An Artificial Night

I smiled wryly. “I know. Come on.” I offered my hand. He took it, and together, we stepped out onto the plains.

The distance between the forest and Blind Michael’s village hadn’t increased while we were in the trees, a small blessing, and one we needed very much. We crossed the plains quickly, moving with more confidence now that it was a familiar journey. That was good, because the stakes were higher, and this was our last try. We’d get Katie and get out, or the odds were good that we wouldn’t get out at all. My candle burned clean the entire way, and that made me nervous. Blind Michael had to be expecting me. Either the Luidaeg’s protections were working better than I’d dared to dream, or we were walking into a trap. I honestly couldn’t have guessed one way or the other. All we could do was keep going.

We saw no one as we entered the village and began moving from building to building, searching for something that could make a feasible stable. Blind Michael’s horses were alive and mortal. That meant they’d need food and water to survive, as well as enough space to stay healthy. There should be a paddock of some sort, and a place where they could be exercised . . .

I stopped, sniffing the air. Everything in Blind Michael’s lands smelled foul and rancid, but this was something different, something under the decay.

I smelled human blood.

“Come on,” I said, turning to head deeper into the village. “This way.”

Looking puzzled, Quentin followed as I moved deeper and deeper into the cluster of ramshackle buildings, letting the distant smell of blood serve as my guide. It was human; I was sure of that now, and so strong that it was practically visible. I glanced to Quentin, who was pacing me with a look of grim determination on his face, but no outward signs of knowing where we were going. He was Daoine Sidhe, and the smell of mortal blood was strong enough to be almost choking. He should have smelled it before I did. So why didn’t he?

Before I could follow that train of thought any further, the trail ceased to be a trail, resolving instead into a thick miasma of blood, manure, and spoiled grain, surrounding a rickety building whose walls were patched with a dozen types of decaying wood. A second roof had been constructed beneath the shattered remains of the original. Lanterns hung from each corner, casting pools of sharply delineated light and shadow across the ground. There was no door, just a broad, open archway leading to the inside. There was no point in locking the stable. Who would be stupid enough to steal these horses?

I waved for Quentin to stay back. He obeyed, scowling. His posture told me that he wanted to bolt inside, but his training was stronger. He’d been hurt before. He wasn’t going to get hurt again just because he didn’t listen to me.

Already dreading what we were going to find, I approached the archway. If it was too late to save Katie, none of my efforts to keep Quentin safe would be any good, because it would break him. He was too young to be hurt that way and not be changed by it. Maybe we’re always too young for that.

“Toby . . .”

“Come on.” The candle was still burning blue. I started forward, motioning for him to follow.

Inside, the stable was just one long, low room, lit by lanterns like the ones we’d seen outside. They cast a sickly white light, making it harder to see, rather than easier. Rotting straw covered the floor, and strange things I assumed were used for the care and tending of horses hung on the far wall. I recognized the saddles. And the whips. Stalls lined the walls on either side, their doors sealed with gates of brambles and twisted wire. Wails and whimpers came from inside, muffled and modulated into high, nickering screams. They didn’t sound like children. They barely sounded human.