An Artificial Night

The moon bridge is built in an almost perfect semicircle, rising steeply into the air. Its apex vanishes behind a curtain of cherry branches, making it look like it goes on forever. The illusion is more accurate than most people realize.

Tybalt continued up the bridge without a pause, not even hindered by the fact that his arms were full of an unconscious child. I muttered, grabbing the rail and beginning the climb. The moon bridge has never been my favorite part of the Tea Gardens, and I’m usually making the climb with unburned hands. Spike bounded ahead, chirping as it raced for the top.

The branches grew more and more tightly interlaced overhead, filtering out the sun until the sky was gone, replaced by a woven willow ceiling. Fireflies and pixies glittering with a dozen shades of pastel light illuminated the air. I took another step. The bridge dissolved, leaving me on a cobblestone path winding through a marshy fen. We had entered Lily’s knowe.

Faerie knowes are little pieces hewn out of the Summerlands, carved to fit fae needs and desires. They generally reflect the personalities of their keepers. Some knowes are hollow hills and some are castles; one, in Fremont, is a labyrinthine computer company where the floors blend in an endless series of cubicles and hallways. Lily was an Undine, a river spirit bound to the waters of the Tea Gardens, and her knowe mirrored her nature. It was a twisting realm filled with moss and small streams, entirely at ease with itself.

Tybalt knelt on the nearest patch of relatively dry land, settling Karen on the moss. She was still asleep. He rose and stepped back as I hurried over to them. Dropping to my knees, I pressed my hand against her cheek to check her temperature. She was cold. I shrugged out of Tybalt’s jacket, spreading it over her. Maybe it wouldn’t do any good, but I didn’t see where it could do any harm, either.

“October—”

“Don’t.” I kept my eyes on Karen, not looking at him. If I saw pity in his face, I was going to scream. “Just don’t.”

An awkward silence fell between us. There were never silences like that before he followed me to Fremont. There were never silences at all. He insulted me, I sniped at him, and things stayed simple. Things didn’t feel simple anymore—my feelings were a long way from simple, and his feelings could be just about anything—and I had no idea what to do about it.

The sound of gentle splashing from behind us was a relief. I turned to see a column of water lifting itself out of the pond. “Hi, Lily,” I said.

The water flowed closer to the land, resolving into the diminutive form of the Lady of the Tea Gardens. The air around her molded itself into a dark blue kimono that gleamed like rain-wet stones. A series of jeweled pins secured her long, dark hair, trapping it in an ornate bun.

“October, Tybalt,” she said, sounding surprised. Her accent was thicker than usual; she’d just gotten out of “bed.” Undine are normally bound to their places of origin. Lily originated in Japan. One of these days I’m going to get her to tell me how she managed to move herself to San Francisco. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry I didn’t call,” I said, rising. “Things have been a little hectic.” Tybalt snorted at the understatement.

Lily looked at Karen and frowned, the scales around her mouth tightening. “You have a sleeping child. Have I missed something?”

“She won’t wake up,” I said. “Her mother called me, and she—”

Lily raised a hand, cutting me off. “What have you done to your hands?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Tybalt.

“I burned them,” I said, grimacing.

“And how did you do this immensely clever thing to yourself?”

“I touched a window.”

Lily sat, gesturing for us to do the same. “Now, explain. When you’re done, I may ask you to explain again, this time using actual words, but we’ll see. Perhaps you’ll surprise me.”