An Artificial Night - BK 3 (5 page)

“E
ARTH TO TOBY.You in there?”

“What?” I stopped mashing my eggs into my home fries to blink across the table at Connor. He was leaning on his elbows, watching me. It’s always hard to adjust to seeing him with a human disguise—I deal with him mostly at Shadowed Hills, and he has no reason to hide himself there. His hair was supposed to be speckled with gray, like his pelt in seal-form, not a standard shade of brown. His hands look weird without webbing, and I’m not used to seeing whites or definite pupils in his eyes.

Those eyes were fixed on me now, and his expression was one of earnest concern. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” I put down my fork and brushed my hair back, trying to look casual. It wasn’t working.

“You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Your coffee cup’s been empty for five minutes, and you haven’t threatened to track down and gut our waitress.” Connor shook his head. “I know you. What’s
wrong?
”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just tired.” I didn’t want to tell him about May. I didn’t want him trying to help; I just wanted to have it left alone until I was ready to deal. That might not be until after I was dead, but it was my choice, not his. I try to be straight with my friends when I can, but there are times I make exceptions. Right after I’ve had my death predicted by the fae equivalent of a singing telegram is one of those times.

Connor sighed, turning his attention to his own breakfast. “Have it your way.” After a pause, he added, “If this is about my wife . . .”

“It’s not. I haven’t given her a reason to kill me this week, and I’m not intending to give her one, either.” I smiled faintly. “I’m over you.”

“My heart bleeds.”

“It would if I weren’t over you and Raysel found out.” I took a bite of my eggs. They were cold and gummy, but I swallowed them anyway before I said, “Your heart, my heart, a lot of other body parts . . .”

“You give her a lot of credit.”

“For potential mayhem? Yeah.” I put my fork down. “She worries me. There’s something not right about her.”

“You know, most guys just have to deal with their exgirlfriends being jealous of their wives. Not coming up with elaborate conspiracy theories about them.”

“I was never your girlfriend.”

“The point stands.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

He sighed. “I can’t.” Glancing to the clock, he added, “I should be getting back to Shadowed Hills. I’ve got to attend formal audiences today.”

Sometimes I wonder if the essentially diurnal nature of the Duchess of Shadowed Hills is the real reason she married her daughter to a Selkie: she was looking for moral support. “I need to get going myself,” I said, leaving my mostly untouched breakfast behind as I rose. Connor eyed my plate. “If you want a doggie bag, get it yourself.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his tone making the words into a lie. He clearly wasn’t happy about my failure to eat, but I decided to let it go. I didn’t have the energy.

We paid our check and exited the restaurant. Connor, ever the gentleman, held the door for me. My fingers brushed his before he let it go, and I pulled away. Wanting each other wasn’t allowed to matter anymore.

There was a chill in the air outside, and the sky was solid gray, warning of rain. I looked up, frowning. “Weather’s taking a turn for the worse.”

“Guess so.” Connor stepped closer. I stepped away, and he stopped, not bothering to hide the hurt expression that flashed briefly over his face. “Toby . . .”

“Just don’t, okay? Please.” I shook my head. “Just don’t.” I hadn’t been so quick to pull away when we were in Fremont together, trapped in a knowe with a killer stalking the halls. I kissed him there, tasted the salt on his lips, remembered why I’d ever wanted him as more than a friend.

Oberon help me, I couldn’t risk that happening again.

Connor sighed. “Right. Well. Later, Toby.”

“Open roads,” I replied.

Treating Connor like that makes me feel low, but until he stops trying to get closer, I don’t have a choice. He’s married, and I have principles. I’m also smart enough to be afraid of his wife, which means I need to be even more careful about how close I am to him. Raysel strikes me as a serial killer waiting to happen. I don’t intend to be in front of her when it does.

The phone was ringing when I got home. I ignored it. I’m not normally fond of the answering machine, considering that Evening Winterrose used it to cast a binding spell on me from beyond the grave, but it has its uses. Taking calls I’m not in the mood to deal with falls into that category.

