An Artificial Night

Couldn’t what? Die? Why not? There was nothing stopping him. Couldn’t go away and leave me here alone? Maybe.

“Wake up, damn you!” I clamped my hand over his nose and my mouth over his own, trying to force air into his lungs. I couldn’t tell whether or not it was making a difference, so I just kept doing it, blowing in and forcing the air out again by beating my fists against his chest. “Wake up!”

It wasn’t working. I collapsed against him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and sobbing. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. Tybalt wasn’t supposed to die some stupid, pointless death he’d have avoided if it wasn’t for me. Raj would inherit early, and it was my fault.

Dozens of pixies dropped out of the trees and landed around us, folding their chiming wings and patting me sympathetically. I ignored them, curling more tightly against Tybalt.

“This isn’t fair,” I mumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he rasped. “It seems like a nice bargain to me. I risk life and limb to bring you here, and you beat me up and cry all over me.”

“Tybalt!” I shoved myself upright, staring at him. He was watching me, smiling, and while he was pale, he was also breathing. “But you—you were—”

“They tell a lot of stories about cats, don’t they?”

“What?”

“They say we have nine lives.” He levered himself into a sitting position, giving me time to move away. I did, but not far; I wasn’t letting go just yet. “There’s a sort of truth in that.”

“How?” I asked. Inside, I was screaming and crying and demanding answers. Outside, I could wait. He was alive. That was enough.

“Kings and Queens of Cats are hard to kill. Things that would kill our subjects, or us, before we were crowned, they can take us down, but we come back.” He had reached up at some point and was idly toying with a strand of my hair. I didn’t pull away. “Only so many times, though. Not nine. It would be more than my life is worth to tell you the real number.”

“But—”

“Shhh. Hush. I’m all right; you didn’t kill me. Although Juliet would be happy if you did, since it would give her an excuse to kill you.” His smile didn’t waver. “You have a talent for alienating people, you know that? You don’t mean to, but you manage all the same.”

“Tybalt, I’m—”

“Don’t make excuses; we’re better than that.” He pulled his hand away from my hair. “Go. We’re in the park that hosts Shadowed Hills. You can still do whatever needs to be done.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Sore, but fine. Now go.”

I stood, uncertainly. He started to close his eyes. “Tybalt?”

“Yes?” A note of irritation crept into his tone as his right eye finished closing, leaving him squinting at me out of the left.

“What did you mean before? When you said you knew I didn’t lie to you?”

“Ah.” The sound was half exclamation, half sigh. He closed his left eye, lips curving in a smile. “You’ve told me certain untruths, little fish, and it was important that I know the reasons. Now I know that you didn’t know any better, and we can proceed.”

“What—”

“If I tell you, you’ll call me a liar, Toby. No. I’m not trying to play the riddler, but no. If you want these answers, you’ll need to find them yourself. I hope you will. Now go.” He yawned. “I’m tired. Coming back from the dead takes a great deal out of a man.”

I stared at him. He saved my life and I got him killed, and now all he could do was make vague pronouncements and tell me to go away? Fine. I bent to retrieve my still-burning candle, trying not to look at him. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I hope so,” he said, simply.