An Artificial Night

“Fetch,” said May, cheerful as ever. My sudden second childhood didn’t seem to be bothering her. It wasn’t surprising her either. I really should’ve paid more attention when my mother taught me about Fetches. I knew May was created with my memories, but I didn’t know how much she’d know about what happened to me after she was “born.” “I’m here to escort her into the valley of the damned. Only first I’m going to give her a ride home. And maybe stop for Indian food.”


I smiled wearily. It was hard not to admire her enthusiasm, even if she existed because I was about to die. She’d go when I did, and I couldn’t have been that cheerful if I had that short a time to live. Oh, wait. I did have that short a time to live, and I wasn’t that cheerful. “Hi, May.”

“Hello!” she said, waving again. “Could you do me a teeny little favor?”

“What’s that?” I asked warily. Call me crazy, but I’m not big on granting my personal incarnation of death little favors, no matter how much I like her attitude.

“Tell me before you run off to get yourself killed, okay? It would really help me do my job.” She looked at me pleadingly.

How was I supposed to answer that? I struggled for a moment before settling for sarcasm. “Far be it from me to hinder your efforts to carry me off into the great beyond.”

“Great!” she said, grinning again. She was apparently invulnerable to sarcasm. Her smile faded as she realized that the Luidaeg was still blocking her way. “Um, can I come in?”

“Luidaeg?” The sea witch was looking between us, eyes narrowing. I could almost see her losing her temper. “Can she come in?”

“Sure,” she said, tone tight as she stepped aside. “I’m always glad to invite death into my home.”

“I’m not death,” said May, stepping into the hall. “I’m just part of the auxiliary plan.”

She obviously didn’t get my survival instincts when she inherited my memories. I would never have brushed the Luidaeg off like that, at least not if I wanted to keep my head attached to the rest of my body. “May—” I began.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “She can’t hurt me.”

“She’s right,” snarled the Luidaeg. The look in her eyes was more than angry—it was furious, and I suddenly wondered whether she’d be the one who killed me. “You’re her target. I can’t hurt her unless I do it by hurting you.”

I frowned, trying to conceal my worry. “So what, she can get away with anything?”

“Just until you die,” said May, in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring.

Rolling my eyes, I turned and walked back to the kitchen. May waved to the Luidaeg one more time and followed, staying close at my heels.

I should have thought about what would happen when I walked into the kitchen with my adult double, but I was tired and scared and worn down, and I didn’t even consider it. Most of the kids stayed where they were, huddled together and more than half-asleep. They’d never seen what I really looked like, and my former adulthood was just a story to them.

I have to give Quentin credit—his hands tightened on the back of Katie’s chair, but he didn’t move. He just waited for my signal, ready to attack or run on my command. The kid was learning. Jessica was less discreet. She looked up and screamed, shielding her head with her arms as she tried to hide behind Andrew. Katie jerked, the spell that was keeping her calm visibly weakening. The other children were awake and scrambling to their feet in an instant, eyes wide with panic. I ran across the room to Jessica, pulling her arms away from her head and making shushing noises. There’d been too much screaming already.

Andrew frowned at his sister and looked solemnly from me to May, taking his thumb out of his mouth. Jessica kept screaming, screwing her eyes shut until I slapped my hand over her mouth in exasperation. That got her attention. Her eyes snapped open, staring at me.

“Jessie, you need to calm down, please,” I said. “It’s okay. She’s not here to hurt us.” The screaming stopped, but her breathing didn’t slow. I took my hand away from her mouth and wrapped my arms around her.

Andrew studied me, then looked to May. “You’re not my auntie,” he said gravely.

May nodded. “You’re right.”

“She is,” he said, and pointed to me.