An Artificial Night

TWENTY-FOUR

“OH, OAK AND ASH,” I muttered, stepping backward. My candle apparently didn’t work the same way outside of Blind Michael’s lands, because it clearly wasn’t hiding me. The Riders had me surrounded, and even if I could make it to the Luidaeg’s place before they grabbed me, turning around would take me off the Rose Road. I was stuck.

Looking around, I said, “You know your timing sucks, right?”

The Riders laughed, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. They knew they had me.

That didn’t mean I had to go quietly. I drew my knife, falling into a defensive stance. “Come on, damn you,” I snapped. “I don’t have time to play. Come on!”

They were starting to look uneasy, glancing to each other and back to me. Blind Michael’s Riders weren’t used to prey that fought back. I thought about using that confusion against them, but dismissed the idea. They weren’t that confused, and I wasn’t that good.

“Come on!” I shouted. That did it. The engines revved with a sound like hoofbeats, and they were suddenly charging me. I held my ground. If I was lucky, they’d kill me.

The first Rider’s elbow hit me in the shoulder, sending me sprawling. My knife skittered out of my hand and into the gutter when I hit the ground, leaving me unarmed. I scrambled to my feet, and the second blow hit me in the side of the head, knocking me back down. I fell hard. When I tried to get up again, I couldn’t; my head was spinning, and black spots were blocking large portions of the landscape. I rolled onto my side and curled up, trying to minimize their target area while I waited to see whether my head would clear.

And a half-recognizable voice called, “Close your eyes!” from behind me. I listen to commands from the shadows, especially when I don’t have any other choice. I screwed my eyes closed, curling up even more tightly.

I didn’t see what came next. Most of the time, I’m glad of that fact. Then there are the times late at night when my mind tries to fill in the pictures that go with the sounds, and I wish I had seen what happened. It couldn’t have been as bad as the things I can imagine. It couldn’t.

Nothing could be that bad.

It began with a rising scream like a Banshee’s wail, but wilder and angrier. Then it cut off, replaced by the sound of smashing and the bloody softness of rending flesh. Screams and snarls filled the air. I lifted my head, and ducked again as a chunk of armor spun past me. Right. I couldn’t stand, and I couldn’t run;I was just going to wait quietly and hope that whatever was attacking the Riders didn’t want a side order of changeling for dessert.

The sounds cut off with a final furious roar, and everything was silent. I stayed where I was, eyes squeezed shut. Footsteps approached me, and I heard someone kneel.

“Here,” said Tybalt, sounding darkly amused. “Your knife.” A familiar hilt was pressed into my fingers. “You can open your eyes now.”

I did, raising my aching head until the King of Cats swam into view. His shirt was half-shredded, and he was covered in blood, but he didn’t look hurt. “We should go,” he said, offering his hand. “The rest of Blind Michael’s men won’t be very amused.”

“How did you—” I shoved the knife into its sheath, taking his hand and using it to lever myself off the ground. The motion made my head spin. Damn it. Just once, I’d like to be attacked without somebody trying to crack my skull.

“The Luidaeg called me,” he said. I must have stared, because he flashed a brief, genuine smile. “She said you weren’t allowed to ask for help. She, on the other hand, is welcome to ask for whatever she wants.”

“Did she actually ask?” I said, checking my candle to make sure it wasn’t damaged. The flame was still burning clean and blue, thank Oberon.

“No,” he replied. “Does she ever?”

“I guess not,” I said. “You just here to save my butt?”

“She seemed to think you might like an escort.”

I stared at him, pride fighting a brief, losing battle with my common sense. Did I want to admit that I needed help? Hell, no. Was I going to make it to Shadowed Hills if I didn’t? Probably not.

“Yeah,” I said, with a sigh. “I could use one.”

He chuckled, and the hair on the back of my neck rose in an entirely different way. “Sometimes, you are entirely too proud. I’m not trying to get you back into my debt, you realize. You saved the children of my Court. I’m glad to have a chance to help.”

“I …” I stopped, not sure what to say. Tybalt was my enemy, damn it; we sniped and argued and held each other in debt. We didn’t do favors. He shouldn’t offer to help me without any strings attached. It wasn’t right. And he definitely shouldn’t smile while he made the offer. Because if we weren’t going to be enemies anymore, I didn’t know what we were. Slowly, I asked, “You’ll get me there?”

