An Artificial Night - BK 3

  I stopped to stare at him. “You hid in my car so I’d take you to the Luidaeg?” I demanded, following the question with, “You stole my car key?” I wasn’t sure which was pissing me off more.

  “Pretty much,” he said, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

  “You realize how stupid that was, right?”

  “I figured it out. But I didn’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice, Quentin. I told you I’d take care of it.”

  “You didn’t even care that I love her! How was I supposed to trust you to bring her home?” He looked at me, expression pained. “I had to.”

  “Quentin . . .”

  “I know you’re a hero. Does that mean no one else gets to even try?”

  “I’m not a—”

  “You can deny it. I don’t care. Do you even care anymore about what happens? Or are you just here because you think you have to be?”

  “Quentin, are you seriously standing with me in the middle of Blind Michael’s realm and asking if I care? Because if you are, you need serious help.”

  “Do you really want to know what she charged me?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I nodded. “Tell me.”

  “Fine.” His face was filled with a grim determination that I recognized even as I tried to reject it. “I get out with you. Not before, not after; with.” He paused before adding, more softly, “Not without.”

  I stared at him. “That isn’t funny.”

  “I’m not kidding. That was the price for her showing me how to follow you. She gave me my passage in, but I don’t get out without you. You’re my ticket home.” His chin was set, making him look very young, and very scared. “I’m on the Children’s Road, just like you, but I don’t have a candle. I have to make it home by the light of yours.”

  “Oh, root and branch.” I stared at him, fighting to keep my hands from shaking. “That’s what you agreed to? That’s what you paid?”

  “That’s what she asked for,” he said. “I didn’t have anything else.”

  “So you came to save Katie without knowing whether or not I was alive.”

  “And because you needed me.” He looked at me, expression an odd combination of determination and hope. “You do need me, you know.”

  I paused, and then nodded, slowly. “You’re right. I need you.” I offered him my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.” After a moment, he slid his hand into mine, squeezing my fingers. I smiled at him, and we turned together, stepping out of the shadow of the woods.

  And then we stopped, staring.

  The landscape had shifted, but the changes weren’t apparent until we left the shelter of the trees. The mountains were barely a half mile away, glowing purple-gray against the sky. I could see the rough shapes of Blind Michael’s halls scattered around the base of the mountain like abandoned building blocks. They all seemed to have shattered walls or broken turrets, outward signs of their decay.

  Quentin’s fingers tightened on mine as he asked, “Is that—?”

  “It’s Blind Michael’s place,” I said. “Come on.” I took note of the location of the one solid building—it would make a good prison—and then we started across the plains.

  I never want to have another hour like the one that followed. We crept across the ground like invading soldiers, trying to stay low. The light of my candle offered some protection, but I didn’t know if it could cover us both, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen if we pushed it too far. Spike raced ahead in a blur of gray and green, waiting behind each new obstacle until we caught up. Quentin had taken the first steps toward knighthood in Sylvester’s Court; he knew how to be silent and patient. My training has been less formal, but it’s had a lot of the same results, and I can keep my peace when I need to. Somehow, trying to hide in plain sight in the lands of a mad Firstborn was really driving that need home.

  We stopped when we reached the walls of the first building, sliding behind a pair of water barrels and sinking to the ground. The wall was hot, like there was a fire-place behind it. “All right; here’s the plan,” I said, voice pitched low. “The kids are in one of these buildings. We find them, we grab them, and we go.”

  “And Katie?”

  “Katie . . .” Getting her first might be the easiest way; she wouldn’t be with the others, so we could hide her in the woods while we went back for the others. If she would stay hidden. Terror is an unpredictable thing, and Katie was human. She had less experience with monsters than her fae counterparts.

  Katie’s humanity raised another issue. The twisted children I’d encountered said the human children would be ridden and changed, becoming horses. If she wasn’t herself, I didn’t want Quentin to see her until we’d already done everything else we had to do. “We may have a problem there.” When his eyes widened, I raised my hand, saying, “I need you to stay calm while we go over this, okay?” He nodded. “Okay.”

