An Artificial Night

I blinked at the pair of them. “Luna? Do you understand what it’s saying?”


The strangeness cleared from her expression for a moment, replaced by perplexity. “Well, yes. Didn’t you know?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t.”

“You’re not surprised when Tybalt talks to the cats, are you?”

“No; he’s their King.” Tybalt’s kingship meant he could probably get running updates on how I was doing just by coming by the apartment and talking to Cagney and Lacey. I tried not to think about that too much.

“By that same logic, you shouldn’t be surprised that I can talk to my roses.” She looked back to Spike, the darkness returning to her face as she said, “Although there are times I wish they had less to say.”

“Luna.” Sylvester leaned over, placing a hand on her arm. “Please.”

She sighed deeply, seeming to pull the sound up from the very center of her being. “I don’t want to,” she said.

“I know.” He turned toward me. “Toby?”

I know a cue when I hear one. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Stacy Brown called me this morning. Two of her kids went missing sometime right around dawn.”

“How old were they?” asked Luna. There was no surprise in her words, only sorrow.

“Jessica is six, and Andy just turned four.”

“Such perfect ages,” said Luna, and closed her eyes. “How many others?”

“Five from Tybalt’s Court,” I said, slowly. “Quentin’s girlfriend, Katie, is missing, too, but I’m not sure whether it’s connected or not. She’s mortal.”

Luna’s answer was a bitter laugh. Shaking her head, she said, “Oh, no. She’s the proof. Without her, this still might be something other than what it is. At least eight in a single night, with two more nights to go? How many haven’t called for help yet? Always take them just before dawn. That leaves the most time before they sound out the alarms.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. That didn’t stop her words from upsetting me.

“Oh, you will, soon enough. Are there any others?”

“Mitch and Stacy’s middle daughter, Karen. She’s eleven. She isn’t missing, but she won’t wake up, no matter what we do. Lily has her now.”

“That should do for the time being.” Spike rattled its thorns again. Luna looked down at it, frowning. “Really?” Her attention swiveled back to me. “What time did she arrive?”

Somehow, I knew which “she” Luna was talking about. “A little bit before dawn.”

“Who?” asked Sylvester.

I sighed, looking down at my partially-eaten pie. “My Fetch.”

Silence fell among the three of us, broken only by the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. Even Spike had stopped rattling. When the silence got to be too much, I raised my head and found myself looking into Sylvester’s eyes.

“Really?” he asked, in a dangerously soft voice.

“Really,” I said, swallowing. Forcing a smile, I added, “She said her name was May.”

“October . . .”

“Her Fetch came when he was taking the children from their beds like a farmer taking apples from his tree,” said Luna. Sylvester whipped his head around to stare at her. She met his gaze without flinching. Her expression was more than solemn—it was sad and frightened and wounded, all at once. “He Rides, Sylvester. He Rides, and she’s bound to go following after.”

“Amandine—”

“Isn’t here,” Luna said, quietly. “Hasn’t been here. Won’t be here again anytime soon. Those roots fell on shallow ground, and you know it. Now will you keep him from our gates and let me tell her what she needs to know?”