Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

I looked at her. There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask, and years of history telling me I shouldn’t. Why should I care where she’d come from? She was my friend and my liege, and Sylvester loved her. And she sent me to my death.

There were reasons to ask. There were reasons to keep my peace. Answers are bitter things, and once you get them, they’re yours and you can’t give them back. Did I want to know badly enough that I was willing to live with whatever answer she gave me?

No. I didn’t. Swallowing hard, I said the first thing that came to mind: “Well, I guess that explains Raysel.”

“Yes, it does. Blood will tell. I tried to pretend it wouldn’t, that we could change, but blood always tells. We carry the burdens of our parents.” She sighed, holding out her hand in an easy, imperious gesture. “My rose, if you would?”

I considered arguing. Then I saw the look in her eyes, all bitter sorrow and broken resignation, and handed it to her without a word. She curled her fingers around the stem and heaved a deep, bone-weary sigh, closing her eyes as she whispered, “Hello, Mother.”

The rose began gleaming like a star, getting brighter and brighter until everything was obscured save for Luna and the rose. There was a flash of black and silver light, burning pink around the edges like a sunset, and Luna was gone, replaced by someone I didn’t know.

She was taller than Luna, with marble white skin and hair that darkened from pale pink at the roots to red-black at the tips. It fell past her knees, tangling in the rope of briars that belted her grass green gown. She looked like nothing I’d ever seen, and it hurt my heart until I stepped away from her, holding out my hands in the mute hope that I could push her away. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t mine.

“Mother, please …” she whispered. The voice was still Luna’s.

I bit my lip. “Luna?”

The rose woman opened her eyes. They were pale yellow, like pollen. And then she was gone, leaving Luna standing in her place. Luna’s ears were pressed flat, and her tails were wildly waving. Blood ran between her fingers where the barbed thorns of the rose had broken her skin. They were long and wickedly sharp; I couldn’t see how I’d managed to avoid them.

That was easy to answer: the thorns weren’t there when I held the rose, because it wasn’t intended for me. “Luna—”

“She wasn’t trying to hurt me.” She walked to the nearest vase, tucking the bloody rose among the more mundane flowers with exquisite care. “She just forgets what I am these days.”

“What are you?” I could taste her blood on the air, but it didn’t tell me anything that I could understand. Her heritage wasn’t Kitsune. It was nothing that I knew at all.

She looked to me and smiled, sadly. “Who I’ve always been: Luna Torquill, Duchess of Shadowed Hills. I’m Kitsune, for all that I have a few more … unusual traits than most. I’m also my mother’s daughter, but I’m not as strong as she remembers me. Much of my strength is spent in staying as I am.”

“What were you?”

“Something else, when the world was younger and had more room for roses.”

“Oh,” I said. What else was there? It made sense the same way everything in Faerie does: sideways and upside down, like looking in an underwater mirror.

Luna lifted her wounded hand, studying it. “I paid for the right to bleed when something cuts me. Mother won’t understand that, and I can’t expect her to. It’s not in her nature.”

“What isn’t in her nature?”

“Bleeding.” She closed her hand.

I looked at her, shivering, and said, “Now what?”

“Now you take the rest of your children home.” She smiled wanly. “Sylvester and I will … we’ll make our peace. We’ll do what we can for the children staying here, and for Quentin’s lady love. There must be a way around what Father did to her. Spells can always be broken.”

“All right,” I said, nodding. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Are you sure?” Her smile faded. “My father knows your name, and you’ve chosen Death for your driver. I’m sure she’s a sweet death, and one who wears your face most prettily, but she’s Death all the same. I’m sorry to be part of the reason that she’s here, but if you come back, it will be a miracle.”

“I’ll be back.”

“As you say.” She looked down, watching the blood trickling down her fingers. “You should go. The day is waning.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I bowed and turned toward the door, shivering despite the warmth in the hall. Nothing was what it was supposed to be; I wasn’t sure I even knew who Luna was anymore. I certainly didn’t know who I was, and now I was going to die. The week just kept getting better.

I stepped back into the mortal world, closing my eyes as the door swung shut behind me, trying to reorient myself. The shock of transition is always there when we move between worlds; just another little consequence of being what we are.

For some reason I wasn’t surprised when I heard a familiar voice behind me, sounding amazed and a little frightened. It had been that kind of week. “That wasn’t you, was it?” I opened my eyes and turned to face Connor. He stared. “I saw your car, and you were with it, but you looked right through me. I thought you were mad, but you’re not, are you? That wasn’t you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Oh, there was a clever lie.

“Of course not. Toby.”

“Why are you calling me that?” My voice sounded childish and shrill, even to my own ears.

He shook his head, walking toward me. “Did you think losing a few years would fool me?”

“I sort of hoped,” I said, shoulders sagging.

“Wrong answer. I knew you when you were a kid, remember? You tried to drown me in your mom’s garden pond and got angry when I wouldn’t die. I used to spend hours watching you chase pixies in the hedge maze. I know you, October Daye, and you can’t hide from me.” He paused. “I’m sorry you feel like you need to. I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t,” I said, reeling. I don’t need anyone to know me that well. “This wasn’t voluntary—the Luidaeg did it to me.”

His eyes widened at the Luidaeg’s name, and he asked, “Why?”

“She said she needed to.” If he wanted the details, he could damn well drag them out of me. I didn’t feel like sharing.

“I see.” He looked at me for a moment, deciding not to press the issue. Smart boy. “So who’s the clone with the car?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “That’s May.”

“She looks just like you.”

“We’re sort of related.”

“I didn’t think you had a sister.”

“She’s not my sister.”

“So who is she?”

“My Fetch.”

The world stopped as Connor stared at me, shock and terror warring for dominance of his face. Finally, voice barely audible, he said, “What?”

“She’s my Fetch. She showed up just after you called this morning.”

He swallowed hard before asking, “Is that why you didn’t eat anything at breakfast?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“You could have said something.”

“I was in denial.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Sorry. Next time Death decides to show up at my door, you’ll be the first to know.”

He dropped to his knees with a barking sigh. I stepped forward to meet him, and we clung to each other like we could stop the end of the world, me on my tiptoes and Connor kneeling. Spike leaned against me, chirping as Connor buried his face in my hair and shuddered.

“Don’t die,” he whispered. “Please, don’t die …”

Funny—I shared the sentiment. I didn’t say anything, but I held him and let him hold me. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but it could help, for a little while.