An Artificial Night

TWENTY-THREE

KAREN WAS SITTING ON MY CHEST, and somehow, she didn’t weigh anything at all. “Aunt Birdie? Are you awake?”

“Karen.” I smiled. The landscape was a blur, like a half-finished watercolor. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m not, and neither are you. You have to come back; it’s important. I’m sorry, but it’s important that you wake up.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s time to finish things. You have to come back. You have to—”

Her face blurred, dissolving as someone began shouting. “Wake up, Toby! Damn it, girl, wake up!” The new voice was louder and more strident. Someone was shaking me.

I opened my eyes.

The Luidaeg was holding me by the shoulders. She had reverted to her normal human appearance, with freckles and coveralls and tousled black curls. Even her eyes were human, brown and ordinary. None of that was strange for her. It was the fear in her expression that was new.

“Luidaeg?” I said blearily. My head felt like it was wrapped in cotton. Whatever Lily dosed me with, it was strong.

“Yeah,” she said, letting go of my shoulders. “You’re at my place.”

“What?” I forced myself to sit up, squinting. I was on the Luidaeg’s couch, across from the room’s single dirt-streaked window. The curtains were open; I’d never seen them that way before. The room was usually lit by flickering bulbs and a sort of undefined glow, letting the shadows breed in the corners and pulse with an odd life of their own. Now, watery sunlight was chasing them away, making the mess on the floor a lot easier to see. The walls were black with grime, and patches of varicolored mold covered the couch.

A brightly colored, clean-smelling quilt was spread over my legs, so out of place that it was almost jarring.

“How did I get here?” I asked, looking at the Luidaeg.

“Lily sent you on the tidal path.” She shook her head, something of her customary smirk creeping into her face. “She seemed to think hanging out with your Fetch was a bad plan.”

“Lily!” I threw the quilt off my legs, trying to stand. It didn’t work. “She drugged us!”

“Yup,” agreed the Luidaeg. “Really got you good. Invoked Mom’s name and everything. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve heard that invocation? That’s the Undine equivalent of breaking out the good china.”

“But—”

“She wanted you away from your Fetch, and frankly, I think she was right.”

I stared at her. “But she drugged us.”

“That is no longer news, dumbass. Are you going to ask why she drugged you?”

“All right,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “Why?”

“Because, dear October, you’re the most passively suicidal person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. You’ll never open your wrists, but you’ll run head-first into hell. You’ll have good reasons. You’ll have great reasons, even. And part of you will be praying that you won’t come out again.”

Her words struck a little too close to home. “That’s not true,” I protested, weakly.

“Isn’t it?” She stood, moving to the window and looking out onto the street. “Faeries live forever. Humans don’t, but they know they’re going to die; it’s in their blood. Your blood doesn’t know the way, and I think you’re trying to teach yourself.” She shook her head. “You mean well, but you’ve never been all that bright.”

“What does that have to do with May and Connor?”

“Connor? Nothing. He was just in the way.” She looked back to me. “May, on the other hand, is pretty much the crux of the problem. She’s here, so you think you’re getting what you want. You think you get to die. Well, guess what? You can’t. We won’t let you.”

“Won’t let me do what?”

“Die.”

“That’s nuts.”

“Is it?” She turned and walked into the kitchen. I levered myself off the couch and followed. I was still wearing the red and purple robe; my knife was tucked into the belt. At least I wasn’t unarmed.

The Luidaeg was ramming unwashed dishes into a cabinet when I entered the room, the clattering punctuated by the sound of breaking china. She stopped when she heard my footsteps, but didn’t turn. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

“Katie’s still a horse. Can you fix her?”

“Not while my brother holds her. He didn’t let go just because you stole her.”

“And Karen—Karen! She’s still at Lily’s. I have to go back for her.”

“No, you don’t. She’s in my room.”

I paused. “She’s here?”

“That’s what I said. Poor kid must be exhausted. She’s been asleep since you got here.”

“Luidaeg, she’s been asleep since Blind Michael came.”

She dropped the plate she was holding, whipping around to stare at me. “What?”

“She won’t wake up.”

“Aw,fuck. You mean Lily wasn’t being obscure to piss me off?” She stalked into the hall. I followed. I’ve seen a lot of things since meeting the Luidaeg; some of them were even pleasant. But I’d never seen her bedroom, and considering the condition of the public parts of her apartment, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Still, if Karen was there, I needed to. I put my feet where the Luidaeg put hers as we walked down the hall, trusting her to know where it was safe to step. She stopped at the one door in the hall that was always closed, sighed, and pushed it open. “After you.”

I only paused for a moment before stepping through.

The room was dark, filled with shifting shadows too active to be natural. Behind me, the Luidaeg said, “Close your eyes,” and snapped her fingers before I had a chance to react. The candles clustered on every available surface burst into flame, flooding the room with light.

