An Artificial Night

“Then give me the knife. I don’t have the patience for your little games right now. This whole situation is pissing me off.”


Wordlessly, I pulled the knife out of my belt and handed it to her. Odd though it might seem, I trust the Luidaeg. I may not always approve of her methods, but I trust her.

She lifted Karen’s arm and paused. “I’m not a child killer. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said. “If I thought you were going to hurt her . . .”

“You’d challenge me and lose. You know it, I know it, but you’d still do it. Sometimes your sense of honor confuses the hell out of me.” She grinned. “All changelings are crazy.”

“Yes, we are. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to hurt her; I just need a little blood.” She slid the knife across Karen’s thumb. Blood beaded to the skin, the scent of it filling the air until it drowned out the salt water. “There we go.” Lowering her head, the Luidaeg pressed the cut to her lips in a bizarre parody of kiss it and make it better, and held that position, swallowing. Karen didn’t move.

The Luidaeg raised her head after several minutes, licking her lips. “Well, well, well. I see,” she said, and stood, dropping Karen’s hand. Her eyes had gone white. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” I asked, rising. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she said, licking her lips again. Her fangs showed when she spoke. “I’d have ripped your heart out of your chest and had it for a toy. It would’ve been a beautiful death.”

“I’m sure,” I said, shuddering. The Luidaeg seemed to like me, but that didn’t mean anything. “Let’s skip that for now.”

She shrugged, licking her lips a third time. “It’s your funeral. She’s an oneiromancer.”

“A what?”

“An oneiromancer, a dream-scryer. She sees the future—and probably the present—in her dreams.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The Luidaeg sighed. “You’re not getting it. Look, the brat can read the future in her dreams. That means she doesn’t have a very good connection with her body. You with me?”

“Yes . . .” I said. Karen was an oneiromancer? I’d heard of them, but never met one. Fortune-telling is a rare gift, and that’s a good thing; people who see the future don’t have the best connection to the present. They tend to say too much and wind up dead. Stacy comes from Barrow Wight stock; Mitch is part Nixie. Neither breed is known for seeing the future. Where the hell did this little curveball come from?

“Michael stole the others physically. Karen wasn’t in her body when the Riders came, so they took her to him a different way; they took her in her dreams.”

“What?” I stared at her. “How?”

“What you and your mother read in the blood is the self; it can be removed. Karen’s self isn’t anchored like yours or mine because of what she is. That’s what he stole.”

“Is that why she won’t wake up?” And why I see her when I dream?

Her expression hardened. “Yes.”

“Fine.” I stood, squaring my shoulders. “I’m going to get her back.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She crossed her arms. “It really is just like watching Daddy get ready to ride out and subdue another group of rioting idiots. Sword, shield, suit of shining armor, ingrained stupidity, and you’re ready to go.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Heroes, Toby, heroes. You’re all idiots—and don’t tell me you’re not a hero, because I don’t feel like having that argument tonight. You’ll need this.” She pulled my candle out of the air, dropping it into my left hand as she pressed my knife into the right. “You can get there and back by the light of a candle, after all. Trouble is, you’re off the Children’s Road. I can’t set you on it more than once. Against the rules.”

“So how am I supposed to get to Blind Michael?”