  Lowering my hand, I explained what I’d seen during my brief time as one of Blind Michael’s captives—and what they’d said to me. Quentin’s eyes narrowed as I spoke, and when I finished he asked, coldly, “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

  “Because there wasn’t time. I’m sorry, and you can hate me if you want, but even if I’d told you before, it wouldn’t have changed where we wound up, which is here, needing to rescue all of the captives. All right?” He nodded, reluctantly. “Okay. We go for the others first.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. He sat bolt upright, quivering with fury. “We aren’t abandoning her just because she’s human! We—”

  “Be quiet!” I hissed. “We need to go for the others first because there are more of them, and they’re a lot less likely to be traumatized by all of this. You said yourself that Katie doesn’t know about the fae. How do you think she’s handling this?” He sagged, expression going bleak, and I nodded. “Exactly. We get the others first, because they might be able to help us find her, and if not, at least they’re less likely to make things more difficult.”

  “Fine,” he muttered.

  “Hate me later,” I said. There’d be time to worry about Katie after we found the other children—but that was the real problem. How were we supposed to find them? I turned the candle over in my hand, muttering, “You can get there and back by the candle’s light . . .”

  “Toby?”

  “Just thinking out loud about how we do this. We don’t want to open the wrong door.”

  “No,” he agreed. Neither of us wanted to see what skeletons Blind Michael might be keeping in his closet.

  I shook my head. “There has to be a way to find them. Blind Michael has to play fair.”

  “Why?” Quentin frowned. “What’s going to make him?”

  “The rules. This is a kid’s game, and they’re always fair—that’s what makes them worth winning.” I turned the candle again. “There has to be a way.”

  “Oh.” He sighed. “I don’t really hate you.”

  “I know.” I paused, eyes widening as I stared at the candle. The game was fair. The game had to be fair. “Hang on a second.”

  “What?”

  Shushing him, I raised the candle. The Luidaeg used my blood to create it, and it sang to me. More and more, I’ve been finding that most of my strength is in my blood; there had to be a way for me to use it. Everything in Blind Michael’s lands seemed to be based off broken, childish logic, all doggerel and jump rope rhymes. If the rhyme said that I could get there and back by the light of a candle, I probably could, as long as it was the right candle. It was the only lead I had. I might as well try taking it.

  “How many miles to Babylon? I fear we’ve lost our way,” I chanted, ignoring Quentin’s quizzical look. “Can we get there and back by the candle’s light . . .” I tapered off, cursing inwardly. Rhyming has never been one of my strengths.

  “Before the break of day?” Quentin finished, putting his hand over mine. I flashed him a grateful look as the flame changed colors, going from blue to a hot amber gold.

>   That wasn’t the only change. Runnels of wax began dripping down the sides, streaking the previously smooth surface. There was no actual blood, but I could feel the tingling burn of blood magic taking hold around me. “That’s our cue,” I said, standing. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “If this is working, to the kids.” And if it’s not, I added silently, straight to hell.

  The flame brightened as we raced from building to building, trying to outrun the wax and our unseen pursuers at the same time. The flame dwindled whenever we took a wrong turn, guiding us along and consuming wax at a frightening rate. We ran until I wasn’t sure I could run anymore, and I was about to call for a stop when the flame flared, turning blue again. I skidded to a halt. Quentin wasn’t quite as fast; he caught himself on my shoulder, nearly knocking us both over. “Hey!” I protested. “Remember, you’re bigger than I am!”

  “Sorry,” he said, straightening. “Why did you stop?”

  “I think we’re here.” I gestured toward the nearest door. It was made of rough wood shoved into a badly assembled frame, and the walls around it were more intact than those of the other buildings. The wax had stopped melting. I was taking that as a good sign.

  “Now what do we do?”

