An Artificial Night

I opened my eyes.

The Luidaeg was holding me by the shoulders. She had reverted to her normal human appearance, with freckles and coveralls and tousled black curls. Even her eyes were human, brown and ordinary. None of that was strange for her. It was the fear in her expression that was new.

“Luidaeg?” I said blearily. My head felt like it was wrapped in cotton. Whatever Lily dosed me with, it was strong.

“Yeah,” she said, letting go of my shoulders. “You’re at my place.”

“What?” I forced myself to sit up, squinting. I was on the Luidaeg’s couch, across from the room’s single dirt-streaked window. The curtains were open; I’d never seen them that way before. The room was usually lit by flickering bulbs and a sort of undefined glow, letting the shadows breed in the corners and pulse with an odd life of their own. Now, watery sunlight was chasing them away, making the mess on the floor a lot easier to see. The walls were black with grime, and patches of varicolored mold covered the couch.

A brightly colored, clean-smelling quilt was spread over my legs, so out of place that it was almost jarring.

“How did I get here?” I asked, looking at the Luidaeg.

“Lily sent you on the tidal path.” She shook her head, something of her customary smirk creeping into her face. “She seemed to think hanging out with your Fetch was a bad plan.”

“Lily!” I threw the quilt off my legs, trying to stand. It didn’t work. “She drugged us!”

“Yup,” agreed the Luidaeg. “Really got you good. Invoked Mom’s name and everything. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve heard that invocation? That’s the Undine equivalent of breaking out the good china.”

“But—”

“She wanted you away from your Fetch, and frankly, I think she was right.”

I stared at her. “But she drugged us.”

“That is no longer news, dumbass. Are you going to ask why she drugged you?”

“All right,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “Why?”

“Because, dear October, you’re the most passively suicidal person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. You’ll never open your wrists, but you’ll run head-first into hell. You’ll have good reasons. You’ll have great reasons, even. And part of you will be praying that you won’t come out again.”

Her words struck a little too close to home. “That’s not true,” I protested, weakly.

“Isn’t it?” She stood, moving to the window and looking out onto the street. “Faeries live forever. Humans don’t, but they know they’re going to die; it’s in their blood. Your blood doesn’t know the way, and I think you’re trying to teach yourself.” She shook her head. “You mean well, but you’ve never been all that bright.”

“What does that have to do with May and Connor?”

“Connor? Nothing. He was just in the way.” She looked back to me. “May, on the other hand, is pretty much the crux of the problem. She’s here, so you think you’re getting what you want. You think you get to die. Well, guess what? You can’t. We won’t let you.”

“Won’t let me do what?”

“Die.”

“That’s nuts.”

“Is it?” She turned and walked into the kitchen. I levered myself off the couch and followed. I was still wearing the red and purple robe; my knife was tucked into the belt. At least I wasn’t unarmed.

The Luidaeg was ramming unwashed dishes into a cabinet when I entered the room, the clattering punctuated by the sound of breaking china. She stopped when she heard my footsteps, but didn’t turn. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

“Katie’s still a horse. Can you fix her?”

“Not while my brother holds her. He didn’t let go just because you stole her.”

“And Karen—Karen! She’s still at Lily’s. I have to go back for her.”

“No, you don’t. She’s in my room.”

I paused. “She’s here?”