Artificial Night, An - Seanan McGuire Page 0,149

with my dress all the way to the bathroom. I’ve worn enough formal gowns to know how to move in them, but they were almost all illusionary, making changing out of them nothing more than a matter of dropping the spell. This dress was heavy, dirty, and all too real. Getting it off felt almost like a moral victory.

The apartment has excellent water pressure. I turned the taps as high as they would go before stepping into the shower, letting the spray sting my arms and face. I stayed that way long after I was clean, breathing in the steam. There’s something reassuring about standing in the shower; as long as you’re there, you can’t get dirty.

May was waiting on the couch when I came out of the bathroom. She looked me up and down before asking, “Feel better?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Told you so. Now get dressed.”

I flipped her off amiably. Her laughter followed me down the hall to my bedroom, where Cagney and Lacey curled up on the bed in the remains of the sunbeam. Lacey lifted her head, eyeing me.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re the lucky ones. You get to stay home.” I started for the dresser, pausing with one hand stretched toward the top drawer.

The Queen’s habit of transforming my clothes is incredibly irritating, especially since I lack the magical oomph to change them back. There are only a few bloodlines in Faerie talented at transforming the inanimate; the Daoine Sidhe aren’t among them, which is why we depend on illusions and chicanery to enhance our wardrobes. But if I happened to have a dress formal enough for the occasion . . .

I grabbed the crumpled gown off the floor, holding it up. If I could figure out how to get the grass stains out of the skirt . . . I stuck my head out of the room. “Hey, May, you know anything about cleaning silk?”

She leaned over the back of the couch, eyes widening when she saw what I was holding. “Are you seriously thinking about wearing that?”

“I don’t think I should be throwing magic around if I can help it, do you? It’s not like I have much to spare.” Every changeling has a different amount of power, and pushing past your limits is a good way to fuck yourself up. If I was going to stay at the top of my game, I needed to avoid magic-burn for as long as possible.

May hesitated before getting off the couch and walking toward my room. She bit her index finger, looking torn, and finally said, “I can help. Go get your knife.”

I blinked. She met my eyes, nodding marginally. Something in that gesture told me to listen. I stepped past her, heading for the rack by the front door, where my knives still hung. I unsnapped the loop holding my silver knife in place and glanced back to May. “I assume I can use the silver, and not the iron?”

“Yeah,” she said, with another nod. “Bleed on the dress.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just trust me.” She offered a wan smile. “It’s a funky Fetch thing.”

“Right,” I said, slowly. I didn’t have any better ideas, and so I nicked the back of my left hand, my stomach doing a slow flip as blood welled to the surface. I hate the sight of my own blood. I glanced at May before wiping my hand on the bodice.

The fabric only darkened for a moment, drinking the blood like dry earth drinks the rain. I tried to jerk my hand back. May grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stay where I was. “Trust me.”

“May . . .”

My magic flared before I could finish the sentence, rising with an eagerness that was almost scary. I was pulling less than a quarter of the power I’d need for an illusion, and it was coming nearly on its own. May’s magic rose, adding ashes and cotton candy to the mingled scents of copper, fresh-cut grass, and blood.

The Queen’s magic snapped into place, filling my mouth with the taste of frozen salt and damp sand. I stared at May. She let go of my hand.

“The spell’s fresh enough to argue with. Now tell it what to be.”

I stared for a moment more before reaching out with my still-bleeding hand, grabbing for the Queen’s spell the way I’d grab for mists or shadows when shaping an illusion. I hit a brief resistance, like the air was pushing back. Then my fingers caught, my magic surging to