Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

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.”

“Sorry I didn’t call,” I said, rising. “Things have been a little hectic.” Tybalt snorted at the understatement.

Lily looked at Karen and frowned, the scales around her mouth tightening. “You have a sleeping child. Have I missed something?”

“She won’t wake up,” I said. “Her mother called me, and she—”

Lily raised a hand, cutting me off. “What have you done to your hands?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Tybalt.

“I burned them,” I said, grimacing.

“And how did you do this immensely clever thing to yourself?”

“I touched a window.”

Lily sat, gesturing for us to do the same. “Now, explain. When you’re done, I may ask you to explain again, this time using actual words, but we’ll see. Perhaps you’ll surprise me.”

“Gee, that’s sweet.” I sat, all too aware of Tybalt sitting beside me and began the story. He interjected from time to time, providing the information on his Court’s missing children. Lily sat at attention throughout, hands folded in her lap.

When we were done, I asked, “Is that clear enough?”

“Quite,” she said. “Give me your hands.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Come now; you’re occasionally oblivious, but I’ve rarely seen you stupid.” Tybalt snorted. Lily merely shook her head. “Those burns need tending.”

“Oh.” Shooting a sharp look toward Tybalt, I scooted forward and offered her my hands. She took them gently.

Pulling the bandages back hurt more than I thought it would, probably because the burns were worse than I’d assumed. Tybalt went stiff when he saw them, swearing under his breath. I shared the urge. The skin was blistered and cracked, revealing the raw flesh underneath. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought my hands had been thrust into an open fire and held there for several minutes. Unfortunately, I did know better. I would’ve been happier with a fire. Fires are supposed to burn. Windows aren’t.

Lily shook her head, sighing. “I think I may wear myself out repeating this, but I still feel compelled to try: stop hurting yourself.”

“Please,” said Tybalt.

I cast a startled look in his direction, feeling my ears go red. “Trust me,” I said, scrambling to regain my composure. “I really don’t mean to.”

“This time, I believe you. Judging by your story, you had little choice.” My attention returned to Lily in time to see her pulling a chunk of moss from the ground. “What you have encountered, I cannot say. But I will say this: what the waters cannot tell you, you should perhaps ask of the moon.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

She looked at me, eyes unreadable. “There are things I may not speak of. You know this, yes?”

“Of course,” I said, frowning. Undine are even more easily bound by chains of protocol and politeness than most fae races. I’d tripped over a few topics she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—discuss over the years.

“This is such a thing. Where children go, why glass burns, how far you can get by the light of a candle—these are not topics for me to discuss. But if you were to ask the moon, well, the moon might give you answers.” She began kneading the moss, her other hand holding mine.

“And Karen?” My attention was on Lily’s hands. There was a good chance that moss would be in close contact with some rather tender skin in the near future. I wanted all the warning I could get.

“Why a child would sleep without signs of waking, I do not know.”

“Right.” I paused. “What do you mean, ‘ask the moon’?”

Lily shook her head. “If you can’t answer that, you haven’t been listening to anyone for years.”

“I guess.” I watched her fingers. I was sure whatever she was planning would hurt, and I’m not fond of pain. Ironic, considering how often I put myself through the meat grinder.

Tension puts you off-balance. I was so busy watching what she was doing that I wasn’t prepared when she dropped the moss, grabbed my wrists, and yanked me forward. There was time to yelp and catch my breath, then I was falling through a curtain of water, with Tybalt shouting in the distance. After that, I was just falling.

IHIT THE GROUND HIP-FIRST, rolling to a stop before I sat up. I was dry despite my fall through the water, and my hands didn’t hurt anymore. I looked at them and laughed as I saw that the skin was whole and smooth again. Well, I guess that’s one way to heal someone, assuming you go in for slapstick. “Lily, that wasn’t—” I stopped, blinking. “—funny?”

The knowe stretched out around me in an array of ponds and flatlands, all connected by narrow bridges. Lily, Tybalt, and Karen were gone. “Tybalt?” No one answered. I stood, automatically reaching up to shove my hair back, and stopped as my fingers encountered a tight interweave of knots and hairpins. I pulled one of the hairpins free and glared at it before shoving it back into place. Jade and dragonflies. Cute.

My frown deepened as I looked down at myself and took in the whole picture. Lily apparently extended her services to healing my fashion sense as well as my hands: my T-shirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a steel-gray gown cut in a vaguely traditional Japanese style and embroidered with black and silver dragonflies. A black velvet obi was tied around my waist, my knife concealed underneath a fold of fabric. It wouldn’t be easy to draw, but at least she hadn’t left me unarmed. Pulling up the hem of the gown exposed one battered brown sneaker—she’d left my shoes alone.