An Artificial Night - BK 3 (30 page)

Raj leaned against the back of the seat, watching Jessica manhandle her baby brother out of the car. “Will you take us home next?” he asked.

“Yeah, we will,” I said.

“My parents will be pleased.”

“I’m sure they will.” I raked my hands through my hair, and paused, realizing that my own disguise wasn’t in place. I was pretty sure nobody had seen us yet; the fact that Mitch and Stacy hadn’t come charging out of the house told me that much. So now I had a new, simpler problem: how was I supposed to make sure they didn’t see me at all?

Stacy could probably have dealt with my sudden second childhood, as long as I brought her kids home—she can be pragmatic about the strangest things—but I didn’t think she’d be able to cope with May. Like Connor, she knows that I don’t have any sisters; unlike Connor, she couldn’t necessarily handle the news of my impending death.

And then there was Karen. I’d seen her ghost. I still didn’t know how she had . . . how she . . . no. No more trauma, not yet. I’m a child of Faerie. When all else fails, we lie. Maybe it’s not an honorable philosophy, but I’ve always been willing to bend honor in favor of common sense, and common sense told me that introducing Stacy to my Fetch when her life had already been turned upside down wouldn’t be a good idea.

“I’m staying in the car,” I announced. I looked out the open driver’s-side door, asking May, “You understand why, don’t you?”

“I think so,” she said, and frowned. “I shouldn’t do this.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair. Don’t you think Stacy would want to know?”

“That I’m going to die? How is that going to help, May? She can’t change it.” I shook my head. “You have my memories. That means you love her, too.”

“I do, and you have a point, but . . .” She sighed. “I’m almost sure this is breaking the rules. I shouldn’t be helping you.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your Fetch.”

I shrugged. “So what?”

She nodded, slowly. “All right, but only because I care about Stacy. This is the last time. No more help after this.”

“I understand.”

May snapped her fingers again. Her clothes shimmered and were replaced by jeans, a button-up cotton shirt, and the battered leather jacket I got from Tybalt—typical “me” attire. Shaking the coat into place, she called, “Andy, Jessie, come on. It’s time to go.”

Jessica had managed to get Andrew out of the car, and the two were standing on the sidewalk; Andrew’s thumb was back in his mouth. Jessica turned toward May’s voice and paused, looking between the two of us. “Aunt Birdie?” she asked, cautiously.

Andrew wasn’t as easily confused. He walked over to the open door, leaned in, and grabbed the bottom of my sweater, thumb still in his mouth.

I looked at him, then over to his sister. I couldn’t lie to them, mostly because I knew there was no way in hell they’d buy it. “I don’t want to worry your mother any more than I have to,” I said. “So we’re just going to let May be me for a little bit, okay?”

May smiled at the kids, waggling the fingers of one hand in an almost shy wave.

Jessica eyed her and turned back to me, saying, “She’s not you.”

“I know that, and you know that, but we can pretend, right?”

“Well . . .” she began.

Andrew pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Okay.” Letting go of my sweater, he took May’s hand. Jessica watched with panic in her eyes. When she turned back to me, she was shivering.

“I don’t want to go without you,” she said.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, leaning out of the car and hugging her. “I know you’re scared, but once May takes you to your parents, you’ll be safe.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. He can’t hurt you anymore, because I beat him. You’re safe. So go with May now, okay?”

“Okay.” She paused, and frowned with an almost frightening intensity. “Aunt Birdie?”

“Yeah?”

“You got us out, and that’s good, but now you need to get you out, too.” She pulled back and walked to May before I could say anything, intensity smoothing into an unnatural calm as she looked up at my Fetch. “I want to go home now, please.”

Andrew nodded. “Home.”

“Okay, kids. You got it.” May took their hands, glancing at me as she led them toward the front door. I watched until I was sure nothing would leap out of the bushes to attack them and then turned away. I didn’t want to see them go inside. My farewells were already said, and there was nothing I could do to take them back.

