An Artificial Night

SEVENTEEN

MAY ARRIVED ABOUT HALF AN HOUR LATER. Most San Francisco taxi drivers are barely this side of sane and drive like they expect scouts for the Indy 500 to be hiding on every corner. When you add that to their creatively broken English, you’ve created a taxi experience everyone should have once. Just once. Only once. Unless you’re in such a hurry that you’re considering grabbing the nearest Tylwyth Teg and demanding a ride on a bundle of yarrow twigs, wait for the bus. If that’s too slow for you, you may want to look into the local availability of yarrow twigs, because splinters in your thighs are less upsetting than taking a San Francisco taxi.

The Luidaeg answered the door in her customary fashion: she wrenched it open, snarling, “What do you want?” Then she froze, staring. Nice to see I wasn’t the only one who reacted that way. “What the fu—”

May waved, a grin plastered across her face. “Hi, I’m May. Is Toby here?”

The moment was almost worth the entire situation. I’d never seen the Luidaeg flustered before. It only lasted a few seconds before she narrowed her eyes. “Whatever you are, you’re not Toby.” Her voice was suddenly pitched low, and very dangerous. “You smell wrong. What are you?”

“I should smell wrong—I just doused myself in strawberry eucalyptus bath oil. It’s disgusting!” Her grin broadened. “Is Toby here? She told me to meet her here. This is the right place, isn’t it? You are the Luidaeg, aren’t you? You look like the Luidaeg …”

“Yes,” said the Luidaeg, not relaxing. “I am. Now who the hell are you?”

“I already told you.” May blinked, smile fading in confusion. “I’m May Daye.”

The Luidaeg stiffened. I stepped forward, putting my hand on her arm. “Luidaeg, wait.” Somehow I didn’t think letting her gut my Fetch would prevent my impending death. Pity. “She’s my Fetch.”

“What?” The Luidaeg turned to stare at me, eyebrows arching until they almost hit her hairline. There was something in her eyes that looked like fear. Why would the Luidaeg be afraid of my Fetch? May was there for me, not her.

“Fetch,” said May, cheerful as ever. My sudden second childhood didn’t seem to be bothering her. It wasn’t surprising her either. I really should’ve paid more attention when my mother taught me about Fetches. I knew May was created with my memories, but I didn’t know how much she’d know about what happened to me after she was “born.” “I’m here to escort her into the valley of the damned. Only first I’m going to give her a ride home. And maybe stop for Indian food.”

I smiled wearily. It was hard not to admire her enthusiasm, even if she existed because I was about to die. She’d go when I did, and I couldn’t have been that cheerful if I had that short a time to live. Oh, wait. I did have that short a time to live, and I wasn’t that cheerful. “Hi, May.”

“Hello!” she said, waving again. “Could you do me a teeny little favor?”

“What’s that?” I asked warily. Call me crazy, but I’m not big on granting my personal incarnation of death little favors, no matter how much I like her attitude.

“Tell me before you run off to get yourself killed, okay? It would really help me do my job.” She looked at me pleadingly.

How was I supposed to answer that? I struggled for a moment before settling for sarcasm. “Far be it from me to hinder your efforts to carry me off into the great beyond.”

“Great!” she said, grinning again. She was apparently invulnerable to sarcasm. Her smile faded as she realized that the Luidaeg was still blocking her way. “Um, can I come in?”

“Luidaeg?” The sea witch was looking between us, eyes narrowing. I could almost see her losing her temper. “Can she come in?”

“Sure,” she said, tone tight as she stepped aside. “I’m always glad to invite death into my home.”

“I’m not death,” said May, stepping into the hall. “I’m just part of the auxiliary plan.”

She obviously didn’t get my survival instincts when she inherited my memories. I would never have brushed the Luidaeg off like that, at least not if I wanted to keep my head attached to the rest of my body. “May—” I began.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “She can’t hurt me.”

“She’s right,” snarled the Luidaeg. The look in her eyes was more than angry—it was furious, and I suddenly wondered whether she’d be the one who killed me. “You’re her target. I can’t hurt her unless I do it by hurting you.”

