An Artificial Night od-3

by Seanan McGuire

  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. Th
e 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.

  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 differe
nt 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.