An Artificial Night
Page 20
The darkness broke into shards of yellow and turquoise before resolving into the lush green of an English country garden. Luna and I were standing on a narrow cobblestone path that wound off in a multitude of directions, branching around trees and statuary. Ferns arched overhead, casting lacy shadows on the stones beneath our feet. Like a proper English garden, it was so artfully tended that it looked like it had never been tended at all. Fat gardenias and gladiolas nodded their heads in the shade of climbing ivy and honeysuckle vines, while morning glories twined around the arms of a hanging loveseat. Marble statues peeked out of the corners, nearly buried in the heavy greenery.
“This is new,” I said, looking around.
“This is very, very old,” she corrected. “I sealed it for some time, to let the trees grow. It seemed appropriate for today.”
I gave her a sidelong look. “Luna, what’s going on?” “Just come,” she said, and started down the nearest branch of the path. Spike looked over Luna’s shoulder at me, clearly expectant. With a sigh, I followed.
The odds are against me ever having a knowe of my own—changelings don’t usually get that kind of real estate—but if I ever do, I’m posting maps with arrows saying YOU ARE HERE on every corner. I’d be completely lost if I let Luna out of my sight, and that didn’t seem like it was going to help with the quest at hand.
We didn’t go far. After circling an ornamental bird-bath ringed with rosebushes, we found ourselves facing an elegant picnic spread beneath a weeping willow. All the dishes came from the garden: salads, platters of fresh vegetables and cut fruits, jars of jam and honey. Harvest food. Sylvester was sitting on the blanket, slicing into a blackberry pie. Looking up, he smiled.
“There you are! Etienne said you’d be coming to return Quentin. Come on, have a seat. You look like you could use some lunch.” His smile faltered, melting into confusion. “Luna? What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Nothing.” Luna laughed—a thin, brittle sound, like fingernails on a blackboard—and moved to drop almost gracelessly onto the blanket next to him. Her tails were lashing madly, tying themselves into complicated knots that untied just as quickly. Spike jumped free of her arms as she sat, and it ran back to me, flattening itself against my ankles. Luna didn’t seem to notice. “The hills are on fire, Sylvester. The candles are going out.”
His hands slowly stilled, the pie apparently forgotten as he stared at his wife. Finally, he turned to look at me, and said, in a voice that had gone almost flat, “Why don’t you sit down, October, and tell us what’s been going on?”
“I’m not completely sure what’s been going on, Your Grace, but I can try,” I said, walking over and sitting carefully. I still didn’t trust my skirt. “This morning—”
“Eat.”
I looked toward Luna, blinking. Sylvester did the same. She had snatched the knife he’d abandoned, using it to slash the pie into ragged, uneven slices. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the first slice onto a plate and thrust it in my direction.
“Eat,” she repeated. “You have to eat something.” She forced a wavering smile. “You’re too thin.”
“No, I’m not,” I said automatically as I reached out and took the plate. Blackberry juice leaked from the sides of pie, forming a viscous purple slick. “Luna, are you okay?”
“Oh, no, dear. No, I’m not okay at all.” Her smile was beatific and almost dazed. It was a madwoman’s smile. My mother used to smile like that in the years just before I disappeared. “I’m so many miles from okay that I don’t even know where it is anymore. Eat your pie.”
I glanced to Sylvester. He nodded. Taking that as instruction of a sort, I picked up a fork and prodded at the pie before taking a cautious bite. It was excellent pie. The crust was light and flaky, and the blackberries were perfect, managing to be sweet and tart at the same time. It was even still warm. Too bad I was too wound up to enjoy it.
Sylvester cleared his throat after I’d taken two bites, saying, “I do appreciate your returning Quentin. His parents would be rather put out if I lost track of him.”
“I bet,” I said, taking that as a sign that I could put my plate aside. “How long is he fostered here, anyway?”
“Oh, we’re to have all of his training. We’ll be assigning him a knight soon enough, getting him started on his time as a squire.” Sylvester’s smile was almost nostalgic. “I was squired to Sir Malcolm in Gray Fields. That was how he met my sister. I’m not sure our parents ever forgave me.” He glanced toward Luna. “Parents so rarely do.”
“I never asked them to forgive me,” said Luna. “I only asked them to leave me alone.”
“Um, guys?” I raised a hand. “Can we get back to why Quentin was on my doorstep this morning? I can’t stay for long. I have to go take care of things.”
“You have no idea what you’re trying to take care of,” said Luna, in that same sharp tone. “You have no idea at all.”
Spike rattled its thorns, chirping at her.
Luna’s attention switched to the rose goblin. “I don’t believe that’s relevant.”
Spike chirped again.
I blinked at the pair of them. “Luna? Do you understand what it’s saying?”
The strangeness cleared from her expression for a moment, replaced by perplexity. “Well, yes. Didn’t you know?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t.”
“You’re not surprised when Tybalt talks to the cats, are you?”
“No; he’s their King.” Tybalt’s kingship meant he could probably get running updates on how I was doing just by coming by the apartment and talking to Cagney and Lacey. I tried not to think about that too much.
“By that same logic, you shouldn’t be surprised that I can talk to my roses.” She looked back to Spike, the darkness returning to her face as she said, “Although there are times I wish they had less to say.”
