An Artificial Night

“No, you didn’t. You can’t find me yet; it’s too soon. You have to get out of here, and you have to find her. Please!”


“Find who?” I shook my head. “Sweetheart, I’m here to save you. You and the others.”

“No one came to save her, and so she had to save herself. She’s sorry, but you have to find her. It’s important. It’s very important.” She pulled her hand away. The smell of roses hung heavy in the air; not the perfect roses of Evening’s curse, but a richer, earthy midsummer scent. “You can’t find us if you don’t find her. Wake up, Aunt Birdie. Wake up . . .”

I opened my eyes and promptly wished that I hadn’t. My lower body was numb, and my head felt like it was on fire—not a good combination. If I squinted I could force the shadows above me to resolve into a canopy of branches and dead leaves . . . the woods. I was in the woods. If I was in the woods, what I remembered happening after the Riders shot me wasn’t a dream. Acacia saved me because she thought I knew her daughter. No matter what this meant, it probably wasn’t something I was going to like very much.

Spike was sitting in the middle of my chest. It gave a triumphant squeak when it realized I was awake, beginning to make the rasping, scraping noise that served it as a purr.

“Hey, Spike,” I whispered, forcing myself to smile. “You been there long, guy?” It chirped. “Right. I’ll just pretend I understood that, okay? I missed you.” Fighting my natural inertia—once at rest, I tend to stay at rest—I raised a hand and scratched the top of Spike’s head. “That’s my good Spike.”

I continued to scratch as I took slow stock of my body. My throat was burning, and it felt like I’d been sucking on sandpaper. More, my head was pounding, my back hurt, and I couldn’t feel my legs. Whatever I was lying in swayed with the motion of my hands—a hammock. I couldn’t see past my chest; for all that I knew, my body ended just past the point where Spike was sitting. That probably wasn’t the most comforting idea I could have come up with. Damn. I spent an unknown amount of time trying to twist around so that I could see myself before exhaustion overwhelmed me and I fell into an uneasy doze.

Maybe my body got some rest out of that unplanned nap, but my mind didn’t. It kept racing, generating countless nightmare scenarios beginning with what Blind Michael would do when he learned I couldn’t run and going downhill from there. I woke to find Spike sniffling at my face, attracted by my whimpering.

“It’s okay, Spike,” I said, stroking its side. “You’ll be okay.” It whined but subsided, and I returned to my unhappy napping.

I don’t know how long that went on before footsteps in the dark heralded Acacia’s return, snapping me awake. I tried to twist toward the sound, half hopeful, half afraid, but I couldn’t even move that much. I was more than trapped; I was helpless. Spike jumped to its feet, chirping at whatever it saw in the shadows. That reaction may have been the only thing that kept me from freaking out completely. Spike is usually a pretty good judge of character. It wasn’t worried—why should I be? Unless, of course, this was the one time it happened to be wrong.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Hello?”