I frowned, trying to conceal my worry. “So what, she can get away with anything?”

“Just until you die,” said May, in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring.

Rolling my eyes, I turned and walked back to the kitchen. May waved to the Luidaeg one more time and followed, staying close at my heels.

I should have thought about what would happen when I walked into the kitchen with my adult double, but I was tired and scared and worn down, and I didn’t even consider it. Most of the kids stayed where they were, huddled together and more than half-asleep. They’d never seen what I really looked like, and my former adulthood was just a story to them.

I have to give Quentin credit—his hands tightened on the back of Katie’s chair, but he didn’t move. He just waited for my signal, ready to attack or run on my command. The kid was learning. Jessica was less discreet. She looked up and screamed, shielding her head with her arms as she tried to hide behind Andrew. Katie jerked, the spell that was keeping her calm visibly weakening. The other children were awake and scrambling to their feet in an instant, eyes wide with panic. I ran across the room to Jessica, pulling her arms away from her head and making shushing noises. There’d been too much screaming already.

Andrew frowned at his sister and looked solemnly from me to May, taking his thumb out of his mouth. Jessica kept screaming, screwing her eyes shut until I slapped my hand over her mouth in exasperation. That got her attention. Her eyes snapped open, staring at me.

“Jessie, you need to calm down, please,” I said. “It’s okay. She’s not here to hurt us.” The screaming stopped, but her breathing didn’t slow. I took my hand away from her mouth and wrapped my arms around her.

Andrew studied me, then looked to May. “You’re not my auntie,” he said gravely.

May nodded. “You’re right.”

“She is,” he said, and pointed to me.

“Right again.”

“Okay.” He put his thumb back into his mouth. The discussion was finished: as long as May knew she wasn’t his aunt, he didn’t care whose face she wore. Sometimes I envy kids for the way they dismiss the things that don’t matter. They still get bogged down in details, but at least they’re different details.

Keeping my voice low, I said, “Jessica, this is my cousin May. She’s here to give us a ride home.” I don’t normally lie to kids, but somehow, I didn’t think telling them their rescuer was doomed to die soon was exactly going to help. “You want to go home, don’t you?” Jessica sniffled and nodded, clutching me more tightly. “That’s my good girl.”

The Luidaeg was leaning in the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed over her breasts. She was clearly doing a slow burn, almost radiating anger.

Letting go of Jessica, I straightened, saying, “Luidaeg?”

“Yes?”

“I need to get the kids home. But my car …”

“You want me to cast an expansion spell on that junk heap you insist on pretending is a car? Blood and thorn, Toby, when you decide to go into debt, you don’t screw around.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s done, and yes, it comes with a don’t-look-here to keep your idiotic ass out of sight. Now get the hell out.”

“Luidaeg …” I wanted to thank her, but it wasn’t allowed. Why aren’t things ever simple?

She smiled bitterly. “Just get out. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I’ll get everyone out of here,” said May with sudden, aggressive cheerfulness. Maybe she was smarter than I thought. She started gathering children out of the corners, herding them toward the door.

“Raj, Quentin, get Katie and Helen and go with May,” I said, keeping my eyes on the Luidaeg. They didn’t argue. Raj slid back to human form, and the kitchen was filled with scuffling, hisses, and whines for several minutes as they led the assembled children and cat-form Cait Sidhe into the hall. Spike got a running start, leaping first to the counter and then into my arms. I clutched it, glad for the contact. Spike hadn’t changed. I needed that.

When the kitchen was empty I said, “Luidaeg, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” The color bled out of her eyes as she looked at me, leaving them white and angry. The lines of her face had sharpened, becoming alien. She was losing her grip on her human shape, and that was a little scary. What had I said that upset her that much? “Why would you think anything was wrong, October Daye, daughter of Amandine? I swore I’d see you dead. It just looks like I was right.”

Oh, oak and ash, I hadn’t warned her about May. “Luidaeg, I—”

“Is that why you were willing to come to me? Because you already expected to die?” Her voice was rising. “I never took you for a coward. Now get out of my house.”