“If I can. You need me. Every minute you waste is a minute you can’t afford.”

He had me there. “Fine,” I said. “You can help me.” I was trying to make it seem like I was doing him the favor. It made me feel better, even though we both knew it was a lie.

“Good.” He rose and started walking, forcing me to follow or be left behind. My head was spinning, but I found that if I kept my eyes on him, I could move in a straight line. That was a good sign. I wasn’t having any trouble walking; that was another good sign. If we kept collecting good signs, I might reach Shadowed Hills alive.

We’d gone almost a mile when Tybalt stopped and sniffed the air, stiffening. I glanced at my candle, reassured to see that it was still burning a clean blue. “Tybalt, what’s—”

“Shhh,” he hissed. “Something’s coming.”

“Where?” I peered down the street. There was no one there, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything: if Tybalt said something was coming, he meant it. “Tybalt—”

“I think it’s time to consider running,” he said, grabbing my free hand.

“What?”

“Run!” He bolted, hauling me with him. I stumbled but forced myself to ignore the sickening jouncing of the landscape all around us. Finally I just squeezed my eyes shut and ran blind, letting him guide me through the dark.

I could hear them around us as soon as my eyes were closed. The air came alive with hungry, panting sighs and the shrill cries of the monstrous children from Blind Michael’s halls. The Riders weren’t working, so the bastard was trying something new. He’d unleashed the only hounds he had—the children nobody had saved.

We ran until my legs buckled under me and I fell, nearly yanking my hand out of Tybalt’s. He paused long enough to grab me and swing me up into his arms before he started running again, faster than before. I huddled against him, gasping for air. The sounds of pursuit were getting dimmer: we were outrunning them, at least for now.

“Keep your eyes closed and don’t open them, no matter what,” he said next to my ear, in a surprisingly steady voice. “We have farther to go this time, and it may hurt. Do you understand?” I forced myself to nod. If he was in danger it was my fault; I had to do what he asked me to do. It might get us through alive.

“Good,” he said. “Now hold your breath.”

I barely had time to breathe in before the world turned to ice. I kept my eyes shut, forcing myself to count backward from one hundred. The air kept getting colder as Tybalt ran, reaching temperatures I hadn’t known were possible. How cold could shadows get? Ice was forming in my hair, and my lungs were starting to ache. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on.

My grip on Tybalt’s arm tightened, and he said, sounding strained, “Hold on. We’re almost there—”

The air warmed so suddenly it was like someone had flipped a switch, and Tybalt stumbled as he made the transition from shadows to solid ground. I opened my eyes, blinking ice from my lashes. We were in an alley, and judging by the buildings around us, we were somewhere in Oakland, at least thirty miles from where we’d started. And we were alone. That was an improvement.

“Toby, if you don’t mind, I need to put you down,” he said. His voice was shaking. I looked up and winced. He looked like a man who’d just run a relay race through hell.

“Of course,” I said.

He lowered me to the ground. I sat, sticking my head between my knees. My body was telling me in no uncertain terms that it wanted a chance to stop and be violently ill. I’m usually willing to listen to the things my body tells me, but unfortunately, it doesn’t have a very good sense of impending doom. I was alone in an alley with the King of Cats, waiting for Blind Michael’s minions to swoop in and kill us. It wasn’t a good time to be sick. I ordered my stomach to behave itself, hoping it would listen.

Tybalt padded to the mouth of the alley, head cocked as he scanned the street for signs of danger. I stayed where I was, trying not to pant. My lungs were almost as angry as my stomach; they wanted air, and they wanted it now. Still, I was okay with letting Tybalt take care of us. I could let him watch my back. I love Stacy and Connor. I wouldn’t trust them to keep me alive. I need people like Tybalt for that.

I paused, stiffening. The Luidaeg knew where I’d taken the kids, and Blind Michael was her brother. How deep did their ties run? Was it deep enough that he’d leave her alone? I knew he wanted me—I had plenty of proof of that—but would he go after her if he thought it would bring his lost children back? The Luidaeg is one of the biggest, meanest people I know. That didn’t mean Blind Michael couldn’t be bigger. Or meaner.

