An Artificial Night
Page 84
“Luna,” Acacia whispered, raising one hand. Her fingers touched the edge of the circle, and she recoiled. “I . . . oh, Luna. I can’t reach you.”
“I know,” Luna said. “You’re too much part of Father’s kingdom. The circle is warded against his magic.”
“I know.”
“We could pull you through . . .”
“And what? Change me the way you’ve changed yourself? Free me from him? Would you hold me when I bit and struck and burned you? Would you cover my nakedness and set me free?”
“Yes.” Luna’s answer left no room for argument.
Acacia smiled. The expression was bittersweet. “I believe you. I’ve missed you so much, little rose.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Her smile softened, saddening. “I hear you’ve married.”
“Yes, I have. He loves me, despite everything.” Luna glanced at me. I looked away.
“He’s clever. Love matters.” Acacia’s smile faltered. “I’ve always loved you.”
“Come home.”
“No.” Acacia stepped back. “Now we’ve both asked, and both refused. I miss you, my dear one. I’ll always miss you, just as I’ll always love you. And now I follow your father.”
“Mother—”
Acacia shook her head and walked back to her horse, remounting. Luna started to follow, but the Luidaeg put out an arm, stopping her. “No,” she said. “You can’t go after her.”
“But—”
“No.” Acacia was already riding away, fading as she gathered speed. The Luidaeg lowered her arm. “We can’t save them if they don’t want to be saved. It doesn’t work that way.”
Luna stared at her for a long moment, then whirled with a small, choked cry and hugged me fiercely. I realized with vague surprise that she was crying. “I thought I let him take you forever,” she whispered. “After everything he’s taken . . . I thought he took you too.”
I shivered and leaned against her, closing my eyes. After everything that had happened, I wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t.
TWENTY-NINE
THE STRANGENESS BEGAN BLEEDING out of the night, seeping away bit by bit, until the world outside the shining border of the Luidaeg’s circle looked like the world I remembered. A brisk wind blew by, carrying the Halloween scents of dried leaves, burning pumpkin, and impending rain. The Luidaeg was still standing on the circle’s edge, moving her fingers in small, seemingly random gestures that were probably all that kept us hidden. No one had exactly been focusing on their illusions in the chaos of breaking Blind Michael’s Ride.
The kids that had been saved were stumbling around the circle, disoriented and confused by what had happened. Only the ones who had someone capable of claiming them—“friends, family, or blood-tied companions,” as the Luidaeg said—had been pulled out of the Ride. Time in Faerie is a funny thing. Some of the kids from the Children’s Hall were mixed into the crowd, clinging to their parents or their suddenly grown-up siblings and crying, or laughing, or both. The Centaur who’d spent so much time taunting me was there, his scales and strangeness washed away by the changes he’d gone through. He had his arms around the waist of a tall female Centaur with a strawberry coat. They were sobbing bitterly, and neither looked inclined to let go anytime soon. His Piskie companion was nowhere in sight. I was sorry to see that. She’d been as horrible to me as she could, but it wasn’t her fault. A little cruelty didn’t mean she should never get to go home.
Of all the horses that had accompanied Blind Michael’s Ride, only Katie had been pulled inside the circle. She’d reverted to her human form after the cycle of transformations was finished, but that didn’t seem to have done anything to heal her mind. She was curled into a ball, sobbing. As I watched, Quentin tried to touch her upper arm, murmuring something that I couldn’t hear. She screamed, loudly and shrilly enough that if not for the Luidaeg’s spell, we would have had every security guard in Golden Gate Park on us in minutes. Luna winced and finally left my side, hurrying over to guide Quentin away from his huddled girlfriend.
Katie stopped screaming and balled back up again, shivering. Poor kid. She was home, but she was still lost. Maybe we all were. I could still feel Blind Michael at the back of my mind, a light, fluttering presence trying to find a way back in. I shuddered.
“When does it end, Luidaeg?” I asked, voice pitched low.
She glanced over her shoulder at me. “That’s your choice to make, Toby. Go reassure your friends. They’ve been a little worried.”
“I—”
“We’ll talk about it later. Now if you’ll excuse me?” She smiled mirthlessly. “I need to hold this circle a little longer, and that does take a little bit of focus.”
“Right,” I said, and stepped away, giving her space.
Connor and Cassandra were working a strange sort of crowd control, keeping the kids and their parents inside the ring of light. Every time someone tried to leave, one of them was right there, guiding them back to the others. I couldn’t blame the parents for wanting to get their kids home—some of them had probably been missing for centuries—but a little more time wouldn’t hurt anything, and it might help a lot.
May and Tybalt were standing off to one side, not helping with the organization, but not breaking the circle, either. I walked over to them, clutching May’s cloak tightly around myself.
“Hello” seemed too simple and “thank you” was forbidden, so I said the first thing that popped into my head: “You two look awfully cozy.”
“Oh, we are,” May said. Her sunny good cheer had only been slightly dampened by getting pummeled, bitten, and baked by the person whose death she was supposed to foretell. “We actually turn out to have a lot in common.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” replied Tybalt, flatly. “The urge to smack you until you stop doing stupid things to yourself is at the head of the list.”
“Hey, you helped me get to Shadowed Hills.”