When the afterimages faded from my retinas, I blinked, looking around again. The candles filled the room with slow, heavy light that refracted off the six large fish tanks lining the far wall and threw ripples across the ceiling and the polished hardwood floor. Strange fish swam in those tanks, monsters of the deep with poison barbs and razored spines. A pearl-eyed sea dragon the length of my arm swam up to the glass, eyeing me balefully. The air smelled like seawater and brine.

An antique four-poster bed took up most of the wall next to the door. The frame was ornately carved with waves and seaweed and stylized mermaids, and the heavy black velvet curtains were drawn, hiding its contents from view.

“Luidaeg, this is—”

“Yeah, I know. I can’t keep up appearances everywhere; a girl has to sleep sometime.” She gestured toward the bed. “She’s in there.”

I stepped over to the bed, opening the curtains. Karen was lying there with sheets drawn up to her waist, unmoving. The blankets and pillows were a deep wine red, seeming almost bloody against her skin. She looked like a sleeping princess from a fairy story, small and wan and lost forever. Kneeling, I put my hand against her cheek and winced. It felt like she was running a fever, but there was no color in her cheeks; she was burning up without a flame, and her eyes were moving behind closed lids. Still dreaming. She’d been asleep for days, and she was still dreaming.

“Why won’t she wake up?”

“Hell if I know.” The Luidaeg sat on the edge of the bed, nudging Karen in the arm. When this failed to get a response, she nudged again, harder. “She’s really out of it.”

“I know that. Can you tell me why?”

“Not yet,” she said, leaning down and prying Karen’s right eye open. She peered into it, apparently looking for something, before leaning back and letting go. Karen’s eye closed again, but otherwise, she didn’t move. “Huh. How about that.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I balled my hands into fists, resting them against the bed. I hate feeling helpless almost as much as I hate bleeding.

“Could be a lot of things,” she said. “A curse, a hex, bloodworms, food poisoning—you got that knife of yours?”

“What?”

“Your knife. The one I know you carry. Do you have it with you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“Why?” The Luidaeg had a nasty tendency to cut things when she was armed, and frequently, that meant me. I didn’t think I could stop her by refusing to hand over my knife, but I had to ask.

She lifted her head. “Do you want to know what’s wrong with her?”

“Yes!”

“Then give me the knife. I don’t have the patience for your little games right now. This whole situation is pissing me off.”

Wordlessly, I pulled the knife out of my belt and handed it to her. Odd though it might seem, I trust the Luidaeg. I may not always approve of her methods, but I trust her.

She lifted Karen’s arm and paused. “I’m not a child killer. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said. “If I thought you were going to hurt her …”

“You’d challenge me and lose. You know it, I know it, but you’d still do it. Sometimes your sense of honor confuses the hell out of me.” She grinned. “All changelings are crazy.”

“Yes, we are. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to hurt her; I just need a little blood.” She slid the knife across Karen’s thumb. Blood beaded to the skin, the scent of it filling the air until it drowned out the salt water. “There we go.” Lowering her head, the Luidaeg pressed the cut to her lips in a bizarre parody of kiss it and make it better, and held that position, swallowing. Karen didn’t move.

The Luidaeg raised her head after several minutes, licking her lips. “Well, well, well. I see,” she said, and stood, dropping Karen’s hand. Her eyes had gone white. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” I asked, rising. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she said, licking her lips again. Her fangs showed when she spoke. “I’d have ripped your heart out of your chest and had it for a toy. It would’ve been a beautiful death.”

“I’m sure,” I said, shuddering. The Luidaeg seemed to like me, but that didn’t mean anything. “Let’s skip that for now.”

She shrugged, licking her lips a third time. “It’s your funeral. She’s an oneiromancer.”

“A what?”

“An oneiromancer, a dream-scryer. She sees the future—and probably the present—in her dreams.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The Luidaeg sighed. “You’re not getting it. Look, the brat can read the future in her dreams. That means she doesn’t have a very good connection with her body. You with me?”

“Yes …” I said. Karen was an oneiromancer? I’d heard of them, but never met one. Fortune-telling is a rare gift, and that’s a good thing; people who see the future don’t have the best connection to the present. They tend to say too much and wind up dead. Stacy comes from Barrow Wight stock; Mitch is part Nixie. Neither breed is known for seeing the future. Where the hell did this little curveball come from?

“Michael stole the others physically. Karen wasn’t in her body when the Riders came, so they took her to him a different way; they took her in her dreams.”

“What?” I stared at her. “How?”

“What you and your mother read in the blood is the self; it can be removed. Karen’s self isn’t anchored like yours or mine because of what she is. That’s what he stole.”