I didn’t hear Tybalt come back until his hand clamped down on my shoulder. If he’d been one of Blind Michael’s men, it would’ve been too late to run. Ah, the joy of total exhaustion. I jumped, and he smiled wearily as he sat beside me, leaving his hand where it was.

“You’re hurt,” he said, in a disapproving tone.

“I guess,” I said. There was a suspicious dampness on the back of my neck. My vision had returned to normal, so I wasn’t thinking concussion. Quite. “It’s nothing major.”

Tybalt took his hand off my shoulder and slid it through my hair. I bit my tongue, holding back a yelp as his fingers found every scrape and abrasion my battered scalp had to offer. “Nothing major?” he asked, pulling his hand away. Blood covered his fingertips. “When the night-haunts come for you, should I tell them to go away because it’s nothing major?”

“That’s not fair,” I said, gritting my teeth against the pain. The blood on his hand wasn’t helping. I hate the sight of my own blood.

“Since when has fair had anything to do with us?” he asked, and stood, picking me up in the process. I found myself supported against his chest with my legs pinned under his arm before I had a chance to react.

“Hey!” I protested. “Put me down!”

He blinked, almost smiling. “We need to reach Shadowed Hills before the Hunt finds us. I followed your scent across the city. Do you think Blind Michael’s men are any less skilled? I have an advantage—I have a certain familiarity with your scent—but they’ll find us.”

“So we need to move. I get that.” It was hard to move with him holding me like that. If nothing else, it was distracting as all hell.

“We need to move quickly.”

“That doesn’t mean I need to be carried!”

“Doesn’t it? Would you rather walk?”

I paused. Shadowed Hills was a thirty minute drive from Oakland, and as far as I knew, Tybalt didn’t drive. That meant he was probably planning on getting us there some other way. Even healthy, most of his roads would’ve worn me out. Wounded and exhausted, well …

Right. “Fine. Let’s go to Shadowed Hills.”

“Good girl,” he said, adjusting his grip. “Close your eyes, hold your candle close, and take the deepest breath you can. This time will take a little longer.”

“Define ‘a little.’ ”

His smile grew. “Just trust me.”

There was nothing I could say to that, and so I simply nodded.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and I closed them, clutching my candle. Not dropping me was Tybalt’s responsibility; not dropping the candle was mine. I felt him back up, getting a running start, and leap toward what I knew was actually a solid wall.

We never hit the stone. The world turned cold around us, existence reducing itself to the circle of Tybalt’s arms and the hot wax dripping on my hands. I kept my eyes screwed shut, holding my breath until I thought I would choke on it. Spots were dancing behind my eyes; I couldn’t possibly hold my breath any longer. How long did he expect me to go without air? Of course, he was the one doing the running. How far could he go before he fell down?

I forced myself not to breathe, nestling farther down in his arms and trying to let the rhythm of his body keep me calm. It wasn’t working. Everything was dark and cold, and ice was forming in my hair. Lines of frost ran down my lips and cheeks. And Tybalt kept running.

The darkness would never end, and this was worse than stupidity; it was suicide. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer even if I wanted to. I let the air out of my lungs in a great rush, preparing to breathe in—

—and we broke out into the light. There was no time to catch myself as Tybalt stumbled and fell. I hit the ground hard, rolling several feet to the right before I opened my eyes.

The air was filled with the glow of pixies and the brighter light of tiny lanterns. It looked like multiple flocks had gathered in the trees above us, all of them twirling in an intricate aerial reel. I blinked, and then grinned as I realized what they were doing. It was almost Moving Day, and they were celebrating as they prepared. On All Hallows’ Eve they’d all take wing at once, finding a new place to call home for the dark half of the year. Moving Day is a beautiful sight. My mother used to bring me to the mortal world to watch it.

I stayed on my back until I could breathe again, just watching the pixies. When my lungs stopped aching I sat up, turning to Tybalt with a smile. “Hey, Tybalt, I guess you … Tybalt?”

He hadn’t moved. I crawled toward him, clutching my candle in one hand, and shook his shoulder. “Tybalt?” There was no reaction. I shook harder and grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse.

There wasn’t one.

He wasn’t breathing.