An Artificial Night

May poked her head back into the front, still grinning. “Look, big guy, I don’t mean to stress you out or anything, but you know we’re running on a time limit, right? We should probably make these drop-offs while Toby’s here to help.” In a weird way, she was saying what I would’ve said in her place. The faster we got the kids home, the sooner they’d be out of the walking blast radius that I’d become.

Connor stiffened and turned his attention to the wheel, pulling out of the parking lot without another word. May withdrew to the backseat, fastening her belt, and there was silence. I didn’t mind it; if no one else was talking, I didn’t have to. There was nothing for me to say.

We were halfway to San Francisco when I raised my head, blinking away tears, to find us at the base of the Bay Bridge. Connor was staring at the road, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. Maybe he hadn’t noticed my crying. Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of Faerie. I wiped my cheeks with vicious swipes of my hand, scowling. Damn it. I hate crying almost as much as I hate bleeding. They’re both signs of weakness, and I can’t afford either one.

I caught a glimpse of the rearview mirror as I lowered my hand. There were half a dozen motorcycles on the freeway behind us, weaving in and out of traffic, never quite letting us out of their sight. That wouldn’t have bothered me—there are lots of motorcycle gangs in the Bay Area—but they were following us. And that wasn’t possible. When we left the Luidaeg, she cast a don’t-look-here spell on the car. She’s Maeve’s daughter. We should have been so hard to see that we could be in an accident without anyone noticing, and we were being followed. That meant that something was very, very wrong.

Eyes narrowed, I whispered the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet. Connor gave me a worried glance. I held up my hand for quiet, the smell of copper and cut grass rising as I concentrated on the bikers. Their illusions wavered for an instant, revealing the outlines of horns and axes, and horses running where motorcycles had been an instant before. I hissed the next line, and their mirror images changed, becoming a line of dark horsemen riding their steeds at unnatural speeds down I-80. Great. California has its weird points, but homicidal faerie horsemen aren’t usually among them. Those were Blind Michael’s men.

I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw a line of normal motorcycles. My enchantment was only affecting the mirror. “Connor?”

Spike raised its head, following my gaze. Then it hissed, jumping from the dashboard and onto the back of the seat, thorns rattling. That confirmed it: I wasn’t seeing things.

“What?” asked Connor.

“Look in the mirror, would you?”

He looked up, and froze. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah.” I turned back to the front. Most of the kids were sleeping, stretched out on seats that would have looked more natural in a school bus. At least the outside of the car looked normal. “Watch the road. I’ll figure out what to do next.”

“Right,” he said, and turned his attention back to driving. His shoulders were stiff with obvious anxiety, but he was going to trust me. Good man.

May looked up from braiding Jessica’s hair, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Be quiet, I’m thinking.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged, turning back to Jessica, who was sound asleep and snuggled between May’s knees. Andrew was watching them, sucking his thumb and leaning against a catnapping Raj. It would’ve been cute if the bikers hadn’t been closing rapidly. There were seven of them, and now that I was aware of what they really looked like, I could see the flickers in their disguises; they were being eroded by the iron in the bridge and the passage over moving water. Their illusions would probably shatter by the time we reached the other side of the bay, but by then it wouldn’t matter; they’d be too close, and they’d take us. I somehow doubted they’d stop just because they were exposed. Blind Michael wasn’t likely to care about what the mortals did or didn’t see. There were reasons for the Burning Times. If they ever come again, there’s going to be a reason for that, too.

“Have we passed the Yerba Buena exit?” I had to stay calm as long as I could; there was no point in starting a panic before I had to.