An Artificial Night

“Actually, I doubt that,” I said. When there’s nowhere left to run, take refuge in cockiness. “I dream some pretty old dreams.”


“Do you?” His illusions were gone, and I could see him properly now. He was tall and thin, with skin streaked white and tan like ash bark, amber-colored hair, and ears that were forked like a stag’s horns. Just another fae lord, no less strange than the Luidaeg and maybe stronger than she, but not the world wearing flesh. He wasn’t a god, and I was glad. I can handle purebloods and Firstborn. I can’t handle gods.

“I want my kids back,” I said, keeping my voice steady. Even if he wasn’t a god, the Luidaeg was afraid of him, and I respected that. I respected getting out alive even more. “Give them to me, and I’ll go.”

“Your ‘kids’? You seek playmates? Come now, the best games are here. The best toys are here.” He dipped a hand behind himself, pulling out a crystal globe with a yellow swallowtail butterfly trapped inside it. The butterfly was frantic, beating its wings against the glass. “Stay.”

“I can’t,” I said, with level courtesy. “I have a job to do.”

“They thrust you into service so young? Poor thing, you’ve forgotten how to play. I can teach you. Stay.”

“No.”

“Well, then. If you’re so set—which of my new friends are ‘your kids’?”

“Stacy and Mitch Brown’s children. The children of the Court of Cats.” I paused, remembering Raj, and added, “The Hob, Helen. They’re my responsibility, and I’m not leaving without them. Give them to me, and let us go.”

Blind Michael laughed, sounding honestly amused as he tucked the crystal sphere away behind him. “Why should I?”

Good question. “Because I’m asking so nicely?”

“You’re in my lands, little girl. Why should I let you go, much less let you take any of my new family?” He kept turning his head, like he was seeing me from multiple angles. I glanced to the right and saw that the children on that side were watching me intently; they weren’t looking at their lord all. The Riders, on the other hand, were only looking at Blind Michael—I might as well not have been there. Interesting.

“Because I’m under your sister’s protection.” I held up my candle. The flame had died back to a glowing ember, but it was still burning. I tried to take comfort in that. “The Luidaeg promised me passage.”

“And passage you have had. Passage through my lands and through my consort’s wood. Now you are come to me. My pretty sister cannot guarantee your safety in my Court.”

Damn. “Because it’s no fun for you if you don’t let us go?”

“Hmmm. Almost a point, child—but you aren’t a child, are you?” He leaned forward, frowning. “You’re not mine. You should be. What are you, little girl that isn’t mine?”

“I’m here under your sister’s guardianship. Nothing else about me matters. Now let me go, and let me take my kids. You admit that I’m not yours.”

His frown deepened for an instant, becoming cold and puzzled. “You’re Amandine’s daughter, aren’t you? You are. I can smell it on you. Why are you here? She never came, and once a road is set aside, no other feet should claim it.”

“For my kids,” I repeated. I could worry about how he knew my mother later.

“Take them,” he countered. “Play a game with me, and save them if you can.”

Something in his words clicked. I straightened, hoping he wouldn’t hear the excitement in my voice. “I’m your prisoner. That’s not fair.” He was a child’s terror, and that implied a certain reliance on games. More important, it implied a dependence on being fair. Children don’t care about good or evil; all that matters is that you play fair and follow the rules. If Blind Michael followed children’s laws, he’d have to play fair with me, or winning wouldn’t count.