raced from building to building, trying to outrun the wax and our unseen pursuers at the same time. The flame dwindled whenever we took a wrong turn, guiding us along and consuming wax at a frightening rate. We ran until I wasn’t sure I could run anymore, and I was about to call for a stop when the flame flared, turning blue again. I skidded to a halt. Quentin wasn’t quite as fast; he caught himself on my shoulder, nearly knocking us both over. “Hey!” I protested. “Remember, you’re bigger than I am!”

“Sorry,” he said, straightening. “Why did you stop?”

“I think we’re here.” I gestured toward the nearest door. It was made of rough wood shoved into a badly assembled frame, and the walls around it were more intact than those of the other buildings. The wax had stopped melting. I was taking that as a good sign.

“Now what do we do?”

“We break in. Here, hold this.” I handed him the candle and turned to examine the door. Just for fun, I tried the handle. It was locked. I hadn’t expected anything else. Drawing my knife, I inserted it into the keyhole and twisted until it had gone as deep as it would go.

“What are you doing?” asked Quentin.

“Hang on.” Devin had taught me a lot of things, including opening locked doors. He said I was one of the best students he’d ever had. I jiggled the knife a bit more, getting it exactly where I wanted it, and smacked the pommel with the heel of my hand. The lock gave way, leaving the door to swing easily open.

Quentin gaped. I stood, shoving the knife back into my belt, and reclaimed the candle. “One of the many skills you can learn from a wasted youth,” I said and stepped inside.

The room was dark and square, filled with rustling noises and small, huddled shapes that seemed to be trying to crawl into the walls. I held the candle up in order to see what they were, and a small voice from the back of the room asked, “Toby? Is that you?”

Oh, thank Maeve; we were in the right place. “Raj?” I called back. “Come on out, kiddo. It’s me.”

The shadows rustled again, resolving into children. They were clinging to each other, obviously terrified, and I couldn’t blame them. One stepped forward, holding his head high as he tried to look like he hadn’t been afraid. I lowered the candle to keep the light from hurting his eyes, but even in the dimness, it was impossible to miss the bruises covering his face and shoulders. The Hob he’d escaped with before was leaning on his arm, limping; she looked like she’d been beaten worse than he had.

Raj stopped, looking at me gravely. “October. You came.”

“I came,” I said. Quentin stayed silent behind me, watching.

“Auntie Birdie? Is that really you?” The voice was soft and anxious, like it expected to be silenced at any moment. I froze. Jessica has always been one of the most confident children I’ve ever known. Hearing her sound like that …

Blind Michael was going to die. There wasn’t another option.

“Yeah, baby,” I said. “It’s me.”

That was all the confirmation she needed. Jessica came running out of the back of the room, towing Andrew along with her, and flung her arms around me. My height—or lack thereof—didn’t seem to matter; I’d said the right words. She buried her face against my shoulder, sobbing, “I was so scared.”

“I know, baby,” I said, stroking her hair with my free hand. I looked down at Andrew, who had switched his grip from Jessica’s arm to my belt. “You okay?”

“We gonna go home now?” he asked. “No more bad mans?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We’re going home. We’re all going home.” I looked up, asking Raj, “How many of you are there?”

“Many,” he said, not even trying to hide his exhaustion. “Five from my uncle’s Court, and more that I don’t know.”

“There’s at least twenty, Auntie Birdie,” Jessica whispered. “They’re real scared.”

Oh, root and branch. My bargain with Blind Michael only covered my kids; that was all he’d promised me. And there was no way in hell I could leave the others behind.

“Everyone get up and come on,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”

Children are children whether or not they have pointed ears, and sometimes the illusion of authority is all they need. They broke away from the walls and walked toward us, sniffling and crying as they came. Jessica was right; there were more than twenty of them, a mixed bag of changelings and purebloods. They were alone, and justifiably terrified of what was going to happen. I couldn’t have left them behind if I wanted to.

“Quentin, Raj, each of you take a group of about ten,” I said, looking to the two who seemed least likely to fall apart. “I’ll take care of the rest. Spike, keep an eye out for guards, okay?” The rose goblin rattled its thorns and leaped from my shoulder, streaking out of the hall.

That was the only real precaution I could take. Offering a silent prayer to any gods who might have time to listen to a changeling who didn’t know when to quit, I turned and led our motley group out into the shadows of Blind Michael’s artificial night. If we were lucky, we’d live to see another dawn.