An Artificial Night - BK 3 (7 page)

I got out of the car, locking my door before turning around. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing there, so I didn’t have time to stop before I collided with Tybalt. He grabbed my shoulder, steadying me until I no longer looked like I was going to fall.

I stepped backward, yanking myself out of his grasp. “Tybalt.”

“October.” His expression was composed to the point of being unreadable. “This is an interesting choice of locales. I was unaware of your love for the smell of rancid grease.”

“Nowhere else to park,” I snapped, pushing past him. Opening the passenger side door, I began trying to undo Karen’s seat belt. Spike was curled on her lap. It chirped at me before jumping down to the pavement, rattling its thorns at Tybalt. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t the pleasure of your company enough?”

I looked up, eyes narrowed. “Hasn’t been for a while now, has it?”

“You know, in that brief absence, I’d almost forgotten how much you frustrate me.” Tybalt sighed. “I had my reasons. I apologize if my disappearance troubled you.”

Given the amount of time I’ve spent avoiding Tybalt over the years, I couldn’t think of a good response to that. I settled for placing one hand on Karen’s shoulder and glaring.

When he worked at it, Tybalt could be the most infuriating person I’d ever met. Being a cat, he worked at it a lot. He was pureblooded Cait Sidhe, powerful enough to hold his position as the local King of Cats—not an easy thing to do, given the literal viciousness of Cait Sidhe politics. He might have been less annoying if he wasn’t every bit as good-looking as he thought he was. Black streaks in his brown hair suggested the stripes on a tabby’s coat, and his eyes were a deep, clear green, made slightly alien by feline pupils. He had a cat’s casual elegance and an athletic build, combined to irritatingly good effect with the sort of face that made women give him pretty much whatever he wanted. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had the decency to freckle or at least tan, but I guess freckling is beneath the Cait Sidhe.

Tybalt and I have a complicated relationship, and it seems to get worse as often as it gets better. He was civil, even friendly, when we were tracking a murderer through Tamed Lightning . . . and he disappeared as soon as we were done. I hadn’t seen him since, despite spending several nights wandering the alleys of San Francisco searching for the Court of Cats.

I tried to tell myself that I just wanted to give him back his jacket. I’ve never been good at believing my own lies; I wanted to see him, nothing more or less than that. It was ironic, in a way, because if somebody had asked six months ago how I’d feel about Tybalt deciding to mind his own business and leave me alone, I would have answered “relieved.” When he actually did it, I was hurt. I wasn’t sure how to deal with that, so I went for the easy option. I got pissed.

He looked at my expression and sighed again. “I take it my apology isn’t accepted?”

“Was there a particular reason you decided you needed to vanish?” I finally got Karen’s seat belt undone and hoisted her out of the car, trying to balance her against my side long enough to let me lock the door. Spike barely jumped clear fast enough to avoid being stepped on.

“I had business to take care of.” Tybalt moved almost too fast for my eyes to follow, suddenly taking the bulk of Karen’s weight. “Let me help you with that.”

I eyed him but didn’t object as I finished locking the door. “What do you want?”

“Do I have to want something?”

“You haven’t spoken to me in more than two months, so yeah, you have to want something.”

“Good to see you haven’t changed,” he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He eased Karen fully into his arms, holding her easily. “Where are we going?”

“There’s no ‘we’ here, Tybalt. Karen and I are going to see Lily. You can go wherever it is you go when you’re not bothering me.”

“And here I thought you’d missed me.” His smile remained, growing a bit more solid as he said, “You’re still wearing my jacket.”

“Yeah, well. It was the only thing I wasn’t worried about damaging.” I forced myself to keep looking at him, denying the urge to blush and look away. “What do you
want,
Tybalt?”

He looked at me, smile fading. “I need your help.”

I hadn’t expected that. I blinked. “What?”

“I need your help.” He looked down at Karen like he was addressing his words to her instead of me. “Five children vanished from the Court of Cats this morning.” His tone was infinitely weary. I stared. “Three were changelings living with their fae parents. One was a quarter-blood living with her changeling mother. The last was pureblooded.” He glanced up at me, and now the weariness was in his face as well as in his voice. “It’s my brother’s son. The only royal Cait Sidhe born in my fiefdom in the last sixty years.”