“Luna.” Sylvester leaned over, placing a hand on her arm. “Please.”
She sighed deeply, seeming to pull the sound up from the very center of her being. “I don’t want to,” she said.
“I know.” He turned toward me. “Toby?”
I know a cue when I hear one. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Stacy Brown called me this morning. Two of her kids went missing sometime right around dawn.”
“This is new,” I said, looking around.
“This is very, very old,” she corrected. “I sealed it for some time, to let the trees grow. It seemed appropriate for today.”
I gave her a sidelong look. “Luna, what’s going on?” “Just come,” she said, and started down the nearest branch of the path. Spike looked over Luna’s shoulder at me, clearly expectant. With a sigh, I followed.
The odds are against me ever having a knowe of my own—changelings don’t usually get that kind of real estate—but if I ever do, I’m posting maps with arrows saying YOU ARE HERE on every corner. I’d be completely lost if I let Luna out of my sight, and that didn’t seem like it was going to help with the quest at hand.
We didn’t go far. After circling an ornamental bird-bath ringed with rosebushes, we found ourselves facing an elegant picnic spread beneath a weeping willow. All the dishes came from the garden: salads, platters of fresh vegetables and cut fruits, jars of jam and honey. Harvest food. Sylvester was sitting on the blanket, slicing into a blackberry pie. Looking up, he smiled.
“There you are! Etienne said you’d be coming to return Quentin. Come on, have a seat. You look like you could use some lunch.” His smile faltered, melting into confusion. “Luna? What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Nothing.” Luna laughed—a thin, brittle sound, like fingernails on a blackboard—and moved to drop almost gracelessly onto the blanket next to him. Her tails were lashing madly, tying themselves into complicated knots that untied just as quickly. Spike jumped free of her arms as she sat, and it ran back to me, flattening itself against my ankles. Luna didn’t seem to notice. “The hills are on fire, Sylvester. The candles are going out.”
His hands slowly stilled, the pie apparently forgotten as he stared at his wife. Finally, he turned to look at me, and said, in a voice that had gone almost flat, “Why don’t you sit down, October, and tell us what’s been going on?”
“I’m not completely sure what’s been going on, Your Grace, but I can try,” I said, walking over and sitting carefully. I still didn’t trust my skirt. “This morning—”
“Eat.”
I looked toward Luna, blinking. Sylvester did the same. She had snatched the knife he’d abandoned, using it to slash the pie into ragged, uneven slices. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the first slice onto a plate and thrust it in my direction.
“Eat,” she repeated. “You have to eat something.” She forced a wavering smile. “You’re too thin.”
“No, I’m not,” I said automatically as I reached out and took the plate. Blackberry juice leaked from the sides of pie, forming a viscous purple slick. “Luna, are you okay?”
“Oh, no, dear. No, I’m not okay at all.” Her smile was beatific and almost dazed. It was a madwoman’s smile. My mother used to smile like that in the years just before I disappeared. “I’m so many miles from okay that I don’t even know where it is anymore. Eat your pie.”
I glanced to Sylvester. He nodded. Taking that as instruction of a sort, I picked up a fork and prodded at the pie before taking a cautious bite. It was excellent pie. The crust was light and flaky, and the blackberries were perfect, managing to be sweet and tart at the same time. It was even still warm. Too bad I was too wound up to enjoy it.
Sylvester cleared his throat after I’d taken two bites, saying, “I do appreciate your returning Quentin. His parents would be rather put out if I lost track of him.”
“I bet,” I said, taking that as a sign that I could put my plate aside. “How long is he fostered here, anyway?”
“Oh, we’re to have all of his training. We’ll be assigning him a knight soon enough, getting him started on his time as a squire.” Sylvester’s smile was almost nostalgic. “I was squired to Sir Malcolm in Gray Fields. That was how he met my sister. I’m not sure our parents ever forgave me.” He glanced toward Luna. “Parents so rarely do.”
“I never asked them to forgive me,” said Luna. “I only asked them to leave me alone.”
“Um, guys?” I raised a hand. “Can we get back to why Quentin was on my doorstep this morning? I can’t stay for long. I have to go take care of things.”
“You have no idea what you’re trying to take care of,” said Luna, in that same sharp tone. “You have no idea at all.”
Spike rattled its thorns, chirping at her.
Luna’s attention switched to the rose goblin. “I don’t believe that’s relevant.”
Spike chirped again.
I blinked at the pair of them. “Luna? Do you understand what it’s saying?”
The strangeness cleared from her expression for a moment, replaced by perplexity. “Well, yes. Didn’t you know?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t.”
“You’re not surprised when Tybalt talks to the cats, are you?”
“No; he’s their King.” Tybalt’s kingship meant he could probably get running updates on how I was doing just by coming by the apartment and talking to Cagney and Lacey. I tried not to think about that too much.
“By that same logic, you shouldn’t be surprised that I can talk to my roses.” She looked back to Spike, the darkness returning to her face as she said, “Although there are times I wish they had less to say.”
“Luna.” Sylvester leaned over, placing a hand on her arm. “Please.”
She sighed deeply, seeming to pull the sound up from the very center of her being. “I don’t want to,” she said.
“I know.” He turned toward me. “Toby?”
I know a cue when I hear one. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Stacy Brown called me this morning. Two of her kids went missing sometime right around dawn.”
