An Artificial Night - BK 3 (48 page)

Amandine pursed her lips, studying Oleander. Finally, dismissively, she asked, “Is this what you’re reduced to? Playing messenger-girl for the Daoine Sidhe? I thought you held yourself better than this.”

“At least I didn’t whore myself to the mortal world for a replacement,” Oleander spat. “Has he even seen her, Amy? Your little imitation? I can take her for a visit, if you still think you’re too good for social calls. Or are you afraid she’ll realize what she is? Are you afraid—”

I winced even before Amandine started to move. Oleander didn’t know her as well as I did, and didn’t recognize the sudden tension in her posture for what it was before it was too late. Amandine lunged, wrapping one hand around Oleander’s throat and the other around her wrist before the other woman had a chance to react.

I shouldn’t have been able to hear what came next. We were too far away, and she was speaking too softly. But this was a dream, and I was going to hear what Karen wanted me to hear.

“If you come near my daughter, if you touch her, if you
look
at her, I will know, and I will make you pay.” Amandine’s voice was tightly controlled. She would have sounded almost reasonable, if not for the fury in her expression . . . and the fear in Oleander’s. Oak and ash, one of the scariest women in Faerie was looking at my mother like she was the monster in the closet. “Do you understand me, Oleander? I will make you pay in ways you can barely comprehend. I will make it
hurt
, and the pain won’t stop just because I do. Do you understand?”

“Bitch,” hissed Oleander.

Amandine narrowed her eyes. The smell of her magic—blood and roses—suddenly filled the formerly scentless garden, and Oleander screamed, writhing in her grasp. Amandine didn’t move, but she must have been doing
something
, because Oleander kept screaming, a high, keening sound that wasn’t meant to come from any human-shaped throat.

The smell of blood and roses faded. Oleander slumped in Amandine’s hands. My mother looked down at her dispassionately, not letting go.

“How much of who you are is what you are?” Amandine asked. Her voice was still soft. That was possibly the worst part. “How much do you think it would change? Would you like to find out?”

“No,” whispered Oleander.

“I’m afraid I can’t hear you. What was that you said?”

Oleander licked her lips. “I said I wouldn’t go near your daughter. I’ll leave. I’ll say you don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Ah, good.” Amandine released her, looking satisfied. Oleander dropped to her knees, gasping, as Amandine stepped back to her original position. “That was what I hoped you said. Your visit has been most enlightening, Oleander. I trust it won’t be repeated.”

Oleander staggered to her feet, glaring daggers at my mother as she stumbled backward, out of reach. “It won’t. I won’t come here again.”

“Not even if he sends you?”

“There are some things I won’t risk for anyone.” Oleander took another step back, keeping her eyes on Amandine the whole time. “Keep your little half-breed bitch. The two of you can rot for all I care.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” said Amandine. Turning her back on Oleander, she walked into the tower and closed the door.

Oleander stayed where she was for a moment, glaring daggers at my mother’s wake. Then she turned, storming back down the path and out the gate, into the fields beyond the tower grounds.

I turned to Karen. “Why did you show me that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m still not very good at this. I just sort of do what the dreams tell me I have to. But I didn’t show it to you.”

“What?” I frowned. “Of course you did. I just saw it.”

“No.” She looked past me, into the bower of white-on-white flowers where the dream began. “I didn’t show you. I just reminded you that you knew it.”

It took me a moment to realize what she was saying. Slowly, I turned, and saw myself—my much smaller, much younger self, still new to the Summerlands, still so dazed by the wonders of Faerie that I hadn’t started looking for the dangers—crawling out from underneath the branches.

“See?” said Karen. “You already knew.”

“I . . . I don’t remember this.”

“You do now.” I felt her hand on my arm, as light as the flower petals still drifting in the air around us. “It’s time to wake up, Auntie Birdie.”

So I did.

 

Late afternoon sun streamed through the bedroom window, hitting me full in the face. I opened my eyes, trying to blink with disorientation and squint against the glare at the same time. Not a good combination. One of the cats was curled on the middle of my chest, purring contentedly.

