An Artificial Night od-3

by Seanan McGuire

  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 breathi
ng.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “TYBALT! DAMMIT, TYBALT, WAKE UP!” I dropped my candle, grabbing his shoulders with both hands and shaking him. “You can’t die! I won’t let you!”

  The ice in my hair was melting down my face in cold lines, but it didn’t matter, because Tybalt wasn’t breathing. One of my elbows was scraped from falling out of his arms, and that didn’t matter, because Tybalt wasn’t breathing. I shook him again. “Tybalt, no. You can’t …”

  Couldn’t what? Die? Why not? There was nothing stopping him. Couldn’t go away and leave me here alone? Maybe.

  “Wake up, damn you!” I clamped my hand over his nose and my mouth over his own, trying to force air into his lungs. I couldn’t tell whether or not it was making a difference, so I just kept doing it, blowing in and forcing the air out again by beating my fists against his chest. “Wake up!”

  It wasn’t working. I collapsed against him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and sobbing. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. Tybalt wasn’t supposed to die some stupid, pointless death he’d have avoided if it wasn’t for me. Raj would inherit early, and it was my fault.

  Dozens of pixies dropped out of the trees and landed around us, folding their chiming wings and patting me sympathetically. I ignored them, curling more tightly against Tybalt.

  “This isn’t fair,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he rasped. “It seems like a nice bargain to me. I risk life and limb to bring you here, and you beat me up and cry all over me.”

  “Tybalt!” I shoved myself upright, staring at him. He was watching me, smiling, and while he was pale, he was also breathing. “But you—you were—”

  “They tell a lot of stories about cats, don’t they?”

  “What?”

  “They say we have nine lives.” He levered himself into a sitting position, giving me time to move away. I did, but not far; I wasn’t letting go just yet. “There’s a sort of truth in that.”

  “How?” I asked. Inside, I was screaming and crying and demanding answers. Outside, I could wait. He was alive. That was enough.

  “Kings and Queens of Cats are hard to kill. Things that would kill our subjects, or us, before we were crowned, they can take us down, but we come back.” He had reached up at some point and was idly toying with a strand of my hair. I didn’t pull away. “Only so many times, though. Not nine. It would be more than my life is worth to tell you the real number.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh. Hush. I’m all right; you didn’t kill me. Although Juliet would be happy if you did, since it would give her an excuse to kill you.” His smile didn’t waver. “You have a talent for alienating people, you know that? You don’t mean to, but you manage all the same.”

  “Tybalt, I’m—”

  “Don’t make excuses; we’re better than that.” He pulled his hand away from my hair. “Go. We’re in the park that hosts Shadowed Hills. You can still do whatever needs to be done.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine. Sore, but fine. Now go.”

  I stood, uncertainly. He started to close his eyes. “Tybalt?”

  “Yes?” A note of irritation crept into his tone as his right eye finished closing, leaving him squinting at me out of the left.

  “What did you mean before? When you said you knew I didn’t lie to you?”

  “Ah.” The sound was half exclamation, half sigh. He closed his left eye, lips curving in a smile. “You’ve told me certain untruths, little fish, and it was important that I know the reasons. Now I know that you didn’t know any better, and we can proceed.”

  “What—”

  “If I tell you, you’ll call me a liar, Toby. No. I’m not trying to play the riddler, but no. If you want these answers, you’ll need to find them yourself. I hope you will. Now go.” He yawned. “I’m tired. Coming back from the dead takes a great deal out of a man.”

  I stared at him. He saved my life and I got him killed, and now all he could do was make vague pronouncements and tell me to go away? Fine. I bent to retrieve my still-burning candle, trying not to look at him. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “I hope so,” he said, simply.

  More confused than ever, I started walking. I couldn’t look back. The Luidaeg’s rules didn’t allow it.

  Pixies swarmed around me as I trudged up the hill, chasing each other through a series of complex airborne acrobatics. I bit back a smile. Pixies aren’t very smart—they’re like spider monkeys with wings—but they mean well, when they’re not attacking people at random. They’re tricky, thieving vermin, and that’s part of why I like them so much.

  There were no humans in the park. It was too late in the year and too late at night; sunset emptied the safety out of their world, sending them scurrying home. There were too many shadows for them. After all, dark is when the monsters come. Normally, that doesn’t bother me much, but this wasn’t a normal situation. I needed to get into the knowe. What little safety I had was in the dubious comfort of the Luidaeg’s hospitality, and I’d left her behind to chase her crazy baby brother. I was really bat-ting a thousand.