“They just vanished?” My mouth was suddenly dry. Spike rattled its thorns, almost like it was punctuating the question. Cait Sidhe tend to be even more nocturnal than most fae; their feline natures usually keep them unconscious through the days. “Are you sure?”

“The quarter-blood is the youngest—she’s only six, and she’s still living as a human. Her mother woke to find her missing and notified the Court, thinking we might have taken the girl. That was enough to make us check on the others.”

Oh, oak and ash. Pushing the panic down to keep it out of my voice, I asked, “Why are you coming to me with this, Tybalt?”

“I could say a lot of pretty things that don’t mean anything, but the fact is, you’re the only person I could think of.” He kept looking at me gravely. “You’re good at this sort of thing, October. And more . . . you owe me a debt.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Asking you doesn’t put the Court in a position of owing one of the local nobles.” Another smile—a bitter one—ghosted across his lips. “There’s only so much my subjects will tolerate. It’s my responsibility to get the children back, but I can’t endanger our sovereignty to do it. Please. Do this, and there are no debts between us. Everything is paid.”

Tybalt had helped me hide a very powerful artifact after the woman who owned it died. He’d held me in debt ever since. For him to offer my freedom . . .

“Help me get Karen into the Tea Gardens, and we’ll talk,” I said, raking my hair back automatically and wincing as the gesture pulled on my bandages.

Eyeing my hands, Tybalt asked, “What have you done to yourself now?”

“I touched a window,” I said. “Come on.”

We had barely left the shadows behind the snack bar when I felt a spell settle over us, accompanied by the musk and pennyroyal signature of Tybalt’s magic. I gave him a sidelong look and he smiled, a bit more genuinely this time.

“I thought it best that we not be seen,” he said.

“Fair.” I might have been annoyed at him for using magic on me without permission, but I was too relieved that he’d noticed the need. I was more relieved not to have been the one to cast the don’t-look-here. I was starting to think I’d need all the resources I could tap.

We made a strange, ragtag little procession as we crossed the courtyard to the Japanese Tea Gardens: me in the lead, Tybalt behind me carrying Karen, and Spike running circles around all three of us. I tried to ignore the throbbing in my hands as we walked up to the gates. Spike traipsed at my heels, occasionally scampering off to scatter the pigeons. The birds were pretty blasé about being chased by an animate cat-shaped rosebush; I guess living in Golden Gate Park has gotten them used to the bizarre. I can understand that. It’s a pretty strange place.

The park sits in the middle of San Francisco, squarely in the private holdings of the Queen who rules Northern California. Despite that, it swears no fealty, serving instead as home to dozens of independent Courts. They have their own hierarchy and etiquette. More traditional nobles have learned—to their dismay—that interfering in the Golden Gate Courts is a good way to get hurt. Lily’s Court is one of the oldest and best known of the independents. She sets the law in the Tea Gardens and that shapes the law of the park all around her. None of the fae living there would intentionally go against her wishes. Since they obey her, she never orders them and, since she never orders, they obey. It’s a circle that’s served the park well for a long time.

The girl at the ticket booth looked up at our approach, blinking. “Whoa,” she said, in an exaggerated California drawl. “It’s, like, Toby Daye and Tybalt.” She was every inch the Valley Girl, from her feathered blonde hair to her pink tank top. Her makeup was an expertly applied mix of pale green and bubble-gum pink; she looked like she wouldn’t recognize a changeling if it bit her. It’s a good cover. After all, it fooled me the first time we met.

“Hey, Marcia.” She looked human, but she wasn’t quite. Somewhere in her family tree was just enough fae blood to pull her over the line into a world where glass burned and children vanished in the night. A pale gleam surrounded her eyes, betraying the amount of faerie ointment she was wearing. With blood as thin as hers, she needed it.

She squinted at Tybalt, making an effort to see through the don’t-look-here he had covering Karen. Her faerie ointment was good enough to tell her he was carrying something, but not good enough to see through it. She finally gave up, asking, “What are you two up to?”

“Just stuff,” I said. “What’s the admission today?”

“Is Lily expecting you?”

