An Artificial Night

“Keep your eyes closed and don’t open them, no matter what,” he said next to my ear, in a surprisingly steady voice. “We have farther to go this time, and it may hurt. Do you understand?” I forced myself to nod. If he was in danger it was my fault; I had to do what he asked me to do. It might get us through alive.

“Good,” he said. “Now hold your breath.”

I barely had time to breathe in before the world turned to ice. I kept my eyes shut, forcing myself to count backward from one hundred. The air kept getting colder as Tybalt ran, reaching temperatures I hadn’t known were possible. How cold could shadows get? Ice was forming in my hair, and my lungs were starting to ache. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on.

My grip on Tybalt’s arm tightened, and he said, sounding strained, “Hold on. We’re almost there—”

The air warmed so suddenly it was like someone had flipped a switch, and Tybalt stumbled as he made the transition from shadows to solid ground. I opened my eyes, blinking ice from my lashes. We were in an alley, and judging by the buildings around us, we were somewhere in Oakland, at least thirty miles from where we’d started. And we were alone. That was an improvement.

“Toby, if you don’t mind, I need to put you down,” he said. His voice was shaking. I looked up and winced. He looked like a man who’d just run a relay race through hell.

“Of course,” I said.

He lowered me to the ground. I sat, sticking my head between my knees. My body was telling me in no uncertain terms that it wanted a chance to stop and be violently ill. I’m usually willing to listen to the things my body tells me, but unfortunately, it doesn’t have a very good sense of impending doom. I was alone in an alley with the King of Cats, waiting for Blind Michael’s minions to swoop in and kill us. It wasn’t a good time to be sick. I ordered my stomach to behave itself, hoping it would listen.

Tybalt padded to the mouth of the alley, head cocked as he scanned the street for signs of danger. I stayed where I was, trying not to pant. My lungs were almost as angry as my stomach; they wanted air, and they wanted it now. Still, I was okay with letting Tybalt take care of us. I could let him watch my back. I love Stacy and Connor. I wouldn’t trust them to keep me alive. I need people like Tybalt for that.

I paused, stiffening. The Luidaeg knew where I’d taken the kids, and Blind Michael was her brother. How deep did their ties run? Was it deep enough that he’d leave her alone? I knew he wanted me—I had plenty of proof of that—but would he go after her if he thought it would bring his lost children back? The Luidaeg is one of the biggest, meanest people I know. That didn’t mean Blind Michael couldn’t be bigger. Or meaner.

I didn’t hear Tybalt come back until his hand clamped down on my shoulder. If he’d been one of Blind Michael’s men, it would’ve been too late to run. Ah, the joy of total exhaustion. I jumped, and he smiled wearily as he sat beside me, leaving his hand where it was.

“You’re hurt,” he said, in a disapproving tone.

“I guess,” I said. There was a suspicious dampness on the back of my neck. My vision had returned to normal, so I wasn’t thinking concussion. Quite. “It’s nothing major.”

Tybalt took his hand off my shoulder and slid it through my hair. I bit my tongue, holding back a yelp as his fingers found every scrape and abrasion my battered scalp had to offer. “Nothing major?” he asked, pulling his hand away. Blood covered his fingertips. “When the night-haunts come for you, should I tell them to go away because it’s nothing major?”

“That’s not fair,” I said, gritting my teeth against the pain. The blood on his hand wasn’t helping. I hate the sight of my own blood.

“Since when has fair had anything to do with us?” he asked, and stood, picking me up in the process. I found myself supported against his chest with my legs pinned under his arm before I had a chance to react.

“Hey!” I protested. “Put me down!”