I was hanging my jacket when the machine picked up and Stacy’s half-hysterical voice poured from the speakers. “Toby, it’s me again. I’m sorry, I know I said I’d wait for you to call back, but I
can’t
wait, I
can’t.
Are you there? Please, oh, please be there—”

I vaulted the couch and ran down the hall to snatch the phone. “Stacy? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, thank O-Oberon you’re there,” she sobbed. “I was calling and calling, but you weren’t h-home . . .”

“What’s going on?” Stacy’s one of the calmest people I’ve ever met. She could look a dragon running rampant in a school zone in the eye and swat it on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. She doesn’t panic, ever.

“It’s Andrew and Jessie,” she whispered.

I froze. “What about them?”

“They’re gone.” Her voice quavered. “I went to check on the kids and make sure they’d slept through sunrise without any problems. Andy and Jessie weren’t there.”

Oh, root and branch. “When? What about Karen and Anthony?”

“An hour ago, and Karen and Anthony were still in their beds.”

I glanced at the clock. It was a little after eight. “Have you checked the backyard?”

“We checked the whole neighborhood.” She sniffled. “We even called Cassie at school, to see if she took them to class for some reason. They weren’t there. She’s on her way home.”

Great—we could get everyone in the same place for the nervous breakdown. “You’re sure you’ve looked everywhere?”

“We’ve looked everywhere. Toby, Andy’s only four! He can’t cast his own illusions!”

“Oh, oak and ash,” I muttered. That explained why Stacy was calling me instead of the police: she couldn’t involve human law enforcement even if she wanted to.

It takes children a while to grasp controlled illusions. There’s a brief period where things like that are automatic, but our reflexive magic fades as we get older, making everything a matter of focus and intent. Disguise spells take time to learn and some kids learn faster than others. Unfortunately, Andrew was one of the slow ones.

“Can Jessica hide them both?”

“For a little while. Toby, please come. We have to find them.”

“Shhh, I know. I’m coming.” I was fighting not to let her panic infect me. The kids were probably sitting under a tree in someone’s yard while Jessica showed her brother the finer points of a don’t-look-here illusion. “Just stay calm until I get there, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

Something else was wrong. Stacy shouldn’t have panicked that fast, even when two of the kids might be missing. “What else is going on?”

“I . . .” She hesitated. “We can’t wake Karen. Mitch even poured a glass of ice water over her head, and she didn’t move. I’m scared, Toby. I’m so scared . . .”

My heart lurched. “Stacy, slow down and stay with me. Is she breathing?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Make sure she’s comfortable.” If Stacy had something to do, she might not do anything foolish. “No more water. Just wait for me.”

“Hurry.” She was sobbing as she hung up. I stared at the receiver before slamming it down and bolting for the bedroom. First a Fetch, and now something was messing with Stacy’s kids. This wasn’t shaping up to be a good day.

Silently thanking Connor for getting me out of the house long enough to eat
something,
even if it wasn’t much, I started yanking drawers out of my dresser and scattering clothes across my bed. The cats slicked their ears back and fled the room. “Oak and ash and stupid, rotten pine,” I swore, digging through the mess. It was juvenile, but it made me feel a little better.

“Ow!” I moved my hand back,putting it on the handle of my knife rather than the blade as I pulled it from the tangle of T-shirts. The sheath was a foot away, buried under a drift of socks. I pulled it free as well, slid the knife into it, and clipped it to the inside of my jeans. I try not to go into danger unarmed these days; I’ve learned my lesson and I have the scars to prove it. And I’ve gotten smarter about my weapons. I started wearing a sheath after the incident at ALH Computing, where I nearly gutted myself rolling away from my exploding car with an unsheathed knife tucked into the waistband of my jeans.

Life has been interesting lately.

Returning to the living room, I grabbed my jacket off the floor and pulled my hair into a loose ponytail that would hide the tips of my ears. Disguises are for times when subtlety is required; I wasn’t intending to deal with anyone besides my friends, and I wasn’t going to waste the magic unless it was absolutely necessary. I might need it later. I turned to head for the door.

Claws drove themselves into my calf. I stopped, looking down to see Spike clinging to my leg with both forepaws. “Spike, let go. I need to leave.” It yowled, not releasing my leg. “What do you want?” It looked toward my shoulder. I sighed. “You want to come?”