“Is that why she won’t wake up?” And why I see her when I dream?

Her expression hardened. “Yes.”

“Fine.” I stood, squaring my shoulders. “I’m going to get her back.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She crossed her arms. “It really is just like watching Daddy get ready to ride out and subdue another group of rioting idiots. Sword, shield, suit of shining armor, ingrained stupidity, and you’re ready to go.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Heroes, Toby, heroes. You’re all idiots—and don’t tell me you’re not a hero, because I don’t feel like having that argument tonight. You’ll need this.” She pulled my candle out of the air, dropping it into my left hand as she pressed my knife into the right. “You can get there and back by the light of a candle, after all. Trouble is, you’re off the Children’s Road. I can’t set you on it more than once. Against the rules.”

“So how am I supposed to get to Blind Michael?”

“Patience! Dad’s balls, they don’t teach kids any manners anymore. I should slaughter the lot of you.” She shook her head. “There are other roads.”

“How do I find them?”

“You’ve been on one of them before. The Rose Road.”

“What?” I frowned. “But I thought—”

“Luna sent you on the Rose Road the first time you came here, and that means you have the right to pass there. I can’t open it for you, but she can.”

Luna Torquill was one of the last people I wanted to deal with. I put the thought resolutely aside, nodding. “All right. I’ll ask her.”

“Little problem. It won’t be that easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“It starts now.” She snapped her fingers. My candle lit, burning blue-green. I felt the shock of the blood inside the wax waking up again. “When you leave this room, you’re on the road. You can get there and back by the candle’s light, but Lily didn’t do you any favors; it’s going to be harder now. The Rose Road has rules when you use it for more than just a shortcut.”

“What are they?”

“When you leave—and you’d better do it soon—don’t look back, no matter what you see or hear. You can take any help you find, but you can’t ask for it; it has to be offered.”

“So they’re the same as before. Got it. Anything else?” I asked sourly.

“Actually, yes.”

I sighed. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”

“I’m serious; this is important,” she said. “You have twenty-four hours, no more. If you can’t get there and back in that time, you won’t get there at all, and the Rose Road will be closed to you forever.”

“But—”

“That means more than you think it does. You can’t take the Old Road; the Blood Road would kill you; the Tidal Road is lost for anything bigger than bringing you to me. It’s this road or none, and you’d better go.” She crossed to a small wardrobe, opening it. “Lily thinks too much about appearances—you can’t go in what you’re wearing. Here.” She tossed me a sweater, a pair of black leggings and a belt with an attached sheath. “Get changed and get out.”

“Luidaeg, I—”

“Toby, do it.” Something in her expression told me not to argue.

Getting the robe off was easy. Getting the sweater on without dropping the candle or setting my hair on fire was hard, but after a few false starts, I managed to get everything in place. I straightened, shoving my knife into the sheath. “Now what?” I asked.

“Now you leave.” She pointed to the door. “Go that way. Now.”

“Are you—”

“When you reach Shadowed Hills, tell Luna to send the horse-girl to me. I’ll try to help.” She paused. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

“I—”

“Go!”

I backed away, stopping when my shoulders hit the wall. The Luidaeg folded her arms, glaring until I found the doorknob, fumbled it open, and backed out into the hall. The door slammed shut in my face. The hall seemed to stretch as I made my way to the front door, the shadows growing darker and harder to deny. I gripped my candle and kept walking. If I’d been the only thing at stake, I might have wavered, but it wasn’t just me. Stacy didn’t deserve to lose her daughter; Quentin didn’t deserve to lose his girlfriend. And I was going to get them back.

I was halfway down the hall when the screaming started, hitting a high, endlessly angry note, as pitiless as the sea. I shivered, but didn’t look back. I’m not Orpheus. I’m not that easy to trick.

The front door opened when I twisted the knob, and I stepped out into the cold air of the September night. I frowned, muttering, “There was sunlight inside …” Now time was screwing around with me, too. Just what I needed. I had twenty-four hours to get from downtown San Francisco to Pleasant Hill, break into Blind Michael’s lands, rescue Karen, and get out. All without cash or a car, when I wasn’t allowed to call for help. Right.

“Piece of cake,” I said, and started walking.

The universe doesn’t like to be mocked. I was halfway to the main road when I heard engines rev behind me. Mindful of the Luidaeg’s words, I didn’t look back; I just picked up the pace, scanning for a place to hide. Nothing was really presenting itself—the street was blank, empty of both cover and assistance. The engines got louder, and I broke into a run, forcing myself to keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead.

I made it almost two blocks before the motorcycles surrounded me, engines gunning with a sound that was suspiciously like the nickering of horses. The Riders grinned down at me from behind their visors, confident in their victory. There were three of them and just one of me, and there was nowhere left for me to run.