An Artificial Night

“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.





TWENTY-THREE



KAREN WAS SITTING ON MY CHEST, and somehow, she didn’t weigh anything at all. “Aunt Birdie? Are you awake?”

“Karen.” I smiled. The landscape was a blur, like a half-finished watercolor. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m not, and neither are you. You have to come back; it’s important. I’m sorry, but it’s important that you wake up.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s time to finish things. You have to come back. You have to—”

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.