An Artificial Night

“Are you done, or do you need a nap?” she demanded. “You’re heavy. Get off.”


“Sorry.” I pushed myself away from her, wincing as I put pressure on my sliced-up hands. The kitchen seemed too large, and the children were still too close to my height; leaving Blind Michael’s lands hadn’t broken the spell. Swell. “Is everyone here?”

“All of us,” Raj called, helping one of the others stand. “We’re all here.”

“Alive,” added Helen. I looked around anyway, reassuring myself. The kids were frightened and crying, but none of them looked any worse than they had on the plains. Katie was seated in one of the few intact chairs with Quentin behind her. He was stroking her hair, wincing when his fingers hit a patch of white. My spell was holding; she was smiling, oblivious to it all.

“Oh, thank Maeve,” I breathed, looking back to the Luidaeg. “Your gifts worked.” Thanking her mother was as close as I could get to thanking her.

She smiled, the brown bleeding back into her eyes. “I knew they would. You made it.”

“Yeah, we did.” I paused. “Luidaeg . . . I’m still a kid.”

“And a cute one at that.” She grinned. “Bet your mom could just eat you up. You’re a bit pointier than you used to be, but that’s what you get for wrestling with thorn briars.”

“How long is this going to last?”

“Not long.” She sobered, shaking her head. There was something I didn’t recognize behind the darkness in her eyes. I didn’t like it. “Not long at all.”

“Luidaeg?”

“What?” She frowned, the strangeness fading. “You need to get these brats out of here. I can’t stand kids.”

“Of course.” I make it a rule not to push the Luidaeg when she doesn’t want to be pushed. I don’t want to be a snack food. “Can I use your phone?”

“Why?” she asked.

“I can’t exactly drive like this.” Although the idea of a car full of kids careening down the highway was amusing, it wasn’t practical. For one thing, I wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals. “We need someone to pick us up, unless you want to drive us.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Me, play taxi? No.”

“Thought so.” Andrew and Jessica were still clinging to each other as I slipped out of the kitchen, heading into the living room. The phone was on an end table next to the couch. I walked over to it, ignoring the crunching sounds underfoot, and paused.

Who was I supposed to call? Tybalt didn’t drive, and I didn’t want to explain the current situation to Connor. Mitch and Stacy didn’t need the added stress, especially not given what I thought I’d learned about Karen. There would be time to tell them that their daughter was probably dead later, after I’d managed to get the rest of the children home.

The Luidaeg’s phone had a dial tone; that surprised me. It implied a more solid connection to the real world than I’d expected. I dialed Danny’s number from memory. Six rings later, Danny’s voice announced jovially, “You’ve reached Daniel McReady—”

“Danny, great! It’s Toby. I—”

“—and I’m not available to take your call right now, on account of I have a job. If you’re calling about breed rescue, please leave a detailed message, including your name, address, and how many you want.” Something barked in the background. Muffled, he shouted, “Tilly! You stop biting your sister!” before returning to say, more normally, “Everybody else, you can leave a message, too, and I’ll call you just as soon as I can. I gotta go break up a fight in the kennel. Later.” With that, the connection was cut, leaving me groaning.

Danny wasn’t available. Now who was I supposed to call? Santa Claus? He could fly through the city dropping us down chimneys . . . no. Not Santa, but someone almost as good. I dialed again, quickly, and waited.

The phone was answered immediately. “You’ve reached October Daye’s place, this is Toby.”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “If you were me, you’d know I never sound that happy when I answer the phone.”