An Artificial Night - BK 3 (24 page)

“It’s okay,” he said, leading her toward the exit. “I’ll get you home.”

I followed as fast as I could, trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt to leave the other locked doors behind. There were more children behind those doors, changing into something they didn’t understand, and I couldn’t save them. That much magic wouldn’t just hurt me; it might kill me, and then what would
my
children do? Blind Michael was going to pay for everything he’d done, but most of all, he was going to pay for making me walk away and leave those children behind. I’d come back for them if I could, but my kids needed me first. And it wasn’t fair. Life so rarely is.

Just once, I’d like to find a real hero, someone who can save the day, because I’m obviously not cut out for the job. I followed Quentin and Katie out of the stable, half blinded by pain and anger, and once we were safely hidden by the shadows of the plains, I let myself cry. I’d have to stop before we reached the forest—the kids needed me to look strong—but for the moment, it helped.

Where the hell’s
my
hero?

J
ESSICA CAME RACING OUT OF THE TREES as we approached, already sobbing. She slammed into me and buried her face against my shoulder. I managed to brace myself enough to absorb the impact without falling over, but it was a close thing; we were too similar in size for that kind of collision to be comfortable. “Aunt Birdie!” she wailed, voice muffled. “I thought you weren’t c-coming back!”

I sighed, letting go of Quentin’s hand and stroking her hair. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” Spike came slinking out of the woods and sat by my feet, thorns bristling as it whined in the back of its throat. I understood the warning it was giving us; we couldn’t afford to dawdle. Blind Michael promised safety once we were out of his lands—or at least he’d promised safety for the kids I’d bargained for, and I didn’t want to consider what that might mean for the rest—but he’d never said anything about leaving us alone inside his borders.

“Are you back for keeps? Can we go home now?”

“I’m back.” I looked over Jessica’s head to watch Quentin guide Katie the last few yards.

Katie had fallen into brittle silence as we walked, using Quentin as much for guidance as for balance. The spell clouding her vision could only take so much abuse, and she could keep it alive longer if she refused to see what was going on. Smart girl. I wondered numbly whether Quentin realized she’d lost a shoe, and whether, if he did, he realized that it was because her feet were already broad and blackened, more than halfway to being hooves. The changes were continuing. They were slow, but they weren’t stopping.

“Come on,” I said, shifting Jessica so that she was just clinging to my arm. “We need to get back to the others.”

“And then we’ll go home?” whispered Jessica.

“Yeah, baby. Then we’ll go home.” I started walking, heading toward where we’d left the rest of the children. The word “home” seemed to give Jessica some of her confidence back, because she let go of me after a few steps, darting ahead and vanishing into the trees.

Raj and the others had been hard at work while we were away. Five of the older kids were busy lashing bundles of sticks together as they finished Helen’s litter, and there were sentries posted in the trees, almost invisible through the leaves until you walked under them. I smiled faintly. “Leave it to the Cait Sidhe to take to guerrilla warfare without blinking,” I said.

“What?” asked Raj, appearing accompanied by the smell of pepper and burning paper.

Quentin jumped, nearly knocking Katie over. I just shook my head. One good thing about spending years being tormented by Tybalt: I don’t surprise as easily as I used to where the Cait Sidhe are concerned.

“I was just saying that you seem to have things pretty organized,” I said, taking a better look around. The kids that Raj didn’t have on sentry duty or building a litter had mostly gone to sleep, pillowed in the leaves and clinging to one another. Those that were still awake but unoccupied were sitting with Helen, listening raptly as she spoke. From the way she was moving her hands, I guessed she was telling them a story, and for a moment, I almost envied her. Whether we lived or died, the pressure wasn’t on her. She was taking care of the children and leaving the heroics to Raj—and to me. Lucky us.

“Busy is easier than idle,” he said, one ear flicking back. Turning, he looked at Quentin and Katie, and frowned. “Is this your friend?” he asked.

Quentin nodded. “This is Katie.”

“I thought you said she was—”

“That’s enough,” I said. The spell I’d cast on Katie was keeping her from noticing the changes in her body—and don’t think I didn’t see the irony, considering what the Luidaeg had done to me—but it wasn’t going to stand up to someone questioning her humanity where she could hear it. “Raj, is the litter ready?”

“Almost,” he said, looking bemused.

“Good.” Andrew rose from the group around Helen when he heard my voice, walking over to take hold of my sweater. I sighed and stood a little straighter, sliding my arm around him. I had to be their hero whether I liked it or not; I was the only option they had. “Quentin, Raj, leave Katie with me and start collecting the others. We need to move.”

Helen looked up, eyes going wide. “But everyone’s exhausted!” she protested. “We can’t move yet.”

“If we don’t move, we risk being caught. If anyone wants to stay behind, they can, but we’re moving now.” It wasn’t a nice to thing to say, and I didn’t care. I couldn’t risk everyone because a few were unwilling to move. It would kill me to leave them behind, but I’d do it. I knew that as surely as I knew I’d die before I let the Riders take back Jessica and Andrew. Maybe that made me a bad person. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, it was time to go.

My words had the desired effect. The children who were awake moved to rouse the others with a speed that bordered on panic as the sentries dropped out of the trees, rejoining the group. Several of the larger kids hoisted Helen onto her litter. The buddy system seemed to have become a religion—everyone had someone’s hand to hold. No one wanted to face the plains alone. Their eyes were blank and hollow, like the eyes of refugees running from a war they didn’t understand and couldn’t escape. There were no tears. The time for tears was past. It was time to go, and none of us knew what was coming.

