An Artificial Night - BK 3 (33 page)

And I was physically back to the correct age.

“What the—?” I looked up. At least I wasn’t the only one confused; May and Connor were staring at me, mouths hanging open.

Lily inclined her head, looking satisfied. “As I thought. This suits you far better, given the circumstances.” She knelt, pouring tea into a set of black-and-white patterned cups. “See to the girl; I know you too well to think you’ll listen before you know she lives.”

“Karen!” Suddenly reminded, I rushed over to drop to my knees and press my ear to Karen’s chest. I didn’t really stop holding my breath until I heard the steady, muffled beating of her heart. She had a heartbeat. She was alive. “She’s alive.” I sat up, turning toward the others, and beamed. “She’s alive.”

“I told you that,” said Lily, chidingly. “She’s alive and whole, and there is nothing I can do for her. Now come, all three of you, and drink your tea.”

“Lily—”

“Come. Sit. Don’t argue with me.”

What were we supposed to do? We sat. I knelt across from Lily, with May to my left and Connor to my right. He squeezed my knee under the table; I smiled at him. Lily simply watched us, passing the teacups around the table.

May was the first to receive her cup. She picked it up, sipped, and smiled. “Hey, peppermint.”

Connor picked up his own cup, and blinked at her. “This isn’t peppermint. It’s rosehips and watercress.”

“As you say,” said Lily, sipping her own tea.

Right. I picked up my cup and took a cautious sip. The liquid hit my tongue, and I choked, flinging my cup away. It shattered against the pavilion floor as I turned to spit out what was already in my mouth. “Blood?” I looked back to Lily, furious. “You served me
blood!
”

“No, I didn’t. You served it to yourself, just as May served herself peppermint and Connor served himself rosehips. The difference is what you made of it. Much like your lives, I’d imagine. And now you’ve broken another of my teacups.” She sighed. “Really, October, what am I going to do with you?”

“Is there a reason you people are so damn obscure?” I demanded, standing. The taste of blood makes me cranky under any circumstances. I’d managed to spit out most of it, but I was still getting flickering glimpses of Lily’s life, like shadows cast on a distant wall. I didn’t want them. “Screw this. Karen and I are leaving.”

“Are you, now? She’s rather larger than you can easily manage on your own.”

“Connor will help.” I glanced back toward him. He hadn’t moved; he was just watching us with a befuddled look on his face. “Won’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, sounding dazed. Then he fell over.

“What the—” May started to stand, but her eyes glazed over and she collapsed in mid-motion. Spike hissed and slunk behind me, crouching at my heels.

Lily put down her teacup. “I know you too well,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t drink your tea.”

“What did you do?” I moved to Connor’s side, fumbling for his pulse. It was strong and steady.

“I bought you some time,” she said. “You don’t have as much as you think. The tea leaves never lie.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped.

“You let me help you. Your bond is mine.” She raised a hand, saying, “By sea and wave and shore, by the boon of Maeve, mother of waters, I call you to me. Accept my request and grant what I need in this moment.” Her jade eyes seemed darker than usual, and very sad.

“Lily?” I stood, taking a step backward. “What are you doing?”

She shook her head, moving toward me. “By storm and frost and tempest, in the name of Maeve, mother of marshes, I call you to me. The road is ours who are her children, and it shall open when there are no others.”

It was getting hard to keep my eyes open. I hadn’t drunk the tea, but I tasted it, and that was enough to let her put me under. I dropped to my knees, whispering, “Lily, why?”

“For your own good,” she said, and reached down to nudge my eyelids closed. I tried to pull away, but I couldn’t move. Not at all.

And then there was nothing.

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.”