An Artificial Night

The phrase “little friend” pissed me off when I was actually the age I seemed to be, and it hadn’t gotten any less annoying as I got older. I was tired, my knees ached, and I didn’t have time to be patronized. “Can it, Marcia. Is Lily available?”


“What?” She blinked. “That’s not a nice way to talk to your elders, you know.”

“You were born in nineteen eighty-three,” I said. “If you’re my elder, I’ll eat my socks. Can we see Lily?”

“Who’s stopping you?” She squinted, the faerie ointment around her eyes reflecting the afternoon light in sparkles of turquoise and gold. “You’re not what you look like.” She looked toward May, still squinting. “Neither is she.”

“Marcia, please, just let us in,” I said.

Marcia is only a quarter-blooded changeling, and she needs faerie ointment to see our world at all. Ironically enough, the ointment opens her eyes a little wider than most. She not only sees through illusions; sometimes, she sees through realities. I guess that’s why Lily likes her. It certainly can’t be for the stimulating conversation.

Marcia pulled back, frowning. “I think you’d better leave. I mean, Toby isn’t Toby, and your kid’s not a kid, and Connor . . . well, Connor’s okay, and I think that’s Toby’s rose goblin, but that’s all I can tell. People I don’t recognize shouldn’t come here. Lily doesn’t like it.”

“Please refrain from exerting yourself, Marcia,” Lily said, stepping up to the edge of the garden; she couldn’t come any farther. Each Undine is literally bound to their domain, unable to ever leave it. In exchange, they know everything that happens in their own lands, and control them more intimately than any noble has ever controlled a knowe. I’ve always wondered whether it’s a fair trade, but I’ve never been able to get up the nerve to ask. “I know our guests.”

“Lily,” I said. “Hey.”

“Hello, October,” she said. “I see you found the moon. Connor. It’s been too long.”

“I know,” he said, his hand tightening in mine. “I’ve been busy.”

“Of course.” She turned to May. “You would be . . . ?”

“May,” said my Fetch, expression grave.

“A good name. Ironic, but good. Whatever will we do when the months of the year are used entirely?” Lily looked back to Marcia. “These are my guests. October Daye, daughter of Amandine, albeit in slightly reduced circumstances; Connor O’Dell of Shadowed Hills; and May, who is, unless I am much mistaken, October’s Fetch.” Her voice stayed calm, but she looked at me when she said May’s name, eyes unreadable.

Marcia stared at me, eyes wide. “You’re Toby?” she squeaked.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“But you’re so little!”

“And you’re so blonde.”

“Marcia, Toby and her friends look very tired, and I’m sure she wants to see her friend.”

“Karen,” I said. “Is she . . . ?” I let the question trail off, not sure how to finish it. She wasn’t talking like Karen was dead, but we were in a semipublic place. She might just be waiting to get us alone.

“No, October. I’m sorry.” Lily shook her head. “I tried everything. I failed.”

Oh, root and branch. How was I supposed to tell Stacy that Karen wasn’t coming home? Swallowing, I asked, “How did she die?”

Lily frowned, looking bewildered. “Die?”

“Karen. How did she die?”

Marcia blinked. “Somebody died?”

“October, I think perhaps you and your company ought to come with me,” said Lily, still frowning. “The sun will be down soon, and it seems we have much to discuss.” She turned. Too confused to argue, I followed her, not releasing Connor’s hand.

She led us to the base of the moon bridge, then stopped and knelt, putting her hand over my knee. “You’re hurt,” she said, disapprovingly. “That won’t do, but I can’t fix it here. Fetch?”

“Huh?” said May, blinking.

The folds of Lily’s kimono rustled as she straightened. “Carry her. We must get her into the knowe, and she can’t possibly handle the bridge with her knee in that condition.”

“But—”

“There will be time to weep and wail and play the Banshee soon enough. For now, carry her. Connor?”