Spike took that as consent, withdrawing its claws and scrambling up my side to perch on my shoulder. I shook my head and left the apartment. No more delays.

Despite Spike’s tendency to ride pressed against the windshield, I didn’t need to worry about it being spotted; rose goblins have instinctive glamours that keep them hidden from anyone they don’t want seeing them. Control erodes natural magic. The better any race of fae gets at “using” magic, the less instinctive magic they have left. Some things come easier to certain races—like blood magic to the Daoine Sidhe—but a lot of the natural talents common to the smaller fae are almost missing among the races that can pass for human. Spike can do pretty much whatever it wants without fear of being noticed by the human world.

The drive to Mitch and Stacy’s felt like it took no time at all. Panic does that, cramming weeks into hours and hours into seconds. Devin used to call it “running on changeling time,” his way of referring to that state where time runs too fast and no matter how much you have, it’s not enough. All I could think about while I drove was how losing Gillian had nearly killed me. I couldn’t let that happen to Mitch and Stacy. I just couldn’t.

Mitch met me at the car. “Mitch,” I said, and hugged him. He clung for a moment before I pushed him to arm’s length, looking him in the eye. “Where’s Stacy?”

“Inside,” he said. His voice was shaking as much as he was. “She won’t let the kids out of her sight. She even had me move Karen downstairs so she could watch her sleep.”

“Okay. Can you answer a few questions before I go in?”

He stared long enough that I was afraid he didn’t understand me. Then he nodded, saying, “I can try.”

“Stacy said Andrew and Jessica were missing.” He nodded. I continued, “Did you see them go to bed?”

“Yes. They were there, and Cassie says Jessica was in her bed when she left.”

“Good to know.” That was when Spike leaped from the car roof to my shoulder, anchoring itself through my leather jacket with a full complement of claws. I flinched. Cats are blunt instruments compared to rose goblins.

Mitch stared. “Toby, why is there a rose goblin on your shoulder?”

“Spike wanted to come, and I didn’t have time to argue.” Spike sniffed the air and growled. I frowned. “It’s never done that before. Spike? What’s wrong?” That was all the warning it gave before it launched itself from my shoulder and raced for the house, claws churning divots out of the lawn. It looked enraged, like it was running to defend its territory against an unwelcome invader. I glanced at Mitch, snapping, “Go to Stacy,” and followed Spike.

I almost caught up with Spike on the run across the yard, but it jumped through the window to the living room while I was forced to take the door. It beat me to the stairs by leaping over furniture while I had to weave past Stacy and the kids. We paced each other to the upstairs hall where it began to circle, thorns rattling angrily. It was making a low, almost subsonic snarling noise, like something about the hall offended it. That didn’t bode well. Spike originally belonged to the Duchess of Shadowed Hills. It usually had a pretty good idea of what was and was not dangerous, and if it was unhappy about the hallway . . .

I drew my knife, holding it against my hip. “Which way?” Spike looked up and hissed. I sighed. “That doesn’t help.”

There were six doors. One led to the linen closet, and the one next to it led to the bathroom. The door to Cassandra’s room was ajar, showing a tangle of papers and discarded clothes on the floor, and the door to Mitch and Stacy’s room was open, displaying the characteristically unmade bed. Mitch works nights; Stacy must have woken him when she found the children missing.

The first door led to Jessica and Karen’s room; the door to Anthony and Andrew’s room was across the hall. Both rooms were cluttered, verging on messy—nothing out of the ordinary, considering the age of their inhabitants. I started toward the girls’ room, scanning for signs of a struggle. It was in disarray, but not beyond the normal limits of a room shared by two preteen girls. Whatever happened, Jessica left without a fight.

A hand on my shoulder stopped me as I started to step across the threshold. I stiffened. Only the knowledge that Anthony and Cassandra were in the house kept me from swinging around blade-first. Sometimes I think I’m getting trigger-happy. Then I think of how many things have tried to kill me and I wonder why it’s taken this long for the paranoia to kick in.