An Artificial Night

“Gee, that’s sweet.” I sat, all too aware of Tybalt sitting beside me and began the story. He interjected from time to time, providing the information on his Court’s missing children. Lily sat at attention throughout, hands folded in her lap.

When we were done, I asked, “Is that clear enough?”

“Quite,” she said. “Give me your hands.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Come now; you’re occasionally oblivious, but I’ve rarely seen you stupid.” Tybalt snorted. Lily merely shook her head. “Those burns need tending.”

“Oh.” Shooting a sharp look toward Tybalt, I scooted forward and offered her my hands. She took them gently.

Pulling the bandages back hurt more than I thought it would, probably because the burns were worse than I’d assumed. Tybalt went stiff when he saw them, swearing under his breath. I shared the urge. The skin was blistered and cracked, revealing the raw flesh underneath. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought my hands had been thrust into an open fire and held there for several minutes. Unfortunately, I did know better. I would’ve been happier with a fire. Fires are supposed to burn. Windows aren’t.

Lily shook her head, sighing. “I think I may wear myself out repeating this, but I still feel compelled to try: stop hurting yourself.”

“Please,” said Tybalt.

I cast a startled look in his direction, feeling my ears go red. “Trust me,” I said, scrambling to regain my composure. “I really don’t mean to.”

“This time, I believe you. Judging by your story, you had little choice.” My attention returned to Lily in time to see her pulling a chunk of moss from the ground. “What you have encountered, I cannot say. But I will say this: what the waters cannot tell you, you should perhaps ask of the moon.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

She looked at me, eyes unreadable. “There are things I may not speak of. You know this, yes?”

“Of course,” I said, frowning. Undine are even more easily bound by chains of protocol and politeness than most fae races. I’d tripped over a few topics she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—discuss over the years.

“This is such a thing. Where children go, why glass burns, how far you can get by the light of a candle—these are not topics for me to discuss. But if you were to ask the moon, well, the moon might give you answers.” She began kneading the moss, her other hand holding mine.

“And Karen?” My attention was on Lily’s hands. There was a good chance that moss would be in close contact with some rather tender skin in the near future. I wanted all the warning I could get.

“Why a child would sleep without signs of waking, I do not know.”

“Right.” I paused. “What do you mean, ‘ask the moon’?”

Lily shook her head. “If you can’t answer that, you haven’t been listening to anyone for years.”

“I guess.” I watched her fingers. I was sure whatever she was planning would hurt, and I’m not fond of pain. Ironic, considering how often I put myself through the meat grinder.

Tension puts you off-balance. I was so busy watching what she was doing that I wasn’t prepared when she dropped the moss, grabbed my wrists, and yanked me forward. There was time to yelp and catch my breath, then I was falling through a curtain of water, with Tybalt shouting in the distance. After that, I was just falling.





FIVE



I HIT THE GROUND HIP-FIRST, rolling to a stop before I sat up. I was dry despite my fall through the water, and my hands didn’t hurt anymore. I looked at them and laughed as I saw that the skin was whole and smooth again. Well, I guess that’s one way to heal someone, assuming you go in for slapstick. “Lily, that wasn’t—” I stopped, blinking. “—funny?”