“No.” I rarely phone ahead. It’s not that I enjoy surprising everyone I know; it’s more that I almost never know where I’m going before I actually get there.

“No charge.” She grinned. “Lily complains all the time that you never come to visit.”

“Uh-huh.” Between the missing children and my burned hands, I didn’t feel particularly social. Judging by Tybalt’s expression, neither did he. “We’ll go on in.”

“Any time.” She waved us through before resuming the intent filing of her nails. Like most people who live on the outskirts of Faerie, she knew a “thank you” when she didn’t hear it. One of the stranger tenets of the fae moral code says that the phrase “thank you” implies an obligation beyond the acts already performed and is thus to be avoided at all costs. Faerie is fond of avoiding obligations. I guess that’s part of why the mortal world has always dismissed us as flakes and tricksters; we only thank you if you owe us.

The Tea Gardens are always beautiful in the fall. The Japanese maples turn pale shades of orange, red, and gold, dropping the occasional leaf into the koi ponds to float decoratively on the water. The lilies are in bloom, and you can see the shining shapes of the fish darting beneath them. Wooden trails wind between high, elegant bridges. Unfortunately, wood is slippery when wet, and the trails get wet a lot. If I’d been carrying Karen, odds are good that we’d have ended up in a pond. Tybalt didn’t miss a step, making his way quickly down the paths to the base of the moon bridge that marks the entry into Lily’s knowe.

The moon bridge is built in an almost perfect semicircle, rising steeply into the air. Its apex vanishes behind a curtain of cherry branches, making it look like it goes on forever. The illusion is more accurate than most people realize.

Tybalt continued up the bridge without a pause, not even hindered by the fact that his arms were full of an unconscious child. I muttered, grabbing the rail and beginning the climb. The moon bridge has
never
been my favorite part of the Tea Gardens, and I’m usually making the climb with unburned hands. Spike bounded ahead, chirping as it raced for the top.

The branches grew more and more tightly interlaced overhead, filtering out the sun until the sky was gone, replaced by a woven willow ceiling. Fireflies and pixies glittering with a dozen shades of pastel light illuminated the air. I took another step. The bridge dissolved, leaving me on a cobblestone path winding through a marshy fen. We had entered Lily’s knowe.

Faerie knowes are little pieces hewn out of the Summerlands, carved to fit fae needs and desires. They generally reflect the personalities of their keepers. Some knowes are hollow hills and some are castles; one, in Fremont, is a labyrinthine computer company where the floors blend in an endless series of cubicles and hallways. Lily was an Undine, a river spirit bound to the waters of the Tea Gardens, and her knowe mirrored her nature. It was a twisting realm filled with moss and small streams, entirely at ease with itself.

Tybalt knelt on the nearest patch of relatively dry land, settling Karen on the moss. She was still asleep. He rose and stepped back as I hurried over to them. Dropping to my knees, I pressed my hand against her cheek to check her temperature. She was cold. I shrugged out of Tybalt’s jacket, spreading it over her. Maybe it wouldn’t do any good, but I didn’t see where it could do any harm, either.

“October—”

“Don’t.” I kept my eyes on Karen, not looking at him. If I saw pity in his face, I was going to scream. “Just don’t.”

An awkward silence fell between us. There were never silences like that before he followed me to Fremont. There were never silences at all. He insulted me, I sniped at him, and things stayed simple. Things didn’t feel simple anymore—my feelings were a long way from simple, and his feelings could be just about anything—and I had no idea what to do about it.

The sound of gentle splashing from behind us was a relief. I turned to see a column of water lifting itself out of the pond. “Hi, Lily,” I said.

The water flowed closer to the land, resolving into the diminutive form of the Lady of the Tea Gardens. The air around her molded itself into a dark blue kimono that gleamed like rain-wet stones. A series of jeweled pins secured her long, dark hair, trapping it in an ornate bun.

“October, Tybalt,” she said, sounding surprised. Her accent was thicker than usual; she’d just gotten out of “bed.” Undine are normally bound to their places of origin. Lily originated in Japan. One of these days I’m going to get her to tell me how she managed to move herself to San Francisco. “I wasn’t expecting you.”