  “We break in. Here, hold this.” I handed him the candle and turned to examine the door. Just for fun, I tried the handle. It was locked. I hadn’t expected anything else. Drawing my knife, I inserted it into the keyhole and twisted until it had gone as deep as it would go.

  “What are you doing?” asked Quentin.

  “Hang on.” Devin had taught me a lot of things, including opening locked doors. He said I was one of the best students he’d ever had. I jiggled the knife a bit more, getting it exactly where I wanted it, and smacked the pommel with the heel of my hand. The lock gave way, leaving the door to swing easily open.

  Quentin gaped. I stood, shoving the knife back into my belt, and reclaimed the candle. “One of the many skills you can learn from a wasted youth,” I said and stepped inside.

  The room was dark and square, filled with rustling noises and small, huddled shapes that seemed to be trying to crawl into the walls. I held the candle up in order to see what they were, and a small voice from the back of the room asked, “Toby? Is that you?”

  Oh, thank Maeve; we were in the right place. “Raj?” I called back. “Come on out, kiddo. It’s me.”

  The shadows rustled again, resolving into children. They were clinging to each other, obviously terrified, and I couldn’t blame them. One stepped forward, holding his head high as he tried to look like he hadn’t been afraid. I lowered the candle to keep the light from hurting his eyes, but even in the dimness, it was impossible to miss the bruises covering his face and shoulders. The Hob he’d escaped with before was leaning on his arm, limping; she looked like she’d been beaten worse than he had.

  Raj stopped, looking at me gravely. “October. You came.”

  “I came,” I said. Quentin stayed silent behind me, watching.

  “Auntie Birdie? Is that really you?” The voice was soft and anxious, like it expected to be silenced at any moment. I froze. Jessica has always been one of the most confident children I’ve ever known. Hearing her sound like that . . .

  Blind Michael was going to die. There wasn’t another option.

  “Yeah, baby,” I said. “It’s me.”

  That was all the confirmation she needed. Jessica came running out of the back of the room, towing Andrew along with her, and flung her arms around me. My height—or lack thereof—didn’t seem to matter; I’d said the right words. She buried her face against my shoulder, sobbing, “I was so scared.”

  “I know, baby,” I said, stroking her hair with my free hand. I looked down at Andrew, who had switched his grip from Jessica’s arm to my belt. “You okay?”

  “We gonna go home now?” he asked. “No more bad mans?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. We’re going home. We’re all going home.” I looked up, asking Raj, “How many of you are there?”

  “Many,” he said, not even trying to hide his exhaustion. “Five from my uncle’s Court, and more that I don’t know.”

  “There’s at least twenty, Auntie Birdie,” Jessica whispered. “They’re real scared.”

  Oh, root and branch. My bargain with Blind Michael only covered my kids; that was all he’d promised me. And there was no way in hell I could leave the others behind.

  “Everyone get up and come on,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”

  Children are children whether or not they have pointed ears, and sometimes the illusion of authority is all they need. They broke away from the walls and walked toward us, sniffling and crying as they came. Jessica was right; there were more than twenty of them, a mixed bag of changelings and purebloods. They were alone, and justifiably terrified of what was going to happen. I couldn’t have left them behind if I wanted to.

  “Quentin, Raj, each of you take a group of about ten,” I said, looking to the two who seemed least likely to fall apart. “I’ll take care of the rest. Spike, keep an eye out for guards, okay?” The rose goblin rattled its thorns and leaped from my shoulder, streaking out of the hall.

  That was the only real precaution I could take. Offering a silent prayer to any gods who might have time to listen to a changeling who didn’t know when to quit, I turned and led our motley group out into the shadows of Blind Michael’s artificial night. If we were lucky, we’d live to see another dawn.

  FIFTEEN

  THE SMALLEST CHILDREN WERE THE FIRST TO TIRE. They faltered and fell, and the larger kids picked them up and carried them without needing to be told. They knew that unless we worked together, we were lost. I surveyed them grimly as we walked across the plains. Most were barefoot, and more than a few were wounded; they’d never survive any kind of real journey. I had no idea how I was going to keep them calm and moving long enough to get them home. For the moment, that could wait. My main concern had to be getting them out of the open and out of the reach of Blind Michael’s men.

