Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

“I know that, too.” I wasn’t afraid of her. When did I stop being afraid?

“Once.”

“But that was a long time ago.”

“I know.” She paused, looking down at her hands. The dainty claws that tipped her fingers retracted, reshaping themselves into human nails. “How did he die?”

“I killed him with silver and iron and the light of a candle.” I shivered as the memories slipped over me, trying to ignore the feeling of blood on my hands. Blood has power; part of me was his forever. The knives had been iron and silver, but that was only the end of the kill, not the means. He died by blood and fire and faith, by roses and the cold flicker of candlelight. My blades were only an afterthought, a sharp reminder that the long, wild chase was over, and it was time to lie down and be still. It was time to close the nursery windows. It was time to grow up.

The Luidaeg’s hand on my shoulder brought me back. I froze, blinking up at her, and she smiled. “As it should have been. Silver was his right, and iron will force the bastard to stay dead. Remember that; you can only kill the Firstborn if you use both metals. They’re too fae for silver alone, and too strong for iron. Anybody that tells you different is lying. You did good, Toby. If it had to be anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

“Oh,” I said, and stopped. There was nothing else to say. I’ve always been proud of my words, and they’d all left me. They’d been doing that a lot lately.

The Luidaeg sighed and put her arms around me, pulling me close. “Come here,” she said. “I need to hold someone, and you need to be held. It’s a fair trade. Just for a little while, and then we can go on being what we are.”

I thought about objecting, but dismissed the idea and nestled against her, enjoying the feeling of security given by knowing someone bigger and stronger than I was would stop anything from hurting me. That’s all childhood is, after all: strong arms to hold back the dark, a story to keep the shadows dancing, and a candle to mark the long journey into day. A song to keep the flights of angels at bay. How many miles to Babylon? Sorry. I don’t care.

IRANG THE DOORBELL with one hand, juggling my armload of packages in an effort to keep myself from scattering them across the porch. It wasn’t working very well, and having Spike on my left shoulder wasn’t helping.

From inside, a shrill voice caroled, “I got it I got it I got iiiiiiiit!” The front door slammed open to reveal a panting six year old, exhausted by the effort of beating her siblings to the prize. “Auntie Birdie!”

“Hey, Jessie,” I said, kneeling to hug her with my free arm. Spike chirped in annoyance, jumping down to the floor. “How’re you doing?” She seemed to have recovered from her time in Blind Michael’s lands, at least on the outside; the inside was another matter. Her mother said she woke up screaming almost every night. If I could’ve killed the bastard again, I would have.

“I guess okay.” She squirmed free, rocking back on her heels. “You here for the party?”

“No, I’m selling Amway products.” I ruffled her hair. “Goose. Take me to your leader.”

“Okay!” She grabbed my hand and hauled me toward the kitchen, shouting, “Kareeeeen! Auntie Birdie’s here!”

The family was gathered around the table in the kitchen. The birthday girl smiled from her seat, raising one hand in a wave. “I know,” said Karen. “Hi, Aunt Birdie.” Then she broke off, giggling, as Spike jumped up into her lap.

“Hey, baby. Hey, Stace.” I put the packages down and hugged my best friend, hard. She shivered and hugged me back.

“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered.

“You couldn’t keep me away.”

All the kids came home, at least for Mitch and Stacy, but that wasn’t enough, and it never would be. Losing those children at all—I still can’t imagine what I’d have done if someone had taken Gillian away from me like that. As it was, time had taken her from me, and that’s at least a little easier to understand.

The first time I came to check on the kids after everything settled, I told Stacy everything. I thought she was going to haul off and hit me when I told her about May, but she surprised me: instead of reacting with anger, she drove me back to Shadowed Hills, walked up to my Fetch, and said hello, just as polite as you please. May saved my life more than once. That made her part of the family, no matter where she’d come from.

“Hey, guys? Ever heard of holding the door?” May came in behind me, her own presents more sensibly tucked into a plastic shopping bag. She was wearing a forest green skirt that fell almost to her ankles and a pink T-shirt that read “Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Terrorist Society.” “Not that I mind waiting in the cold or anything, but it’s manners.”

Stacy let go of me and smiled. “Sorry, May.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. It gave me a chance to say hello to your neighbors. Who are very friendly, but have the ugliest dog in the world.” She put her bag down on the table, circling around to kiss Karen on the forehead. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hi, Aunt May.”

The kids adapted fast to the idea of having two aunts—for one thing, it meant more presents, and even though she looked like me, it wasn’t hard to tell us apart. My Fetch had a style all her own: a style she’d strewn across my entire no-longer-spare bedroom. She showed up on my doorstep three days after Quentin said good-bye to Katie, looking sheepish and carrying the few belongings she’d managed to collect in a cardboard box. What was I supposed to do? She wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for me, and so I let her move in. It was nice to have someone to pay half of the rent, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing for work. Sylvester helped her get a legal identity; as far as the state of California was concerned, I’d always had an identical twin sister.

Bet Amandine would be surprised to hear that one.

I sat down and was promptly rewarded by having Andrew crawl into my lap. “Hey.”

He pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Hey.”

“You good?”

“M’good.” He replaced the thumb.

Andrew was doing better than Jessica; he was sleeping through the nights and had stopped drawing disturbing pictures. His parents said I’d taken care of the monsters, and that was good enough for him. He was still young enough to believe that heroes could make all the problems go away. I miss that feeling.

Tybalt’s kids seemed to be doing well. Raj had come to visit several times, much to Quentin’s annoyance; he even brought Helen with him once, treating her like she was made of glass. I wondered what his parents thought of that—interracial dating can be sort of a sore spot with some of the purebloods, and Raj was supposed to be King someday. Oh, well. Not my Court, not my problem.

The King of Cats himself hadn’t spoken to me since Blind Michael died; it had been almost a month, and there was still no word. That was fine. Things had been too confusing for me toward the end, and there are some complications I just don’t need.

Connor hadn’t called me either, and that was fine, too.

“So, Karen, you’re twelve today?” May flashed a grin. “Congrats.”

Karen nodded almost shyly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Toby!” Mitch hugged me from behind. “Glad you could make it.”

I leaned back, grinning up at him. “I wouldn’t miss it. Isn’t this a small party?”

“Just family,” Karen said. I looked at her, and she smiled. “It seemed right.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It does.”

The Luidaeg hadn’t been able to tell me where Karen’s oneiromancy came from; it shouldn’t have been in her bloodline, but it was. Karen seemed to be recovering well, at least. She was quieter than before, but not by much, and she was happy. That was what I cared about. Everything else was just extra.