“And never have I more regretted helping you, believe me. But it had to be done.” He scanned my face, expression unreadable. “You’re well?”
“I know,” Luna said. “You’re too much part of Father’s kingdom. The circle is warded against his magic.”
“I know.”
“We could pull you through . . .”
“And what? Change me the way you’ve changed yourself? Free me from him? Would you hold me when I bit and struck and burned you? Would you cover my nakedness and set me free?”
“Yes.” Luna’s answer left no room for argument.
Acacia smiled. The expression was bittersweet. “I believe you. I’ve missed you so much, little rose.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Her smile softened, saddening. “I hear you’ve married.”
“Yes, I have. He loves me, despite everything.” Luna glanced at me. I looked away.
“He’s clever. Love matters.” Acacia’s smile faltered. “I’ve always loved you.”
“Come home.”
“No.” Acacia stepped back. “Now we’ve both asked, and both refused. I miss you, my dear one. I’ll always miss you, just as I’ll always love you. And now I follow your father.”
“Mother—”
Acacia shook her head and walked back to her horse, remounting. Luna started to follow, but the Luidaeg put out an arm, stopping her. “No,” she said. “You can’t go after her.”
“But—”
“No.” Acacia was already riding away, fading as she gathered speed. The Luidaeg lowered her arm. “We can’t save them if they don’t want to be saved. It doesn’t work that way.”
Luna stared at her for a long moment, then whirled with a small, choked cry and hugged me fiercely. I realized with vague surprise that she was crying. “I thought I let him take you forever,” she whispered. “After everything he’s taken . . . I thought he took you too.”
I shivered and leaned against her, closing my eyes. After everything that had happened, I wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t.
TWENTY-NINE
THE STRANGENESS BEGAN BLEEDING out of the night, seeping away bit by bit, until the world outside the shining border of the Luidaeg’s circle looked like the world I remembered. A brisk wind blew by, carrying the Halloween scents of dried leaves, burning pumpkin, and impending rain. The Luidaeg was still standing on the circle’s edge, moving her fingers in small, seemingly random gestures that were probably all that kept us hidden. No one had exactly been focusing on their illusions in the chaos of breaking Blind Michael’s Ride.
The kids that had been saved were stumbling around the circle, disoriented and confused by what had happened. Only the ones who had someone capable of claiming them—“friends, family, or blood-tied companions,” as the Luidaeg said—had been pulled out of the Ride. Time in Faerie is a funny thing. Some of the kids from the Children’s Hall were mixed into the crowd, clinging to their parents or their suddenly grown-up siblings and crying, or laughing, or both. The Centaur who’d spent so much time taunting me was there, his scales and strangeness washed away by the changes he’d gone through. He had his arms around the waist of a tall female Centaur with a strawberry coat. They were sobbing bitterly, and neither looked inclined to let go anytime soon. His Piskie companion was nowhere in sight. I was sorry to see that. She’d been as horrible to me as she could, but it wasn’t her fault. A little cruelty didn’t mean she should never get to go home.
Of all the horses that had accompanied Blind Michael’s Ride, only Katie had been pulled inside the circle. She’d reverted to her human form after the cycle of transformations was finished, but that didn’t seem to have done anything to heal her mind. She was curled into a ball, sobbing. As I watched, Quentin tried to touch her upper arm, murmuring something that I couldn’t hear. She screamed, loudly and shrilly enough that if not for the Luidaeg’s spell, we would have had every security guard in Golden Gate Park on us in minutes. Luna winced and finally left my side, hurrying over to guide Quentin away from his huddled girlfriend.
Katie stopped screaming and balled back up again, shivering. Poor kid. She was home, but she was still lost. Maybe we all were. I could still feel Blind Michael at the back of my mind, a light, fluttering presence trying to find a way back in. I shuddered.
“When does it end, Luidaeg?” I asked, voice pitched low.
She glanced over her shoulder at me. “That’s your choice to make, Toby. Go reassure your friends. They’ve been a little worried.”
“I—”
“We’ll talk about it later. Now if you’ll excuse me?” She smiled mirthlessly. “I need to hold this circle a little longer, and that does take a little bit of focus.”
“Right,” I said, and stepped away, giving her space.
Connor and Cassandra were working a strange sort of crowd control, keeping the kids and their parents inside the ring of light. Every time someone tried to leave, one of them was right there, guiding them back to the others. I couldn’t blame the parents for wanting to get their kids home—some of them had probably been missing for centuries—but a little more time wouldn’t hurt anything, and it might help a lot.
May and Tybalt were standing off to one side, not helping with the organization, but not breaking the circle, either. I walked over to them, clutching May’s cloak tightly around myself.
“Hello” seemed too simple and “thank you” was forbidden, so I said the first thing that popped into my head: “You two look awfully cozy.”
“Oh, we are,” May said. Her sunny good cheer had only been slightly dampened by getting pummeled, bitten, and baked by the person whose death she was supposed to foretell. “We actually turn out to have a lot in common.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” replied Tybalt, flatly. “The urge to smack you until you stop doing stupid things to yourself is at the head of the list.”
“Hey, you helped me get to Shadowed Hills.”
“And never have I more regretted helping you, believe me. But it had to be done.” He scanned my face, expression unreadable. “You’re well?”
