An Artificial Night

BRANCHES SNATCHED AT MY HAIR as the trees closed around me, blocking my view of the plains. I ducked away from them, walking deeper into the wood. It didn’t seem like the smart choice—going deeper into the dark, foreboding forest so rarely is—but if I’d wanted the smart choice, I wouldn’t have come to Blind Michael’s lands in the first place. At least my fae blood gives me pretty good night vision—between that and the glow of my candle, I was able to see well enough not to fall. The candle’s flame was burning a steady blue, which I chose to interpret as a good thing. It turned orange when the Hunt was nearby, and if I was lucky, it might keep acting as an early warning system. Frankly, I needed the help.

I continued to pick my way through the trees, trying to avoid the rocks and trailing roots that turned the already uneven ground into a maze of obstacles. Branches kept snarling in my hair, pulling me to sudden, unexpected stops, and my patience was running out. I was bruised, scratched, and frightened, and in an incredibly bad mood to boot. I was also no closer to my goal. The Hunt came from the mountains and rode back the same way. I didn’t know where the boundaries of Blind Michael’s lands were drawn, but the geography seemed to be at least semilinear. I wouldn’t find the kids by walking away from them.

The forest was far from silent. Owls hooted in the distance, and small creatures rustled through the underbrush, rattling the leaves. The faint chorus almost made me feel better—you’re not likely to find many monsters in a place where there’s still wildlife. Of course, that could just mean nothing in this forest was harmless, but I was trying not to think about that. Vampire bunnies did not appeal. It seemed to be getting darker as I walked, the glow of my candle nearly vanishing into the shadows. The sounds around me faded out as well, getting softer and softer until they were gone. I didn’t like that at all. If King Kong came bursting out of the bushes, I was going to be pissed. Swallowing hard, I continued to walk.

No giant apes appeared. Instead, the trees opened up into a clearing. I stopped, leaning forward as I tried to catch my breath. I’d forgotten how much longer distances were to a child. My legs hurt, my knees hurt, and all I wanted was the chance to curl up somewhere and sleep it off. And there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

Something snapped in the brush. I straightened, eyes flicking automatically to my candle, which was still burning a serene blue. That might mean I wasn’t in danger, but it could also mean the spell only reacted to Blind Michael’s Hunters, and I didn’t want to take that chance. Whirling, I darted across the clearing to a hollow, half-rotten tree, dropped to my knees, and squirmed inside. It was surprisingly easy to wedge myself there; I’d forgotten how small I was. Then I waited, half holding my breath, to see what would happen next.

The snap was repeated, followed by rustling that continued for several minutes. I stayed frozen in my hiding place, managing not to scream as a figure stepped out of the trees directly ahead of me. My candle was still burning blue. Swell. Either whoever it was wasn’t a danger, or I couldn’t count on the candle to act as an early warning system. Watching whoever it was approach, I didn’t have a clue which it was.

The figure was thin and hooded, its outline obscured by an ankle-length cloak. It held a lantern in one hand; the light filled the clearing with a dim white glow. It drifted to a stop, raising the lantern to head height. One hand was lifted in a beckoning gesture. A branch swung toward it, stopping as it brushed the outstretched fingers.