An Artificial Night

They’d rented a small bus to get everyone to Golden Gate Park and back to Pleasant Hill afterward. Cassandra climbed into the driver’s seat, which made a lot of sense; other than myself and Connor, I wasn’t certain anyone else in the crowd had a license, and I was in no condition to drive. Half the kids were asleep before we’d even reached the freeway, collapsed bonelessly against their parents.

I wound up between Connor and Tybalt. They kept glaring at each other over the top of my head. I had a pretty good idea of why, but I didn’t want to deal with it; I closed my eyes instead, pulling my cloak tight and melting back into the seat. It all felt like the setup for a bad joke. Purebloods, changelings, a Fetch, and the Duchess of Shadowed Hills are in a bus headed for the East Bay ...

I dozed off somewhere during the trip, and woke when the bus pulled into the parking lot of Paso Nogal Park. That was the cue for everyone to scatter in every direction possible. The parents took their kids and went home, some of them stopping to take my hands and make sounds of meaningless appreciation. I smiled and nodded and pretended I couldn’t see the way they avoided meeting my eyes. Luna led those of us who remained into the knowe via a shortcut I’d never seen before, skipping almost all the ludicrous gymnastics. Cheater.

She left us once we were inside, saying she needed to find Sylvester, while Quentin and Cassandra went off to call Mitch and Stacy. Connor followed after Luna, and I realized that I hadn’t seen Tybalt since we left the bus. I glanced to May.

“Where’s—”

“He said he had a cat thing,” she said, and shrugged.

“Right. Now what?”

“Come on this way. Luna said you’d be hungry. And, y’know.” She flashed another tired but sunny smile. “Nudity taboos.” With that, she was off and walking, navigating the knowe with the sort of casual ease that told me a lot about how much time she’d been spending at Shadowed Hills since I disappeared. This wasn’t borrowed familiarity. This was all her.

After about five minutes of walking through the halls, she opened the door to a small, oak-paneled antechamber. A meal of cold cuts, bread, fruit, and cheese had been laid out on the room’s single table, and a pile of clean clothes was folded on one of the chairs. Spike was curled up on the pile of clothing, head down on its paws, looking despondent.

“Hey, Spike,” I said.

Its head snapped up and it launched itself from the pile of clothes, mewling frantically as it raced toward me. I surprised myself by laughing as I held out my arms, and it jumped into them, still mewling as it rammed the top of its spiky head against my chin, barely managing to avoid puncturing me.

“I missed you, too, baby. I did,” I said, stroking it.

“I had a hell of a time getting it to eat,” May said. Crossing to the chair, she picked up the bundle of clothes. “These are from home. We figured they’d still fit, although you lost a little more weight than I was counting on. Didn’t they feed you?”

“I don’t remember,” I said.

Getting dressed while trying to deal with a rose goblin that vehemently didn’t want to be put down was an exciting experience, but with some creative juggling and a little help from May, I managed it. I felt a lot better once I had some clothes on, and better still when May managed to remove Spike from my shoulder long enough for me to shrug into my jacket. The leather still smelled, faintly and comfortingly, of pennyroyal.

“So now what?” asked May, as she stepped back.

I picked up a slice of bread, eyeing the cold cuts for a moment before starting to slap a sandwich together. “I’m going to eat this, check in with Sylvester, and—”

“She’s going back to my grandfather’s lands.”

The voice was unfortunately familiar. I stiffened, sandwich forgotten as I turned to face the woman standing in the antechamber doorway. “Rayseline.”

“October,” she replied, almost mockingly. “You’re secretly a cockroach, aren’t you? Don’t worry, you can tell me. It won’t make me think any less of you. Really, I don’t think that anything could.”

“I’m not a cockroach, I’m just hard to kill,” I said, putting my half-assembled sandwich back on the table. “Can I help you with something?”