An Artificial Night
Page 14

“I touched a window.”
Lily sat, gesturing for us to do the same. “Now, explain. When you’re done, I may ask you to explain again, this time using actual words, but we’ll see. Perhaps you’ll surprise me.”
“Gee, that’s sweet.” I sat, all too aware of Tybalt sitting beside me and began the story. He interjected from time to time, providing the information on his Court’s missing children. Lily sat at attention throughout, hands folded in her lap.
When we were done, I asked, “Is that clear enough?”
“Quite,” she said. “Give me your hands.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Come now; you’re occasionally oblivious, but I’ve rarely seen you stupid.” Tybalt snorted. Lily merely shook her head. “Those burns need tending.”
“Oh.” Shooting a sharp look toward Tybalt, I scooted forward and offered her my hands. She took them gently.
Pulling the bandages back hurt more than I thought it would, probably because the burns were worse than I’d assumed. Tybalt went stiff when he saw them, swearing under his breath. I shared the urge. The skin was blistered and cracked, revealing the raw flesh underneath. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought my hands had been thrust into an open fire and held there for several minutes. Unfortunately, I did know better. I would’ve been happier with a fire. Fires are supposed to burn. Windows aren’t.
Lily shook her head, sighing. “I think I may wear myself out repeating this, but I still feel compelled to try: stop hurting yourself.”
“Please,” said Tybalt.
I cast a startled look in his direction, feeling my ears go red. “Trust me,” I said, scrambling to regain my composure. “I really don’t mean to.”
“This time, I believe you. Judging by your story, you had little choice.” My attention returned to Lily in time to see her pulling a chunk of moss from the ground. “What you have encountered, I cannot say. But I will say this: what the waters cannot tell you, you should perhaps ask of the moon.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
She looked at me, eyes unreadable. “There are things I may not speak of. You know this, yes?”
“Of course,” I said, frowning. Undine are even more easily bound by chains of protocol and politeness than most fae races. I’d tripped over a few topics she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—discuss over the years.
“This is such a thing. Where children go, why glass burns, how far you can get by the light of a candle—these are not topics for me to discuss. But if you were to ask the moon, well, the moon might give you answers.” She began kneading the moss, her other hand holding mine.
“And Karen?” My attention was on Lily’s hands. There was a good chance that moss would be in close contact with some rather tender skin in the near future. I wanted all the warning I could get.
“Why a child would sleep without signs of waking, I do not know.”
“Right.” I paused. “What do you mean, ‘ask the moon’?”
Lily shook her head. “If you can’t answer that, you haven’t been listening to anyone for years.”
“I guess.” I watched her fingers. I was sure whatever she was planning would hurt, and I’m not fond of pain. Ironic, considering how often I put myself through the meat grinder.
Tension puts you off-balance. I was so busy watching what she was doing that I wasn’t prepared when she dropped the moss, grabbed my wrists, and yanked me forward. There was time to yelp and catch my breath, then I was falling through a curtain of water, with Tybalt shouting in the distance. After that, I was just falling.
FIVE
I HIT THE GROUND HIP-FIRST, rolling to a stop before I sat up. I was dry despite my fall through the water, and my hands didn’t hurt anymore. I looked at them and laughed as I saw that the skin was whole and smooth again. Well, I guess that’s one way to heal someone, assuming you go in for slapstick. “Lily, that wasn’t—” I stopped, blinking. “—funny?”
The knowe stretched out around me in an array of ponds and flatlands, all connected by narrow bridges. Lily, Tybalt, and Karen were gone. “Tybalt?” No one answered. I stood, automatically reaching up to shove my hair back, and stopped as my fingers encountered a tight interweave of knots and hairpins. I pulled one of the hairpins free and glared at it before shoving it back into place. Jade and dragonflies. Cute.
My frown deepened as I looked down at myself and took in the whole picture. Lily apparently extended her services to healing my fashion sense as well as my hands: my T-shirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a steel-gray gown cut in a vaguely traditional Japanese style and embroidered with black and silver dragonflies. A black velvet obi was tied around my waist, my knife concealed underneath a fold of fabric. It wouldn’t be easy to draw, but at least she hadn’t left me unarmed. Pulling up the hem of the gown exposed one battered brown sneaker—she’d left my shoes alone.
“Not funny,” I muttered and started down the nearest path. We were going to have words if she’d vaporized my clothes.
Finding your way out of Lily’s knowe is easy, as long as you don’t mind walking. The boundaries of her lands are flexible—sometimes there are miles between landmarks, at others it’s only a few feet—but all paths eventually lead to the moon bridge. I’d gone about a quarter of a mile, grumbling all the way, when a throat was discreetly cleared behind me.
“Yes?” I said, turning.
A silver-skinned man was standing on the water, the gills at the bottom of his jaw fluttering with barely concealed anxiety. He was wearing Lily’s livery, with slits cut down the sleeves and in the legs of his pants to allow the fins running down his calves and forearms the freedom to move. “My lady has . . . sent me?” he said, uncertainly.
“I can see that. What did she send you to say?”
“She wishes me to tell you she is . . . waiting in the pavilion? With . . . the King of Cats and . . . your niece?”
“Good to know,” I said, bobbing my head. “Which way to the pavilion?”
“Go as you are and turn . . . left . . . at the . . . sundial?”
That seemed to be the end of his instructions. I was turning when he spoke again, asking, “Lady?”
I glanced back over my shoulder. “Yes?”