I looked up when I felt Connor’s hand on my shoulder. He was standing next to the car, expression schooled into something almost neutral. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

Of course I was okay. Isn’t
everyone
okay when they’ve got their death hanging out with them, constantly pointing out that their time is running short? “Peachy,” I said, looking away as I blinked back tears.

He frowned. “You can cry, you know. No one’s going to judge you for it.”

I eyed him. “You know that’s not a good idea.”

“I was just offering.”

“I know. I’m trying to stay mad. Whatever kills me,” he flinched, but I continued, “it’s going to have to fight for it. I refuse to go down easy.”

“You don’t have to die!” he protested. “I’ll protect you!”

I snorted. “Get real, Connor. You couldn’t protect your way out of a paper bag. You’re a great guy, but you’re not a fighter, and you never have been. You can’t save me. If you’re lucky, you’ll save yourself.”

“If I’m lucky? Being lucky means I get to live knowing that I let you die?” His tone was brisk and bitter. “No. I don’t think so.” Shoulders tense, he turned and walked toward the car.

“Connor—”

“No, don’t. It’s not worth it. You’re going to die, and I’m just the guy who gets to watch, because you won’t even let me try to stop it. Whatever my lady wishes.” He got into the driver’s seat, resting his head against the wheel. Raj looked out the window, frowning, and I shook my head. I couldn’t explain.

Damn it. Connor knew as well as I did that I was being practical, not unfair. There’s a hierarchy of power in Faerie, and Selkies barely even register. Almost all the magic they have is in their skins. Blind Michael would chew Connor up and throw him aside without slowing down, and I’d go to my grave with another death on my conscience. Was I hurting Connor by refusing to let him help? Yes. Was I doing it because I cared about him too much to make him a speed bump on the road to my own demise?

Yes. Whether he believed me or not, yes. Oak and ash, why can’t anything ever stay simple? I stayed where I was, closing my eyes, and didn’t even flinch when May put her hands on my shoulders, saying, “I know it’s hard, but it’ll be over soon.”

I couldn’t tell whether that was supposed to be a promise or a threat. I opened my eyes and pulled away, muttering, “Great,” as I moved toward the car. Spike bounded out of the yard and tagged along at my heels, chirping. “How’s Stacy?”

“Happy, but worried about Karen.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That Karen was with Lily, and I’d let her know as soon as there was news.”

I nodded. “And did she . . . ?”

“Realize I’m not you? No. Why should she? As long as the kids keep quiet, she’ll never know.” She sighed. “You’d never have gotten away with that if she wasn’t so stressed.”

“I know,” I said, stooping to pick Spike up and cradle it against my shoulder. “We need to get Tybalt’s kids to the Court of Cats. Connor’s gonna drive.”

“Works for me.” May shrugged and climbed into the back, nudging Raj. “Move it, kid.”

Raj gave her a sharp look and turned to me, demanding, “Are you taking us home
now?
”

“Yes. It’s time.” I got into the car, closing the door before I said, “Connor?”

He lifted his head off the steering wheel, expression bleak. “Yes?”

“Can you take us to Golden Gate Park, please?”

“Oh, sure. Can I get you anything else while I’m at it? My heart on a stick? The moon and stars for your funeral gown?” He released the parking brake and started the engine.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what? All you’ve left for me to do is bury you.”

“Connor—”

“If you’ve ever given a damn about me, Toby, just do me a favor and shut up.”

I fell silent. There were a lot of things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t find the words to make them come out right. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive. Even Spike huddled silently in my lap, occasionally rattling its thorns in distress.

The kids were in better spirits. Only the Cait Sidhe were left, and they knew they were going home. The noise didn’t bother me—they kept it mostly to themselves, trying not to intrude on the cloud of gloom that covered the front seat, and when they got out of control, Raj settled them down again by means of occasional cuffs and snarls. I didn’t intervene.

