An Artificial Night

Quentin stiffened, looking away for a moment before he turned back to me and said, “I’m here for Katie. You’re going to let me help,” in what was probably supposed to be a commanding tone.

I’ve been commanded by a lot of people in my time. Some of them were pretty good at it, and a few were even good enough to make me listen. Quentin had heritage and history on his side, but he didn’t have the practice, and when you’re trying to make me do what you want, practice is what counts. It also helps if you’re not down on your hands and knees.

I snorted. “I’m sorry, but no. Go home. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care. They have Katie. I’m not going anywhere until we get her out.”

“There’s no ‘we’ here, Quentin. You have to go.”

“Why? This can’t be worse than when we went to help Jan, and I was good enough to go with you then. I’m staying. You can’t make me leave.”

How the hell was I supposed to tell him about Blind Michael? No one could have warned me about him. You can’t describe something so vast and old that it blanks out the sky; the words just aren’t there.

“Quentin, look at me,” I said, “Really look at me. This isn’t some kind of illusion—this is real. This isn’t the world you’re used to. We’re on an Islet. What does that tell you?”

“That things work differently here,” he said. Spike leaped off his shoulder, padding over to lean against my knee. I automatically started scratching under its chin. My pets have me well trained. Undaunted, Quentin said, “The Luidaeg warned me. I’m not scared.”

Of course he wasn’t scared. The fear comes later, after the hurting starts. “You need to go home.”

“Not without Katie.” His voice seemed to echo through the brambles and out to the plains. I cringed. He didn’t have a candle; Blind Michael could see him. If we kept fighting, I might be responsible for getting him caught.

“Fine, whatever,” I hissed, “But I’m in charge here, understand? You listen to me.”

“Of course,” he said, and smiled. My giving the orders and his taking them was a familiar pattern. Hopefully this time we could skip the part where I almost get him killed.

I gave him a bleak look and shook my head, turning to crawl out of the brambles. “Follow me.”

Getting back into the open was easier for me than it was for him: sometimes size really does matter. He had to back out, while I was able to crab-walk, only touching the ground for balance. Spike rode on my shoulder, pressed flat. It crooned as we moved, obviously glad to see me. I was glad to see it, too. I knew Spike could take care of itself, and having it along meant that if something happened to me, Quentin wouldn’t be alone.

Quentin stayed close, swearing when thorns caught in his clothes and hair. I didn’t feel sorry for him. He’d followed me into Blind Michael’s lands of his own free will, and I’d send him back if I could. We’d been through too much together. I didn’t want to see him hurt again. And he’d made sure that there was nothing I could do about it. Damn it. Why are we always so stupid when it comes to our own survival? How much of that was he learning from me?

I straightened once I was clear of the thorns, leaving Quentin still struggling to get free. The night seemed even darker without the brambles making a ceiling overhead to trap the candlelight.

Quentin finally got loose. I grabbed his sleeve, hushing him. I’ll give him this much: he froze, waiting for my signal before he did anything else. I couldn’t hear anyone coming—yet. That didn’t mean they weren’t on the way. “Quentin?”