Artificial Night, An - Seanan McGuire Page 0,18

died. He’d held me in debt ever since. For him to offer my freedom . . .

“Help me get Karen into the Tea Gardens, and we’ll talk,” I said, raking my hair back automatically and wincing as the gesture pulled on my bandages.

Eyeing my hands, Tybalt asked, “What have you done to yourself now?”

“I touched a window,” I said. “Come on.”

We had barely left the shadows behind the snack bar when I felt a spell settle over us, accompanied by the musk and pennyroyal signature of Tybalt’s magic. I gave him a sidelong look and he smiled, a bit more genuinely this time.

“I thought it best that we not be seen,” he said.

“Fair.” I might have been annoyed at him for using magic on me without permission, but I was too relieved that he’d noticed the need. I was more relieved not to have been the one to cast the don’t-look-here. I was starting to think I’d need all the resources I could tap.

We made a strange, ragtag little procession as we crossed the courtyard to the Japanese Tea Gardens: me in the lead, Tybalt behind me carrying Karen, and Spike running circles around all three of us. I tried to ignore the throbbing in my hands as we walked up to the gates. Spike traipsed at my heels, occasionally scampering off to scatter the pigeons. The birds were pretty blasé about being chased by an animate cat-shaped rosebush; I guess living in Golden Gate Park has gotten them used to the bizarre. I can understand that. It’s a pretty strange place.

The park sits in the middle of San Francisco, squarely in the private holdings of the Queen who rules Northern California. Despite that, it swears no fealty, serving instead as home to dozens of independent Courts. They have their own hierarchy and etiquette. More traditional nobles have learned—to their dismay—that interfering in the Golden Gate Courts is a good way to get hurt. Lily’s Court is one of the oldest and best known of the independents. She sets the law in the Tea Gardens and that shapes the law of the park all around her. None of the fae living there would intentionally go against her wishes. Since they obey her, she never orders them and, since she never orders, they obey. It’s a circle that’s served the park well for a long time.

The girl at the ticket booth looked up at our approach, blinking. “Whoa,” she said, in an exaggerated California drawl. “It’s, like, Toby Daye and Tybalt.” She was every inch the Valley Girl, from her feathered blonde hair to her pink tank top. Her makeup was an expertly applied mix of pale green and bubble-gum pink; she looked like she wouldn’t recognize a changeling if it bit her. It’s a good cover. After all, it fooled me the first time we met.

“Hey, Marcia.” She looked human, but she wasn’t quite. Somewhere in her family tree was just enough fae blood to pull her over the line into a world where glass burned and children vanished in the night. A pale gleam surrounded her eyes, betraying the amount of faerie ointment she was wearing. With blood as thin as hers, she needed it.

She squinted at Tybalt, making an effort to see through the don’t-look-here he had covering Karen. Her faerie ointment was good enough to tell her he was carrying something, but not good enough to see through it. She finally gave up, asking, “What are you two up to?”

“Just stuff,” I said. “What’s the admission today?”

“Is Lily expecting you?”

“No.” I rarely phone ahead. It’s not that I enjoy surprising everyone I know; it’s more that I almost never know where I’m going before I actually get there.

“No charge.” She grinned. “Lily complains all the time that you never come to visit.”

“Uh-huh.” Between the missing children and my burned hands, I didn’t feel particularly social. Judging by Tybalt’s expression, neither did he. “We’ll go on in.”

“Any time.” She waved us through before resuming the intent filing of her nails. Like most people who live on the outskirts of Faerie, she knew a “thank you” when she didn’t hear it. One of the stranger tenets of the fae moral code says that the phrase “thank you” implies an obligation beyond the acts already performed and is thus to be avoided at all costs. Faerie is fond of avoiding obligations. I guess that’s part of why the mortal world has always dismissed us as flakes and tricksters; we only