The Court of Cats is different than the other Courts of Faerie. Tybalt was the current King of the Bay Area, but someday that would change; someday, he’d be replaced, and Raj was the most likely heir. The King of Cats must be dominant in every way. He’s the one who gets the greatest share of every kill, first pick of the women, and the finest of all the Cait Sidhe have to offer, but he’s also the one who protects the Court. Cats won’t obey the weak: to be King, you must be cunning, clever, and strong. Fear matters as much as respect, and if Raj was going to be King, he’d need the loyalty of his peers. That was the glue that would cement his throne.

Tybalt would have to die for Raj to become King. That idea bothered the hell out of me.

May sat quietly in the back, looking almost pensive as she watched the kids giggle and fight. What does Death have to be pensive about? She’d die when I did, that was a start. I wasn’t sure it counted, since she only existed to foretell my death, but still.

Connor pulled up in front of Golden Gate Park, starting to turn onto the main road, and the car stopped with a rattling thunk. He tried the ignition a few times, and sighed. “It’s dead.”

“That’s fine, we’re here.” I opened the door. “Come on, kids. Connor, see if you can push the car out of the road? I don’t want to cause an accident.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why not?” Connor drew himself up to his full height, glaring at me. He looked pissed, and I couldn’t blame him; he expected me to die anytime. He wanted to be there.

Raj kept me from having to answer. He eyed Connor imperiously as he stepped out of the car, saying, “The Court of Cats isn’t open ground, and you’re not invited.”

“That’s not fair.”

“And?” He shook his head, every inch a Prince of Cats. “You aren’t invited. She isn’t invited either,” he indicated May. “Only her.” He looked to me, eyes narrowed. “My uncle’s going to want to talk to her.”

“Gee, lucky me,” I muttered.

“I don’t like this,” said Connor. “If we can’t go, neither should she.”

“I agree,” said May.

“Good for you two,” I said. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.” They glared as I deposited Spike on the seat and got out of the car, but neither moved to follow. In their own odd ways, they’d both known me long enough to know better.

The children were silent as they left the car, leading me across the street into one of the alleys flanking the park. I released my human disguise once we were out of view of the street—it’s rude to enter someone else’s Court looking like something you’re not—and kept guiding the group along. Shadows began gathering around us, shallowly at first, then growing heavier until they were almost a physical presence. I stumbled to a halt. Someone grabbed my hand, yanking hard, and I fell into the dark. I gasped, struggling for breath in the sudden cold . . .

. . . and staggered into the light. We were at the end of a broad alley, our backs toward the wall. Cats ringed the walls, and more cats filled the alley, perching on fences, crates, and trash cans. Several human-form Cait Sidhe stood or sprawled on heaps of cloth and newspapers on the alley floor. There was a moment of stunned silence, cats and children staring at each other, before the alley erupted in triumphant howls from both sides. They were home.

A gray and white tabby transformed into a man with matching stripes in his hair and ran toward us, sweeping Raj into a hasty embrace as an Abyssinian cat with long, lithe limbs leaped up onto his shoulder. They started talking rapidly in an Arabic-sounding language, the cat yowling comments that both seemed to understand. The other Cait Sidhe swirled around us, laughing in delight as they reclaimed their children.

Folding my arms, I smiled. “Well,” I said, quietly, “looks like we win this one.”

The sounds of laughter and greeting masked the footsteps. There was no warning; just sudden pain as a hand grabbed my throat and whipped me around, slamming me hard against the wall. I found myself staring into wild, familiar eyes, open wide above a death-mask grin.

“Hi, Toby—miss me?” chirped Julie. Streaks of dirt were smeared down her cheeks, and her tiger-striped hair was matted. That was bad. The Cait Sidhe are obsessive about cleanliness; if she’d let herself go that far, she probably wasn’t going to listen to reason. Crazy people rarely do. “Enjoying your second childhood? Let’s make it your last!”

She raised her free hand, extending her claws. As a half-blood, Julie didn’t inherit many of her long-dead fae parent’s physical traits; the claws are an exception, but they could be a deadly one. Sunlight gleamed off them, making them look sharp enough to cut through glass. Her grip on my throat was tight enough that I could barely breathe, much less try to escape. Still grinning, she brought her hand down toward my chest in a hard slashing motion.