An Artificial Night
Page 72
I paused, stiffening. The Luidaeg knew where I’d taken the kids, and Blind Michael was her brother. How deep did their ties run? Was it deep enough that he’d leave her alone? I knew he wanted me—I had plenty of proof of that—but would he go after her if he thought it would bring his lost children back? The Luidaeg is one of the biggest, meanest people I know. That didn’t mean Blind Michael couldn’t be bigger. Or meaner.
I didn’t hear Tybalt come back until his hand clamped down on my shoulder. If he’d been one of Blind Michael’s men, it would’ve been too late to run. Ah, the joy of total exhaustion. I jumped, and he smiled wearily as he sat beside me, leaving his hand where it was.
“You’re hurt,” he said, in a disapproving tone.
“I guess,” I said. There was a suspicious dampness on the back of my neck. My vision had returned to normal, so I wasn’t thinking concussion. Quite. “It’s nothing major.”
Tybalt took his hand off my shoulder and slid it through my hair. I bit my tongue, holding back a yelp as his fingers found every scrape and abrasion my battered scalp had to offer. “Nothing major?” he asked, pulling his hand away. Blood covered his fingertips. “When the night-haunts come for you, should I tell them to go away because it’s nothing major?”
“That’s not fair,” I said, gritting my teeth against the pain. The blood on his hand wasn’t helping. I hate the sight of my own blood.
“Since when has fair had anything to do with us?” he asked, and stood, picking me up in the process. I found myself supported against his chest with my legs pinned under his arm before I had a chance to react.
“Hey!” I protested. “Put me down!”
He blinked, almost smiling. “We need to reach Shadowed Hills before the Hunt finds us. I followed your scent across the city. Do you think Blind Michael’s men are any less skilled? I have an advantage—I have a certain familiarity with your scent—but they’ll find us.”
“So we need to move. I get that.” It was hard to move with him holding me like that. If nothing else, it was distracting as all hell.
“We need to move quickly.”
“That doesn’t mean I need to be carried!”
“Doesn’t it? Would you rather walk?”
I paused. Shadowed Hills was a thirty minute drive from Oakland, and as far as I knew, Tybalt didn’t drive. That meant he was probably planning on getting us there some other way. Even healthy, most of his roads would’ve worn me out. Wounded and exhausted, well . . .
Right. “Fine. Let’s go to Shadowed Hills.”
“Good girl,” he said, adjusting his grip. “Close your eyes, hold your candle close, and take the deepest breath you can. This time will take a little longer.”
“Define ‘a little.’ ”
His smile grew. “Just trust me.”
There was nothing I could say to that, and so I simply nodded.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and I closed them, clutching my candle. Not dropping me was Tybalt’s responsibility; not dropping the candle was mine. I felt him back up, getting a running start, and leap toward what I knew was actually a solid wall.
We never hit the stone. The world turned cold around us, existence reducing itself to the circle of Tybalt’s arms and the hot wax dripping on my hands. I kept my eyes screwed shut, holding my breath until I thought I would choke on it. Spots were dancing behind my eyes; I couldn’t possibly hold my breath any longer. How long did he expect me to go without air? Of course, he was the one doing the running. How far could he go before he fell down?
I forced myself not to breathe, nestling farther down in his arms and trying to let the rhythm of his body keep me calm. It wasn’t working. Everything was dark and cold, and ice was forming in my hair. Lines of frost ran down my lips and cheeks. And Tybalt kept running.
The darkness would never end, and this was worse than stupidity; it was suicide. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer even if I wanted to. I let the air out of my lungs in a great rush, preparing to breathe in—
—and we broke out into the light. There was no time to catch myself as Tybalt stumbled and fell. I hit the ground hard, rolling several feet to the right before I opened my eyes.
The air was filled with the glow of pixies and the brighter light of tiny lanterns. It looked like multiple flocks had gathered in the trees above us, all of them twirling in an intricate aerial reel. I blinked, and then grinned as I realized what they were doing. It was almost Moving Day, and they were celebrating as they prepared. On All Hallows’ Eve they’d all take wing at once, finding a new place to call home for the dark half of the year. Moving Day is a beautiful sight. My mother used to bring me to the mortal world to watch it.
I stayed on my back until I could breathe again, just watching the pixies. When my lungs stopped aching I sat up, turning to Tybalt with a smile. “Hey, Tybalt, I guess you . . . Tybalt?”
He hadn’t moved. I crawled toward him, clutching my candle in one hand, and shook his shoulder. “Tybalt?” There was no reaction. I shook harder and grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse.
There wasn’t one.
He wasn’t breathing.
TWENTY-FIVE
“TYBALT! DAMMIT, TYBALT, WAKE UP!” I dropped my candle, grabbing his shoulders with both hands and shaking him. “You can’t die! I won’t let you!”
The ice in my hair was melting down my face in cold lines, but it didn’t matter, because Tybalt wasn’t breathing. One of my elbows was scraped from falling out of his arms, and that didn’t matter, because Tybalt wasn’t breathing. I shook him again. “Tybalt, no. You can’t . . .”
Couldn’t what? Die? Why not? There was nothing stopping him. Couldn’t go away and leave me here alone? Maybe.
“Wake up, damn you!” I clamped my hand over his nose and my mouth over his own, trying to force air into his lungs. I couldn’t tell whether or not it was making a difference, so I just kept doing it, blowing in and forcing the air out again by beating my fists against his chest. “Wake up!”