Sunlight. I’d closed my eyes for just a few minutes before falling into Karen’s dreamscape, and that was about an hour before dawn. Just a few—

“Crap!” I sat bolt upright, sending the cat—Cagney—tumbling to the bed.

“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” said May. I turned toward the sound of her voice. She was standing in the doorway with a coffee mug in one hand, watching me. “Welcome to the land of the living.”

“What time is it?” I demanded, raking my hair back with both hands. It was tangled into hopeless knots, matted stiff with sea salt. Crossing the city on a yarrow broom probably hadn’t helped. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“You didn’t tell me to,” she replied, matter-of-factly. Expression turning solemn, she continued, “Also, you didn’t twitch when I opened your curtains half an hour ago, so I figured you needed the sleep. It’s almost sunset. Marcia’s been calling every two hours. Everything’s pretty much the way it was last night. No change in Lily’s condition.”

“She filled you in?” I let my hands drop to my lap.

May nodded. “Yeah. Now get up, get something into your stomach, and get dressed before we’re late.”

“Late? For what?” Cagney had recovered from her graceless tumble, and strolled down the bed to smack her sister awake. Lacey responded by biting her in the face. I sympathized.

“I repeat, it’s almost sunset. On the first of May. That means what?”

“Oh,
no
.” I groaned, falling back on the bed. “May, I can’t. Karen was in my head last night. She showed me this fucked-up . . . I don’t know if it was a memory or what, but it had Mom in it, and Oleander. I need to call and find out what the hell she was getting at.”

“Cry me a river. The Torquills expect you to attend the Beltane Ball, and you’re attending. You can explain the situation when we get there.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“That’s fine. We’re still going.”

The Beltane Ball at Shadowed Hills has been one of the Duchy’s biggest social events for centuries. It’s a night of dancing, drinking, and welcoming the summer. In short, May’s sort of party. My sort of party involves less of a crowd, and a lot more physical violence. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. “But you can’t become Countess of Goldengreen, run out of the Queen’s Court like your ass is on fire, and then miss the social event of the season. Not if you want to keep the Queen from figuring something’s up.”

“Fuck,” I said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Basically.” I heard her sip her coffee. “You okay?”

I laughed bitterly. “I’m peachy.”

“There’s the manic-depressive sweetheart we all know and love. Get up. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a shower.”

“Look, can’t you just call Sylvester and tell him I’m not coming?” I threw an arm over my face to block the light. “Tell him I’m busy saving the world. Better yet, how about you just be me for the night? You look the part.”

“Uh, one, no way. Two, I look like you, the jig would be up the minute I opened my mouth.” She walked over and kicked the bed. “Get up before I get the ice water. You’re trying to wallow in your misery, and I’m not putting up with it.”

I moved my arm, glaring at her. “I hate you.”

“I know. Now come on. We’ll go to the Ball, and you can meet my date.”

That was news. I sat up, blinking. “You have a date?”

“I do. See, unlike some people, I know a good thing when I see it.”

“I’m going to leave that alone,” I said, and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. My skirt snarled around me, hampering my movement. “I’m up. See? I’m up.”

“Good girl. Just for that, you can have a
hot
shower.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass.”

“You can try. Now come on: breakfast, coffee, shower, clothes.” She left the room, whistling. I flung a pillow after her. It bounced off the doorframe.

May was in her room when I emerged, clearly choosing retreat as the better part of valor. There was a cup of coffee on the hall table next to the phone. I had to smile a little at that. My Fetch knows me better than anybody else. I guess that should be creepy, but somehow, it’s actually reassuring.

I dialed the Tea Gardens and leaned against the wall. I’d been waiting long enough for an answer to give serious thought to panic when Marcia picked up, saying, “Japanese Tea Gardens. How may I help you?”

“It’s me, Marcia. How is she?”

“Toby!” The relief in her voice was enough to make me wince. “I’m so glad you called.”

“I would have called earlier, but I just woke up.” I sipped my coffee, nearly burning my lip. The pain wasn’t enough to detract from the relief of the caffeine. “May gave me a status report. Has anything changed?”

