An Artificial Night
Page 50

“Oh, thank Maeve,” I breathed, looking back to the Luidaeg. “Your gifts worked.” Thanking her mother was as close as I could get to thanking her.
She smiled, the brown bleeding back into her eyes. “I knew they would. You made it.”
“Yeah, we did.” I paused. “Luidaeg . . . I’m still a kid.”
“And a cute one at that.” She grinned. “Bet your mom could just eat you up. You’re a bit pointier than you used to be, but that’s what you get for wrestling with thorn briars.”
“How long is this going to last?”
“Not long.” She sobered, shaking her head. There was something I didn’t recognize behind the darkness in her eyes. I didn’t like it. “Not long at all.”
“Luidaeg?”
“What?” She frowned, the strangeness fading. “You need to get these brats out of here. I can’t stand kids.”
“Of course.” I make it a rule not to push the Luidaeg when she doesn’t want to be pushed. I don’t want to be a snack food. “Can I use your phone?”
“Why?” she asked.
“I can’t exactly drive like this.” Although the idea of a car full of kids careening down the highway was amusing, it wasn’t practical. For one thing, I wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals. “We need someone to pick us up, unless you want to drive us.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Me, play taxi? No.”
“Thought so.” Andrew and Jessica were still clinging to each other as I slipped out of the kitchen, heading into the living room. The phone was on an end table next to the couch. I walked over to it, ignoring the crunching sounds underfoot, and paused.
Who was I supposed to call? Tybalt didn’t drive, and I didn’t want to explain the current situation to Connor. Mitch and Stacy didn’t need the added stress, especially not given what I thought I’d learned about Karen. There would be time to tell them that their daughter was probably dead later, after I’d managed to get the rest of the children home.
The Luidaeg’s phone had a dial tone; that surprised me. It implied a more solid connection to the real world than I’d expected. I dialed Danny’s number from memory. Six rings later, Danny’s voice announced jovially, “You’ve reached Daniel McReady—”
“Danny, great! It’s Toby. I—”
“—and I’m not available to take your call right now, on account of I have a job. If you’re calling about breed rescue, please leave a detailed message, including your name, address, and how many you want.” Something barked in the background. Muffled, he shouted, “Tilly! You stop biting your sister!” before returning to say, more normally, “Everybody else, you can leave a message, too, and I’ll call you just as soon as I can. I gotta go break up a fight in the kennel. Later.” With that, the connection was cut, leaving me groaning.
Danny wasn’t available. Now who was I supposed to call? Santa Claus? He could fly through the city dropping us down chimneys . . . no. Not Santa, but someone almost as good. I dialed again, quickly, and waited.
The phone was answered immediately. “You’ve reached October Daye’s place, this is Toby.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “If you were me, you’d know I never sound that happy when I answer the phone.”
“Toby!” said May, delighted. “Where are you?”
“At the Luidaeg’s; I need a ride. Can you take a cab over here? My car’s here, but I can’t drive it right now.”
“I guess. Where did you go? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to leave without telling me? I can’t do my job if I don’t know how to find you!”
My Fetch was yelling at me for ditching her. Surrealism lives. “I’ll keep that in mind, okay? Just get over here.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” she said, and hung up. I shook my head, putting down the receiver as I rose. Doesn’t anyone believe in saying good-bye anymore?
Of course, the fact that May existed meant I’d be saying some final good-byes in the near future. I walked back into the kitchen, almost grateful for my exhaustion. I was too tired to get as upset as I wanted to.
The Luidaeg was leaning against the refrigerator, keeping a wary eye on the children. Most were asleep in piles on the floor; the ones who were still awake were sitting with Helen. Raj, back in feline form, was dozing in her lap. Quentin was still behind Katie, unmoving.
“Well?” said the Luidaeg. “Who did you call?”
“No one,” I said, kneeling to pick up Spike and pressing my face against its thorny side. “Just Death.”
SEVENTEEN
MAY ARRIVED ABOUT HALF AN HOUR LATER. Most San Francisco taxi drivers are barely this side of sane and drive like they expect scouts for the Indy 500 to be hiding on every corner. When you add that to their creatively broken English, you’ve created a taxi experience everyone should have once. Just once. Only once. Unless you’re in such a hurry that you’re considering grabbing the nearest Tylwyth Teg and demanding a ride on a bundle of yarrow twigs, wait for the bus. If that’s too slow for you, you may want to look into the local availability of yarrow twigs, because splinters in your thighs are less upsetting than taking a San Francisco taxi.
The Luidaeg answered the door in her customary fashion: she wrenched it open, snarling, “What do you want?” Then she froze, staring. Nice to see I wasn’t the only one who reacted that way. “What the fu—”
May waved, a grin plastered across her face. “Hi, I’m May. Is Toby here?”
The moment was almost worth the entire situation. I’d never seen the Luidaeg flustered before. It only lasted a few seconds before she narrowed her eyes. “Whatever you are, you’re not Toby.” Her voice was suddenly pitched low, and very dangerous. “You smell wrong. What are you?”
“I should smell wrong—I just doused myself in strawberry eucalyptus bath oil. It’s disgusting!” Her grin broadened. “Is Toby here? She told me to meet her here. This is the right place, isn’t it? You are the Luidaeg, aren’t you? You look like the Luidaeg . . .”
“Yes,” said the Luidaeg, not relaxing. “I am. Now who the hell are you?”
“I already told you.” May blinked, smile fading in confusion. “I’m May Daye.”