An Artificial Night
Page 8

“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?”