An Artificial Night

Lily was kneeling on a cushion, pouring tea into rose-colored china cups that rested on a table so low to the ground that kneeling was the only option—not that she’d provided chairs. Lily can be a bit of a traditionalist when she wants to be, and that’s most of the time. Tybalt sat across from her on a similar cushion, looking entirely at ease with his surroundings. That’s another infuriating thing about him. He’s so damned self-confident that he could probably have dinner with Oberon himself and not feel like he was outclassed.

Karen was asleep against the pavilion wall, pillowed on a pile of cushions with Spike curled up on her stomach. It looked like she’d taken her own trip through the amazing Undine car wash and healing salon. She was wearing a white robe embroidered with cherry blossoms and her hair was combed into a corona around her head. She was just as pale as she’d been before Lily pulled her little stunt and, somehow, I didn’t think she’d woken up. Her original clothes were folded on the floor next to her, along with mine.

“I see you’ve found us,” said Lily. She waved a hand toward the other side of the table, indicating the place next to Tybalt. “Please. Sit.”

“You could have warned me, you know,” I said, walking over to settle as directed. My knees complained when I tried to kneel, so I sat instead, sticking my legs straight out in front of me. Tybalt appeared to be kneeling as comfortably as Lily. I shot him a dirty look. Show-off. “Was there a reason you needed to shunt me halfway across the damn knowe?”

“Yes,” she said, continuing to pour. That was really no surprise. I rarely get out of the Tea Gardens without stopping for a cup of tea with Lily, no matter how urgent my business seems to be. Still . . .

“I’m not sure we have time for this, Lily,” I said. “We should be looking for the kids.”

“There’s always time for tea,” chided Lily, placing a cup in front of me. “I ‘shunted you,’ as you so charmingly put it, because you needed to be healed. The damage was magically done, which made it fixable, if I was willing to be firm with it. As for why I didn’t warn you, your dislike of water is difficult to miss. I thought you might resist if you knew what was intended.” A small smile creased her lips. “A certain resistance to getting wet is a trait you share with our royal friend here.”

Tybalt made a face. “I don’t consider avoiding pneumonia to be a bad thing.”

“If you can contract pneumonia in the waters of my land, you have more troubles than a touch of moistness,” said Lily. Sobering, she looked toward me. “I am sorry, October, but I can’t wake the child. I tried. I can keep body and spirit together for the time being, but I fear that may be the extent of my capabilities.”

“But what’s wrong with her?”

Lily raised her teacup, using the habitual gesture to try to conceal the worry flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Should I take her to Jin?” Jin was the Court healer at Shadowed Hills. She wasn’t in Lily’s league—almost no one who isn’t an Undine even comes close—but she was good, and her skills were somewhat different. The Ellyllon aren’t environmental healers, like the Undine; they work with charms and potions, and that can make them try harder. They aren’t limited by what the water can do.

“I don’t think so,” said Lily. “Moving her before we know the source of her condition may do more harm than good. You did well to bring her here. I can watch over her until more is known.”

“So we don’t know why Karen won’t wake up, we don’t know what happened to the missing kids—I don’t even know where I should start with this one.”

“Ask the moon,” said Lily.

“You keep saying that,” Tybalt said, with a frown. “Perhaps you’d like to translate it.”

“I can’t,” said Lily, calmly meeting his eyes. “If you wish to find your answers, you’ll need to begin thinking, not merely reacting.”

“Thinking,” I said, and turned toward him. “Tybalt, when you went looking for the missing kids, did you notice anything unusual about the places where they normally slept?”

“Beyond their absence?” His frown deepened. “The air was sour. It smelled wrong, like things that shouldn’t have been there.”

“Things like what?” I asked, a grim certainty growing inside me.