Artificial Night, An - Seanan McGuire Page 0,122

me shouted, “May Daye, Fetch!”

Opening my eyes, I found myself staring into a mirror. “May?” I squeaked. The split vision of the Ride was starting to fade, leaving me looking out of only my own eyes.

Familiar lips split in an unfamiliar smile. “In the too, too solid flesh,” she said.

“What the hell is going on?”

“We cast our compass ’round,” she said, looking past me. “Now we’ll pay for it.”

I craned my neck to follow her gaze. Blind Michael had dismounted. He walked to the edge of the circle and stopped, glaring. The Luidaeg was barely three feet away from him, shielded only by the light.

“Little brother, you’ve lost. Go home,” she said, gently. “Take the children you still have, and go. We won’t follow. I’ll keep Amandine’s daughter from chasing you, and when you Ride again in a hundred years, no one will remember this but you and I.”

“There are rules,” he answered. “I can try to take them back again.”

“You can, if you accept that you might lose them, and more, if you try,” she said. “Can you accept that fact?”

“I can.”

“Oh, Michael. You always were a fool.” The Luidaeg shook her head. “Start your games. Any who releases their quarry are lost; the rest are free to go.” She turned, her gown eddying around her in a wave, and May braced herself above me.

“May, what—”

“You rode the white horse. Now we’re finishing the song.” There wasn’t time to say anything more. Blind Michael turned toward me, raising his hand.

Transformation burns. I barely had time to realize I was being changed before it was done, and the weight of Blind Michael’s magic was forcing my mind to conform to my new shape. May was suddenly huge, pinning me to the ground with a bulk that exceeded my own by a factor of at least three.

I had to get away; I had to flee and fly or she was going to kill me and use my bones to pick her teeth. I knew it as well as I knew the shape of my wings and the feeling of wind over my feathers. I beat myself against her arms, hissing and jabbing at her with my beak. All that mattered was escape, no matter how badly I was hurt in the process.

Connor lunged forward, pinning my wings while May grabbed for my head. I kept struggling, but I was trapped. I couldn’t get away.

“And he will turn me in your arms into a swan so wild,” the Luidaeg said. Her voice broke through the fog around me, clearing the madness from my mind. I stopped fighting. Connor let go and May folded herself around me, holding me down. “But hold me tight, don’t let me go, and I will love your child.”

The world changed again. This time I was thin and smooth, with no wings to beat against my captor. I slithered halfway out of her grasp before she grabbed me behind the head, pinning me again. Someone screamed, and I heard Cassandra chanting, “I am not afraid of snakes I am not afraid of—oh God, I think she’s poisonous—snakes—”

I broke free and twisted around, sinking my fangs into May’s wrist. She winced but didn’t let go. “Damn it, Toby, don’t bite,” she said. “It’s rude.”

“And he will turn me in your arms into an asp and adder,” shouted the Luidaeg. I released May’s wrist and turned toward the sound, tongue scenting the air. “But hold me tight within your arms—I am your baby’s father!”

Things shifted again. I was suddenly larger than May, tall and vast and angry. She was clinging to my neck, hands clasped beneath my jaw. I roared and tried to claw her off, unable to think of anything but freedom. I had to escape. If I didn’t, something terrible would happen; something I didn’t understand but knew enough about to fear.

Then Tybalt was in front of me, pressing his hand against my nose. I subsided, growling at him. He merely looked amused, reaching up to scratch my ears as he chided, “Calm yourself, little lioness.” May took advantage of my confusion and got a tighter grip around my neck. I started to snarl, but stopped when Tybalt smacked me on the head. All cats belong to their King. For the moment, I was more his than Blind Michael’s.

“Good plan, Tybalt,” said May, face muffled against my neck.

“I thought so,” he said. He started scratching my jaw, and I sat down, wondering confusedly if lions could purr.

“And he

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