“No. Lily isn’t any worse. That’s good, right?”

I wanted to reassure her. I couldn’t do it.“I don’t know. Has there been any progress in finding her pearl?”

“Not yet. Everybody’s looking.”

“Keep looking, and make sure that whoever you have watching Lily knows to ask about it if she wakes up. I have to go to Shadowed Hills and make an appearance at the Beltane Ball before I can come. Call there if you need anything.”

“Okay.” She sniffled. “I will.”

There was nothing to say after that. We exchanged a few vague reassurances before I hung up, still unsettled. Attending a Ball while Lily was sick felt too much like Nero fiddling while Rome burned, but May was right; I didn’t have much of a choice, especially not the day after I’d been elevated to Countess. Playing by the political rules was suddenly a lot more important.

Taking another large gulp of coffee, I dialed Mitch and Stacy’s. “Almost sunset” meant that everyone would be up; fae kids may be nocturnal, but that doesn’t make them immune to the allure of afternoon TV.

“Brown residence,” said the solemn, almost too-mature voice of Anthony, the older of the two Brown boys. He was ten on his last birthday.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, relaxing a bit against the wall. “Is your sister up yet?”

“Auntie Birdie!” he crowed, sounding delighted. Then he sobered, the moment of childish exuberance fading as he said, “Karen went back to bed, but she told everybody that if you called, we should say you know everything that she knows, and she doesn’t know why it’s important. Did she dream with you last night?”

“Yeah, she did,” I said, resisting the urge to start swearing. “Look, when she wakes up, tell her to call if she thinks of
anything
, okay? And tell your mom I’ll try to come over soon.”

“Promise?”

“Double-promise. I miss you guys.” The Browns are some of my favorite people in the world, and that goes double for their kids. It just seems like there’s never time for the good parts of life these days, like hanging out with my old friends and their kids. It’s been one emergency after the other, practically since I got out of the pond.

“We miss you, too, Auntie Birdie,” said Anthony gravely.

Much as I wanted to stay on the line and ask him to tell me what he was studying, what his brother and sisters were doing, all the things a good aunt would ask, there wasn’t time. I repeated my promise to visit soon and hung up, realizing as I did that I was hungry. Looked like the coffee had been enough to wake up my stomach.

I went to the kitchen and filled a bowl with Lucky Charms and coffee. Cliff used to make gagging noises and pretend to choke when I did that, but it’s how I’ve always liked my cereal. I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth as I realized that, for the first time in a long time, the thought of Cliff didn’t hurt. It made me sad, sure—he wasn’t just my lover and the father of my child; he was one of my best friends, and losing friends is never fun—but it was only sadness. No pain. No longing.

Maybe I was starting to move on.

I did feel better after eating, and a shower would probably make me feel almost normal. I left my bowl on the counter, fighting with my dress all the way to the bathroom. I’ve worn enough formal gowns to know how to move in them, but they were almost all illusionary, making changing out of them nothing more than a matter of dropping the spell. This dress was heavy, dirty, and all too real. Getting it off felt almost like a moral victory.

The apartment has excellent water pressure. I turned the taps as high as they would go before stepping into the shower, letting the spray sting my arms and face. I stayed that way long after I was clean, breathing in the steam. There’s something reassuring about standing in the shower; as long as you’re there, you can’t get dirty.

May was waiting on the couch when I came out of the bathroom. She looked me up and down before asking, “Feel better?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Told you so. Now get dressed.”

I flipped her off amiably. Her laughter followed me down the hall to my bedroom, where Cagney and Lacey curled up on the bed in the remains of the sunbeam. Lacey lifted her head, eyeing me.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re the lucky ones. You get to stay home.” I started for the dresser, pausing with one hand stretched toward the top drawer.

The Queen’s habit of transforming my clothes is incredibly irritating, especially since I lack the magical oomph to change them
back
. There are only a few bloodlines in Faerie talented at transforming the inanimate; the Daoine Sidhe aren’t among them, which is why we depend on illusions and chicanery to enhance our wardrobes. But if I happened to have a dress formal enough for the occasion . . .