I led the way onto the plains with Jessica on my arm and Andrew clinging to my shirt, the hand-holding chains re-forming behind them. Quentin walked beside me, supporting as much of Katie’s weight as he could. I’d been more concerned about Helen, but I’d also underestimated how quickly Raj would be able to find the strongest among the children: six of them traded off dragging the litter, taking turns so that no one got too tired, while the youngest took turns riding with Helen. It was a good system, and it kept us moving faster than I’d hoped.

Spike stayed near the back of the procession, whining and rattling its thorns as it urged us to keep moving. Blind Michael couldn’t miss us forever. Worse, my candle was still melting; it was barely half the size it was when the Luidaeg gave it to me, and I didn’t know how much longer it would last.

Raj wandered up to the front after rotating the litter-bearers, glancing back over his shoulder. “Where are we going?” he asked, voice low. “Everyone is getting tired. We’ll have to make Helen walk soon.”

Sometimes you have to admire the bloody-minded selfishness of cats. It was obvious that he didn’t care about most of the kids, but Helen was his. He wanted her to be safe.

I was too tired to lie. “I don’t know.”

“What?”
he demanded, ears flattening. Even Quentin turned to stare at me, his arm tightening around Katie.

“We can get there and back by the light of a candle.” I shrugged. “We have the candle. Now we just need to find the way out.”

“Didn’t you get a . . . a . . . a tracing spell, or a map, or something?”

“I got a candle.” The instructions said to get “there and back again.” That meant I needed to exit where I’d started, if I was going to exit at all, and that meant the plains.

“What if it’s not enough?” he asked. Jessica raised her head, eyes wide. I glanced around. Several of the other children were staring at us, expressions troubled. He was scaring them.

Right. I glared, saying, “That’s enough. Raj, please don’t make this worse than it is. I’ll get us out of here. I promise.” Me and my big mouth. Promises are binding; I need to learn to stop making them. The Cait Sidhe looked at me for a long moment before turning and walking back to Helen’s litter, posture telegraphing his displeasure. I couldn’t blame him—I wouldn’t have been any happier in his place—but we needed to keep moving.

We walked for what felt like hours before the landscape began becoming more familiar. The rocks began to look less random and more like landmarks. I stopped when I saw the first footprints. Waving the group to a halt, I knelt, studying the ground. “Quentin, Raj, come here.”

Quentin reluctantly handed Katie off to one of the litter-bearers and walked over, reaching me just as Raj did. “What’s up?” he asked.

I indicated the footprints. “Are these mine?”

“They smell like you,” Raj said.

Quentin’s answer took more time as he looked from my reduced feet to the marks in the dirt and back several times. Finally, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” I rose. This was where I’d entered Blind Michael’s lands. If there was a way out, we’d find it here. “We rest here.”

The children dropped where they were, forming loose circles as they flopped on the stony ground. Quentin led Katie to one of the larger rocks, helping her settle. The tail was a problem; she wasn’t aware of its existence, but she couldn’t sit on it without hurting herself. Quentin finally reached around and moved it out of the way, pulling his hands away from the silky hair like he’d been burned.

Katie smiled glassily. “Will we be home soon?” The changes were continuing; thin lines of white hair now ran down her cheeks like a parody of sideburns.

“Sure, Kates. Sure.” He gave me a pleading look. Of course. Leave it to Toby—she needs another ulcer.

My candle was dwindling, still burning a steady blue. We were safe, but for how much longer? I was afraid to risk another invocation.The two I’d done already had used up most of the wax, and we couldn’t afford a failure.

Oh, well. Third time’s the charm, especially in Faerie. “Luidaeg?” I said. “Luidaeg, if you can hear me, we’re scared, and I don’t know how this works. We need to come home now. I’ve got the candle, Luidaeg, you said I could get there and back . . .” The flame sputtered and turned crimson, surging upward. I jerked it away from myself, nearly dropping it, and a hunting horn sounded in the distance.

More horns followed, and more, and more, until the air rang with them and the sound of hoofbeats began to rumble through the ground. Blind Michael’s men were coming, and my candle couldn’t cast enough light to hide us all.

And everything started to happen at once.

The children jumped to their feet, clustering around me in uniform silence. They knew that screaming would destroy any chance of escape. Not that silence was going to save us: the hoofbeats were getting closer, and there was no place to hide. It was finished. It had to be.

I looked at the candle in my hand and at the knife at my belt, and wondered how many of them I could kill before the Riders took us.

“Aunt Birdie! This way!”

I turned toward the voice. Karen was standing behind me, pointing toward the nearest briar. Her robe was dark with dust. “Karen?” None of the others had turned. It was like they couldn’t hear her calling.

“You have to hurry! Go through the thorns—you’ll need the blood!
Hurry!
” She gestured frantically, and I realized with dim horror that I could see through her. In my experience, see-through people are usually dead.

I was raised a daughter of the Daoine Sidhe; we listen to the dead, and there’d be time to grieve after I’d gotten everyone else out alive. I grabbed Jessica’s hand, tucking Andrew up under my arm, and sprinted for the briar, calling, “This way!” There was a pause, and then the shell-shocked children followed, hauling each other along as they hurried to catch up.

The horns were getting closer. Blind Michael’s men were faster, armed, and on our trail, while all I had was a candle and the word of the ghost of a girl I hadn’t seen die. Not great odds.

I skidded to a stop at the edge of the briar, searching for an opening. There didn’t seem to be one. Karen said we needed blood; fine. Blood was something I could manage. I thrust the hand that held the candle into the branches, ripping my skin in a dozen places. There was an instant of perfect silence, like the world had stopped. Maybe it had.

And a door opened in the air.

The Luidaeg was on the other side, white-eyed and frantic, with ashes in her hair. Her panic barely registered in the face of my own. “Hurry!” she shouted in an eerie imitation of Karen’s tone. “You let it burn too long!”