An Artificial Night - BK 3 (36 page)

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 through 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.

Luna stopped in the far corner of the garden, standing in front of a bush with flowers that were crimson shading into black. Their stems were heavy with thorns, so sharply barbed that they looked like weapons. “Roses are always cruel,” she said, almost wistfully. “That’s what makes them roses.” She reached into the bush, not wincing as the thorns gouged her skin.

“What are you talking about?”

Her expression was serene. “Beauty and cruelty, of course. It’s simple.” There was a thin snapping sound from inside the bush. She withdrew her hand, now holding a perfect black rosebud. “The Rose Roads are no kinder than the others, but people assume they must be, because they’re beautiful. Beauty lies.” She kissed the flower, almost casually, despite the way the petals sliced her lips. Blood began to flow freely.

And the rose began to open.

The petals unfurled slowly, slicing her lips and fingers until the air was fragrant with the scent of her blood. Luna smiled, offering me the rose. “Prick your finger on the thorns, and you’ll be on your way. Take the rose, bleed for it, and it will take you where you want to go.”

Still frowning, I held out my hand. She placed the rose on my palm, where it rested lightly, thorns not even scratching me. “What do I need to do?”

“Just bleed.”

“All right.” I curled my fingers around the rose, stopping when the pain told me that the thorns had found their mark. “Now what do I . . . do . . . Luna? What’s happening?” The world was suddenly hazy, like I was staring through a fog. The woman with the rose-colored hair stood in the middle of it all, bloody hands clasped to her breast.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, but it’s the only way. Go quickly . . .”

“Is drugging me a new hobby for you people?” I asked, and fell. Part of me was screaming; the Garden of Glass roses is mostly made of glass and stone and has very few soft places to land. That was only a small part—the rest of me was sinking in rose-scented darkness, falling farther and farther from escape. Luna was crying somewhere behind me in the dark. I wanted to shout at her, but there were no words. There was nothing but darkness and the smell of roses.

And then even that was gone.

—and opened them to find myself at the edge of Acacia’s wood, hidden by a tangle of branches. The sky was black, and my candle was at least four inches shorter. Whatever Luna dosed me with knocked me out for more than a little while, and time was running out.

I stood slowly, leaning against one of the nearby trees. I was back in Blind Michael’s lands, and I knew how Luna managed her escape, and why she’d been willing to give me up to keep its secret. “The end justifies the means,” I whispered. “Oh, Luna.”

The cuts on my fingers were swollen and red and burned if I put too much pressure on them. Cute. “It’s poison Toby week, isn’t it?” I muttered, looking out over the plains. A thick mist had risen, bleaching the landscape; the lights of Blind Michael’s halls flickered dimly in the distance.

There was no time like the present and no time to waste. Shivering, I stepped out of the shelter of the trees and started walking. The steady whiteness of the land around me added an eerie quality to the trip that I could’ve done without. Boulders looked like looming monsters until I got close enough to see them clearly, while brambles and clumps of grass turned the ground into an obstacle course. I held my candle up to light the way, and it burned the mists back just enough to let me see that I was walking in a straight line. The flame was my compass and the light from Blind Michael’s halls was my lighthouse, leading me through the night.