Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

“Oh, root and branch .” I stared at him, fighting to keep my hands from shaking. “That’s what you agreed to? That’s what you paid?”

“That’s what she asked for,” he said. “I didn’t have anything else.”

“So you came to save Katie without knowing whether or not I was alive.”

“And because you needed me.” He looked at me, expression an odd combination of determination and hope. “You do need me, you know.”

I paused, and then nodded, slowly. “You’re right. I need you.” I offered him my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.” After a moment, he slid his hand into mine, squeezing my fingers. I smiled at him, and we turned together, stepping out of the shadow of the woods.

And then we stopped, staring.

The landscape had shifted, but the changes weren’t apparent until we left the shelter of the trees. The mountains were barely a half mile away, glowing purple-gray against the sky. I could see the rough shapes of Blind Michael’s halls scattered around the base of the mountain like abandoned building blocks. They all seemed to have shattered walls or broken turrets, outward signs of their decay.

Quentin’s fingers tightened on mine as he asked, “Is that—?”

“It’s Blind Michael’s place,” I said. “Come on.” I took note of the location of the one solid building—it would make a good prison—and then we started across the plains.

I never want to have another hour like the one that followed. We crept across the ground like invading soldiers, trying to stay low. The light of my candle offered some protection, but I didn’t know if it could cover us both, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen if we pushed it too far. Spike raced ahead in a blur of gray and green, waiting behind each new obstacle until we caught up. Quentin had taken the first steps toward knighthood in Sylvester’s Court; he knew how to be silent and patient. My training has been less formal, but it’s had a lot of the same results, and I can keep my peace when I need to. Somehow, trying to hide in plain sight in the lands of a mad Firstborn was really driving that need home.

We stopped when we reached the walls of the first building, sliding behind a pair of water barrels and sinking to the ground. The wall was hot, like there was a fire-place behind it. “All right; here’s the plan,” I said, voice pitched low. “The kids are in one of these buildings. We find them, we grab them, and we go.”

“And Katie?”

“Katie …” Getting her first might be the easiest way; she wouldn’t be with the others, so we could hide her in the woods while we went back for the others. If she would stay hidden. Terror is an unpredictable thing, and Katie was human. She had less experience with monsters than her fae counterparts.

Katie’s humanity raised another issue. The twisted children I’d encountered said the human children would be ridden and changed, becoming horses. If she wasn’t herself, I didn’t want Quentin to see her until we’d already done everything else we had to do. “We may have a problem there.” When his eyes widened, I raised my hand, saying, “I need you to stay calm while we go over this, okay?” He nodded. “Okay.”

Lowering my hand, I explained what I’d seen during my brief time as one of Blind Michael’s captives—and what they’d said to me. Quentin’s eyes narrowed as I spoke, and when I finished he asked, coldly, “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Because there wasn’t time. I’m sorry, and you can hate me if you want, but even if I’d told you before, it wouldn’t have changed where we wound up, which is here, needing to rescue all of the captives. All right?” He nodded, reluctantly. “Okay. We go for the others first.”

That was the wrong thing to say. He sat bolt upright, quivering with fury. “We aren’t abandoning her just because she’s human! We—”

“Be quiet!” I hissed. “We need to go for the others first because there are more of them, and they’re a lot less likely to be traumatized by all of this. You said yourself that Katie doesn’t know about the fae. How do you think she’s handling this?” He sagged, expression going bleak, and I nodded. “Exactly. We get the others first, because they might be able to help us find her, and if not, at least they’re less likely to make things more difficult.”

“Fine,” he muttered.

“Hate me later,” I said. There’d be time to worry about Katie after we found the other children—but that was the real problem. How were we supposed to find them? I turned the candle over in my hand, muttering, “You can get there and back by the candle’s light …”

“Toby?”

“Just thinking out loud about how we do this. We don’t want to open the wrong door.”

“No,” he agreed. Neither of us wanted to see what skeletons Blind Michael might be keeping in his closet.

I shook my head. “There has to be a way to find them. Blind Michael has to play fair.”

“Why?” Quentin frowned. “What’s going to make him?”

“The rules. This is a kid’s game, and they’re always fair—that’s what makes them worth winning.” I turned the candle again. “There has to be a way.”

“Oh.” He sighed. “I don’t really hate you.”

“I know.” I paused, eyes widening as I stared at the candle. The game was fair. The game had to be fair. “Hang on a second.”

“What?”

Shushing him, I raised the candle. The Luidaeg used my blood to create it, and it sang to me. More and more, I’ve been finding that most of my strength is in my blood; there had to be a way for me to use it. Everything in Blind Michael’s lands seemed to be based off broken, childish logic, all doggerel and jump rope rhymes. If the rhyme said that I could get there and back by the light of a candle, I probably could, as long as it was the right candle. It was the only lead I had. I might as well try taking it.

“How many miles to Babylon? I fear we’ve lost our way,” I chanted, ignoring Quentin’s quizzical look. “Can we get there and back by the candle’s light …” I tapered off, cursing inwardly. Rhyming has never been one of my strengths.

“Before the break of day?” Quentin finished, putting his hand over mine. I flashed him a grateful look as the flame changed colors, going from blue to a hot amber gold.

That wasn’t the only change. Runnels of wax began dripping down the sides, streaking the previously smooth surface. There was no actual blood, but I could feel the tingling burn of blood magic taking hold around me. “That’s our cue,” I said, standing. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“If this is working, to the kids.” And if it’s not, I added silently, straight to hell.

The flame brightened as we raced from building to building, trying to outrun the wax and our unseen pursuers at the same time. The flame dwindled whenever we took a wrong turn, guiding us along and consuming wax at a frightening rate. We ran until I wasn’t sure I could run anymore, and I was about to call for a stop when the flame flared, turning blue again. I skidded to a halt. Quentin wasn’t quite as fast; he caught himself on my shoulder, nearly knocking us both over. “Hey!” I protested. “Remember, you’re bigger than I am!”

“Sorry,” he said, straightening. “Why did you stop?”

“I think we’re here.” I gestured toward the nearest door. It was made of rough wood shoved into a badly assembled frame, and the walls around it were more intact than those of the other buildings. The wax had stopped melting. I was taking that as a good sign.

“Now what do we do?”

“We break in. Here, hold this.” I handed him the candle and turned to examine the door. Just for fun, I tried the handle. It was locked. I hadn’t expected anything else. Drawing my knife, I inserted it into the keyhole and twisted until it had gone as deep as it would go.