  Getting into Shadowed Hills requires a series of twists and turns that would embarrass some circus performers. If the Torquills have any sense at all, they keep a closed-circuit camera system filming the door at all times. Not for security reasons but for the entertainment value. The pixies scattered as I climbed dutifully through my paces, laughing as they went. Maybe they weren’t entirely stupid.

  The door in the old oak appeared as I squirmed out from under the hawthorn bushes. I yanked it open, stepping through into Shadowed Hills. And then I stopped, blinking. The oak door usually leads to the entrance hall, and well … this wasn’t it.

  The floor was grass green marble, and the walls were blue, gradating up to a ceiling patterned with puffy white clouds. The furniture was overstuffed and soft looking, with no hard edges. The whole room seemed to be built on a smaller scale than I was used to. I’d found the Children’s Hall.

  I sank awkwardly into the nearest chair, giving my knees a rest as I considered the room. I hadn’t seen the Children’s Hall since my own childhood ended, but it was just like I remembered it. There were smudgy fingerprints on the wall, not quite washed away, and I could almost believe that some of them were mine. Childhood is brief, even for the immortal. It gets squandered on wishing to grow up.

  The tapping of claws on marble warned me before the rose goblin jumped into my lap. I blinked at it. “Hello.” It was smaller and more delicate than Spike, with pink eyes and gray and burgundy thorns. “Can I help you with something?”

  “It was looking for you,” said Luna, stepping into view. “The pixies said you were coming, but we weren’t sure of where you were.”

  “Luna. Hi.” I looked up, offering her a tired smile. “I’m sort of on a quest.”

  “They mentioned that as well. And that you’d killed poor Tybalt.”

  “He got better.”

  “He tends to. It’s one of his few virtues.” She looked at the candle in my hand. There was no surprise in her eyes; none at all. “So you’re going to back to my father’s lands, then.”

  “He still has Karen. He’s the only one who can fix Katie.”

  “Yes, he is.” She sighed. “We’ve tried, but it isn’t stopping. If her change progresses much further, she won’t be human at all.”

  “I’m not sure she’s human now, Luna. The Luidaeg said to tell you to send Katie to her. She may not be able to do anything, but she can try.”

  “I don’t think that’s safe,” Luna said.

  “I don’t know. I have to go.” I stood, wincing. The pain in my head was annoying but livable. I didn’t have much of a choice about that. “I can’t take the Children’s Road. You were willing to kill me, Luna. You owe me this.”

  “Ah,” she said, softly. Yellow lines were beginning to streak throu
gh her eyes, obscuring the brown. “I should have known it would come to this. We harvest the things we plant in this life, however many years it takes their seeds to grow.” A bitter smile creased her lips. “You’d best survive, October Daye, daughter of Amandine, or my husband will never forgive me. I’ve never wished to be my mother.”

  “Luna, what—”

  “She’s put you on the Rose Road, and it’s up to me to send you on your way. But you won’t come back on that road. Your return will have a different path.” Her eyes were almost yellow now, and threads of pink were appearing in her hair. “I’m sorry I lied. I never wanted to. But I couldn’t let my father find me. This is the second time his Riders have come since I left his halls, and I didn’t stand for any of the children they claimed then. This harvest puts paid to all. She told you there was a time limit?”

  I blinked, thrown by what seemed to be a sudden change of subjects. “Twenty-four hours. Get in and out before the candle dies, or don’t get out at all.”

  “Exactly so.” She offered me her hand. “Come, my dear. There isn’t time to waste. Not now.” Every time my eyes left her she changed a little more, shifting more and more toward the woman she’d been when she took Acacia’s rose. “Maybe there never has been.” With that said, she took my hand in hers, and led me out of the Children’s Hall.

  We walked through halls and gardens, bedrooms, kitchens, and libraries, until the rooms began to blur together. A hall of portraits; a hall filled with dusty furniture; a country garden; a library filled with books that whispered as we passed. We walked until my head was spinning, never stopping, never looking back. And then a familiar door was in front of us, made of unvarnished wood with a stained glass rose where the eyehole should have been. Luna looked at me, unfamiliar eyes filled with pain, and let go of my hand as she opened the door.

  The Garden of Glass Roses was filled with light that slanted down from the windows and passed through the translucent roses to scatter into countless tiny rainbows that glittered on the cobblestone paths and gray stone walls. Luna walked ahead of me, trailing her fingers over the unyielding glass edges of the flowers as she passed and leaving traceries of blood behind. I followed slowly, resolutely refusing to listen to the things her blood was trying to tell me. It was too changed and too confused; it knew nothing of value anymore.