  Just as a precaution, I made everyone hold hands, forming clumps that led, eventually, to leaders holding onto my belt. If the candle could do anything to cover us all, it would be a blessing.

  The forest seemed to reach out to meet us as we made our way across the plains. Whatever power Acacia had in her husband’s lands was working for us, thank Maeve, and as the trees grew closer, Quentin, Raj, and I urged the children to walk faster, moving them toward safety. It wasn’t until the last of them was under cover that I really started to breathe again. The hard part was still ahead of us, but we’d cleared the first hurdle.

  Helen—the Hob who escaped with Raj—was one of the worst off. Her leg was sprained when the Riders took her back, and after watching her walk, I was afraid her ankle might be broken. Despite that, she’d shown a real gift for calming the smaller children, and once we were in the trees, she settled down with half a dozen of them, humming lullabies in an attempt to get them to sleep. I hoped she’d succeed, because they’d need the rest. We had a long way to go.

  Quentin and Raj approached as I stood at the edge of the trees, moving up from opposite sides. Raj was walking more easily now that we were away from the hall, and some elements of natural Cait Sidhe cockiness were creeping into his gestures. Good. I didn’t know him well, but no kid deserves to be broken, especially not by a monster like Blind Michael.

  “How is everyone?” I asked, looking to Quentin.

  “Shaken, but holding together,” Quentin said. “Most of them seem to think they’ve already been rescued, and that this is just the break before we head home.”

  “Encourage that; I’d rather they were optimistic than hysterical.” I looked to Raj. “Helen’s pretty hurt. There weren’t any healers in my group or Quentin’s—how about yours?”

  “No, and I’m not sure how much farther she can go,” Raj said, expression grave. “How far are we from the exit? We may need to carry her.”

>   “Damn. Is she strong enough to do some basic sewing-magic?” Hobs are hearth-spirits; their magic focuses almost entirely on cleaning and patching things. They can wash and darn a sock with a wave of their hand, using stitches too small for the human eye to see.

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Get any clothes the other kids have to spare—socks, jackets, whatever they can afford to give up—and see if she can sew it into a litter. We’ll drag her if we have to.”

  “Can’t we just use some branches?” asked Quentin.

  I eyed him. “Do you want to explain that to Acacia?”

  He paled. “Okay, no.”

  “Good.” I looked back to Raj. “Can you keep everyone calm until we get back?”

  His eyes widened, pupils narrowing in surprise. “Get back? Where are you going?”

  “To get my girlfriend,” Quentin said. His voice was sharp but calm.

  “Your girlfriend?” Raj glanced toward Helen, almost automatically. “Why wasn’t she with the others?”

  “Because she’s human,” I said. Raj turned to stare at me, ears slicking back. “Blind Michael takes fae kids to be his Riders. He takes the mortal ones to be his horses.”

  “That’s not going to happen to Katie,” Quentin said.

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not. But that means we have to leave for a little while. Raj, can you watch things here?” Even though I barely knew the kid, he and Quentin were the closest thing I had to lieutenants. I couldn’t abandon the children if Raj wasn’t willing to take care of them, but I couldn’t let Quentin go after Katie alone, either.

  Much to my relief, Raj nodded. “I think so. Almost everyone is tired. They should sleep for a little while.”

  “Good. Just don’t let them leave the trees. Do you remember the lady of these woods?”

  “The yellow woman?” he asked.

  “Yes, her. Her name is Acacia. If anything happens, go to her. Tell her I couldn’t make it back, but that Luna is expecting you. She’ll help you.” I hope, I added silently. I had to give Raj something to cling to; if I was leaving him in charge, he had to hold things together. That meant he needed to believe he had a way out. “If we don’t come back . . .”