Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

Sylvester shook his head. “You never think about keeping yourself alive, do you?”

“Well, if you listen to what people keep telling me, I get that particular tendency from my mother,” I said. “I get it from you, too, you know.”

“You don’t get a bit of it from your mother,” he said, reaching out to brush my hair away from my face. “She never would have gone. Now stop it. You don’t want to be a hero.”

“Never said I did,” I replied, with a sigh. “Forgive me?”

“Always.” He dropped to one knee and hugged me. I wanted to stay there and let him hold me for a little while—he’s the closest thing I have to a father, and I needed the reassurance—but Quentin needed me as much as I needed Sylvester, and I had duties to fulfill. I slipped out of his arms with a murmur of apology, walking back to where Quentin was waiting with Katie.

Quentin was stroking Katie’s hair with the back of his hand, staring into her wide, empty eyes. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard my conversation with Sylvester after his interjection; he was far away, wrapped in his own potential loss.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “How is she?”

He turned to look at me, expression pleading for me to tell him that everything would be okay. I could see it in his eyes. And I couldn’t do it. “What did you do to her?”

“It’s just a little confusion spell—it’s all I was strong enough to cast. She’s sinking all on her own. I can’t stop her.” I looked back to Sylvester and Luna. “Can you help her?”

“Fix what’s been done?” Luna shook her head. “I can’t … we can’t … no. There’s nothing we can do for her.”

Why didn’t I believe her? Keeping my eyes on Luna, I asked cautiously, “Blind Michael’s that powerful?”

She chuckled without a trace of humor. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah, well. There’s no field guide to the Firstborn.” Quentin shivered under my hand. I tightened my fingers. “I just keep tripping over them.”

Luna made a small, pained sound, visibly forcing herself to keep her composure before she asked, “How many … how many of the children did you get out?”

“The ones I went for and as many of the others as I could manage. About twenty, all told.” I kept watching her. “Katie’s the only human kid I got out.”

“You stole twenty children from my—from Blind Michael?” asked Luna, eyes going suddenly wide.

“They weren’t his to have,” I said simply.

“Oh, Toby. Oh, my dear.” She shook her head, eyes closing. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“What I had to.” I turned toward Sylvester. “Can they stay here with you? I have to finish taking care of the others.”

“Of course,” he said. “They’ll be safer here than they could be anywhere else.”

That was one less thing for me to worry about. “Great.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Not really. A little scraped up, and I could use some Band-Aids for my hands, but I’m mostly just stressed and exhausted.” I looked back toward Luna, very deliberately removing the black rose from my hair and holding it out to her. “I brought you a present.”

She paled, staring at the flower like she expected it to bite her. It was like she hadn’t seen it until it was offered. “Where …” she began, in a stunned whisper, and faltered before saying, “Where did you get that?”

“From your mother,” I said, calmly. “She misses you.”

“Oh, Toby, what have you done?” She sounded like she was somewhere between choking and crying. Not taking her eyes from the rose, she said, “Sylvester?”

“It was bound to happen one day, Luna,” he said wearily. “I’m honestly amazed that it’s taken this long. Maybe if Amandine hadn’t stood aside—”

“But she did,” said Luna. Her tails were lashing, stirring her skirt into a wild tangle. “Please, Sylvester.”

He sighed. “What would you have me do?”

“Take Quentin and his … his friend … to the Children’s Hall and get them settled comfortably. Bring them drinks and go down to collect the others.” She glanced at him, then away, as if the sight of him hurt her eyes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“This is your garden as much as any other, Luna. You planted it. I love you. But don’t you dare try to deny the need to harvest.” Sylvester gave Luna a disgusted look, helping Katie to her feet. She stood without protesting, moving easily on legs that now bent the wrong way and tapered into dainty, fully formed hooves. Her glossy smile didn’t change as Quentin slid his arm through hers; I wasn’t even sure she knew he was there.

Luna closed her eyes, standing silent as the three of them made their way out of the hall. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, flowing freely by the time she sighed and said, eyes still closed, “So you’ve met my mother.”

“You could’ve warned me.”

“No, I couldn’t. I might have tried, if I thought you’d reach her forest alive, but I didn’t think you’d make it that far.” She made the admission without flinching. When I left for Blind Michael’s lands, she didn’t expect me to come back. Opening her eyes, she looked at me sadly, and asked, “She gave that to you?”

“She asked me to bring it to you.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“Because she misses you and remembers that you like roses? I don’t know. Luna, what the hell is going on here?” I glared at her, not bothering to hide my frustration. “I’m a kid, Katie’s turning into a horse, my Fetch is waiting with the car, you sent me off to die, and I’m pretty sure Blind Michael’s your—”

“He’s my father.” Her voice was calm now; resigned. “I said to be careful of all his children, you know. You never listen. I watched you walk out of here, and I knew you wouldn’t be back, and I didn’t tell my husband, because he wouldn’t have let you go. I love you, Toby. I always have. But I hate my father more, and when you offered the choice of your life or my own, I took the one that kept me safe. You should have listened when I said to be careful. He has you now, whether you know it or not, and I don’t know if you can be saved.”

I froze. “What?”

“How many times do you need me to say it? Yes, he’s my father, and yes, I sent you to die. At least Mother’s always said he was my father, and I believe her. She’s never broken free of him.” She smiled bitterly. “They recreated Faerie more accurately than they dreamed; she doesn’t love him and hasn’t loved him in centuries, but she orbits him like the moon orbits the earth. He knows it and hates her, and they’ll never leave each other. Habit holds them.”

“But …”

“But what? I was the last of their children, born when they still thought they could love each other. When he still allowed the sun to rise.” Her smile faltered, fading. “There was sunshine then, and rainbows. We lived in his halls once; I remember that. But things changed. They fell out of love. The sun stopped rising. It was too late for us to leave his lands—my siblings were gone, scattered, and they couldn’t hide us—so Mother and I ran to the forest. The trees were strong because Mother was strong, and the roses were strong because I was there. I used to watch the Hunt sweep the moors searching for children … for me.” She shook her head. “I’m part of what he’s looking for. His lost little girl. And I will not go back.”

“How did you get away?”

“I escaped. Isn’t that how one always gets away? One escapes. One takes whatever route is open and gets out. The methods don’t matter.”

“Sometimes they do.”

“No, they don’t.” Her expression hadn’t changed, but her voice … she was begging, and I didn’t know what she was begging for. “Please, October, believe me. They don’t matter.”