It wasn’t working. I collapsed against him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and sobbing. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. Tybalt wasn’t supposed to die some stupid, pointless death he’d have avoided if it wasn’t for me. Raj would inherit early, and it was my fault.
I didn’t hear Tybalt come back until his hand clamped down on my shoulder. If he’d been one of Blind Michael’s men, it would’ve been too late to run. Ah, the joy of total exhaustion. I jumped, and he smiled wearily as he sat beside me, leaving his hand where it was.
“You’re hurt,” he said, in a disapproving tone.
“I guess,” I said. There was a suspicious dampness on the back of my neck. My vision had returned to normal, so I wasn’t thinking concussion. Quite. “It’s nothing major.”
Tybalt took his hand off my shoulder and slid it through my hair. I bit my tongue, holding back a yelp as his fingers found every scrape and abrasion my battered scalp had to offer. “Nothing major?” he asked, pulling his hand away. Blood covered his fingertips. “When the night-haunts come for you, should I tell them to go away because it’s nothing major?”
“That’s not fair,” I said, gritting my teeth against the pain. The blood on his hand wasn’t helping. I hate the sight of my own blood.
“Since when has fair had anything to do with us?” he asked, and stood, picking me up in the process. I found myself supported against his chest with my legs pinned under his arm before I had a chance to react.
“Hey!” I protested. “Put me down!”
He blinked, almost smiling. “We need to reach Shadowed Hills before the Hunt finds us. I followed your scent across the city. Do you think Blind Michael’s men are any less skilled? I have an advantage—I have a certain familiarity with your scent—but they’ll find us.”
“So we need to move. I get that.” It was hard to move with him holding me like that. If nothing else, it was distracting as all hell.
“We need to move quickly.”
“That doesn’t mean I need to be carried!”
“Doesn’t it? Would you rather walk?”
I paused. Shadowed Hills was a thirty minute drive from Oakland, and as far as I knew, Tybalt didn’t drive. That meant he was probably planning on getting us there some other way. Even healthy, most of his roads would’ve worn me out. Wounded and exhausted, well . . .
Right. “Fine. Let’s go to Shadowed Hills.”
“Good girl,” he said, adjusting his grip. “Close your eyes, hold your candle close, and take the deepest breath you can. This time will take a little longer.”
“Define ‘a little.’ ”
His smile grew. “Just trust me.”
There was nothing I could say to that, and so I simply nodded.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and I closed them, clutching my candle. Not dropping me was Tybalt’s responsibility; not dropping the candle was mine. I felt him back up, getting a running start, and leap toward what I knew was actually a solid wall.
We never hit the stone. The world turned cold around us, existence reducing itself to the circle of Tybalt’s arms and the hot wax dripping on my hands. I kept my eyes screwed shut, holding my breath until I thought I would choke on it. Spots were dancing behind my eyes; I couldn’t possibly hold my breath any longer. How long did he expect me to go without air? Of course, he was the one doing the running. How far could he go before he fell down?
I forced myself not to breathe, nestling farther down in his arms and trying to let the rhythm of his body keep me calm. It wasn’t working. Everything was dark and cold, and ice was forming in my hair. Lines of frost ran down my lips and cheeks. And Tybalt kept running.
The darkness would never end, and this was worse than stupidity; it was suicide. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer even if I wanted to. I let the air out of my lungs in a great rush, preparing to breathe in—
—and we broke out into the light. There was no time to catch myself as Tybalt stumbled and fell. I hit the ground hard, rolling several feet to the right before I opened my eyes.
The air was filled with the glow of pixies and the brighter light of tiny lanterns. It looked like multiple flocks had gathered in the trees above us, all of them twirling in an intricate aerial reel. I blinked, and then grinned as I realized what they were doing. It was almost Moving Day, and they were celebrating as they prepared. On All Hallows’ Eve they’d all take wing at once, finding a new place to call home for the dark half of the year. Moving Day is a beautiful sight. My mother used to bring me to the mortal world to watch it.
I stayed on my back until I could breathe again, just watching the pixies. When my lungs stopped aching I sat up, turning to Tybalt with a smile. “Hey, Tybalt, I guess you . . . Tybalt?”
He hadn’t moved. I crawled toward him, clutching my candle in one hand, and shook his shoulder. “Tybalt?” There was no reaction. I shook harder and grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse.
There wasn’t one.
He wasn’t breathing.
TWENTY-FIVE
“TYBALT! DAMMIT, TYBALT, WAKE UP!” I dropped my candle, grabbing his shoulders with both hands and shaking him. “You can’t die! I won’t let you!”
The ice in my hair was melting down my face in cold lines, but it didn’t matter, because Tybalt wasn’t breathing. One of my elbows was scraped from falling out of his arms, and that didn’t matter, because Tybalt wasn’t breathing. I shook him again. “Tybalt, no. You can’t . . .”
Couldn’t what? Die? Why not? There was nothing stopping him. Couldn’t go away and leave me here alone? Maybe.
“Wake up, damn you!” I clamped my hand over his nose and my mouth over his own, trying to force air into his lungs. I couldn’t tell whether or not it was making a difference, so I just kept doing it, blowing in and forcing the air out again by beating my fists against his chest. “Wake up!”
It wasn’t working. I collapsed against him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and sobbing. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this. Tybalt wasn’t supposed to die some stupid, pointless death he’d have avoided if it wasn’t for me. Raj would inherit early, and it was my fault.
