An Artificial Night

“Yeah, baby. Then we’ll go home.” I started walking, heading toward where we’d left the rest of the children. The word “home” seemed to give Jessica some of her confidence back, because she let go of me after a few steps, darting ahead and vanishing into the trees.

Raj and the others had been hard at work while we were away. Five of the older kids were busy lashing bundles of sticks together as they finished Helen’s litter, and there were sentries posted in the trees, almost invisible through the leaves until you walked under them. I smiled faintly. “Leave it to the Cait Sidhe to take to guerrilla warfare without blinking,” I said.

“What?” asked Raj, appearing accompanied by the smell of pepper and burning paper.

Quentin jumped, nearly knocking Katie over. I just shook my head. One good thing about spending years being tormented by Tybalt: I don’t surprise as easily as I used to where the Cait Sidhe are concerned.

“I was just saying that you seem to have things pretty organized,” I said, taking a better look around. The kids that Raj didn’t have on sentry duty or building a litter had mostly gone to sleep, pillowed in the leaves and clinging to one another. Those that were still awake but unoccupied were sitting with Helen, listening raptly as she spoke. From the way she was moving her hands, I guessed she was telling them a story, and for a moment, I almost envied her. Whether we lived or died, the pressure wasn’t on her. She was taking care of the children and leaving the heroics to Raj—and to me. Lucky us.

“Busy is easier than idle,” he said, one ear flicking back. Turning, he looked at Quentin and Katie, and frowned. “Is this your friend?” he asked.

Quentin nodded. “This is Katie.”

“I thought you said she was—”

“That’s enough,” I said. The spell I’d cast on Katie was keeping her from noticing the changes in her body—and don’t think I didn’t see the irony, considering what the Luidaeg had done to me—but it wasn’t going to stand up to someone questioning her humanity where she could hear it. “Raj, is the litter ready?”

“Almost,” he said, looking bemused.

“Good.” Andrew rose from the group around Helen when he heard my voice, walking over to take hold of my sweater. I sighed and stood a little straighter, sliding my arm around him. I had to be their hero whether I liked it or not; I was the only option they had. “Quentin, Raj, leave Katie with me and start collecting the others. We need to move.”

Helen looked up, eyes going wide. “But everyone’s exhausted!” she protested. “We can’t move yet.”

“If we don’t move, we risk being caught. If anyone wants to stay behind, they can, but we’re moving now.” It wasn’t a nice to thing to say, and I didn’t care. I couldn’t risk everyone because a few were unwilling to move. It would kill me to leave them behind, but I’d do it. I knew that as surely as I knew I’d die before I let the Riders take back Jessica and Andrew. Maybe that made me a bad person. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, it was time to go.

My words had the desired effect. The children who were awake moved to rouse the others with a speed that bordered on panic as the sentries dropped out of the trees, rejoining the group. Several of the larger kids hoisted Helen onto her litter. The buddy system seemed to have become a religion—everyone had someone’s hand to hold. No one wanted to face the plains alone. Their eyes were blank and hollow, like the eyes of refugees running from a war they didn’t understand and couldn’t escape. There were no tears. The time for tears was past. It was time to go, and none of us knew what was coming.