“Luidaeg—”

“Get out!” Her hands were curling into claws. I’m not stupid. I didn’t want to leave while the Luidaeg was mad at me—dangerous though she can be, I consider her a friend—but I also didn’t want her to kill me for pushing my luck. Keeping Spike clutched against my chest, I turned and ran into the hall, then out the door.

The sunlight was an almost physical shock. I stumbled, and the doorknob hit me in the side as the door slammed behind me. Spike jumped out of my arms, running to where it wouldn’t be hit if I fell. Then an arm slid under mine and Raj was there, holding me up.

“Clumsy half-blood,” he said, scornfully.

I smiled, hoping it would hide my panic. “Just pissing off the Luidaeg. No big.”

“Clumsy and stupid,” he said, with a note of respect in his voice. He let go of me, walking over to my car. May was leaning against the hood, and the children were inside. All the children. When the Luidaeg bends space, she doesn’t screw around.

You can fit four people in a VW bug if they’re friendly; you can manage five if you don’t need oxygen inside the car and six if no one cares about having feeling in their limbs. That’s it, period, you’ve reached the limit. I never got an exact count of the children I’d rescued from Blind Michael, but there were more than twenty, and all of them, except for Raj and Quentin, were in the backseat. I knew my car wasn’t big enough. My eyes were telling me it was.

Never argue with reality when it’s working for you. I walked over to open the passenger side door, saying, “Okay, everybody in.”

Quentin and Raj climbed into the back, Quentin pausing to squeeze my shoulder. I settled in the front, barely flinching as Spike jumped onto my lap with all claws extended. “Is everybody okay back there?”

There was a mumbled chorus of assent. May walked around and sat in the driver’s seat, fastening her seat belt. “Everyone buckled up?” The chorus mumbled again. “Good!”

I gave her a sidelong look as I fastened my own belt. “Worried about safety?”

“Yup. No one’s immortal.” She winked. I suppressed a shudder. “Where to?”

“Shadowed Hills.”

“Whatever you say, Boss!” She slammed the clutch back, and we were suddenly hurtling down the street at a speed fast enough to make me grab the dashboard and gape at her. Not being able to see through the windshield didn’t help. I’d forgotten how scary it is to be a kid in a car. You don’t know where you’re going, you don’t know how you’re getting there, and you don’t know whether you’re going to survive the trip.

May’s driving wasn’t helping. She didn’t turn the wheel; she attacked it, like she was wrestling snakes instead of steering the car. Some of the kids roused themselves enough to treat it like a roller coaster ride, cheering as we careened around corners and through stop signs. I just closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable crash.

Shadowed Hills is normally more than a thirty-minute drive from the Luidaeg’s place. I didn’t open my eyes until I felt the car bump to a surprisingly gentle stop, and even then I only looked up cautiously, half expecting to find us dangling over a ravine or something. Instead, we were parked in the Paso Nogal parking lot, well clear of any other cars.

May grinned, looking pleased with herself. “As requested, Shadowed Hills.”

“Peachy,” I said dryly, climbing out of the car and pulling the seat forward to let the others out. Quentin and Katie came first, the young Daoine Sidhe guiding his half-crippled girlfriend with almost painful care. She stumbled as she walked; her knees were trying to bend the wrong way. The changes were still accelerating. That scared me. That scared me a lot.

I stepped over and slid my arm under Katie’s, helping to hold her up. “Watch the kids,” I said to May, more sharply than I meant to. It wasn’t fair to blame her. That’s never stopped me before. “I’m going to help Quentin get Katie inside.”

“You don’t need to,” Quentin said. He sounded exhausted. Worse, he sounded broken. I wasn’t willing to accept that. No more losses, damn it. I wasn’t giving anyone else up.

“I want to,” I said. Katie leaned on my arm, still oblivious to her surroundings. Quentin finally nodded, and we started up the hill, guiding her along. Spike followed us, stalking along at my feet as we walked slowly into the trees.