Artificial Night, An - Seanan McGuire Page 0,48
tweaked a strand of my hair, twisting it between heavily webbed fingers. Her expression was politely fascinated; she was probably somewhere near ten years old. “Human blood,” she said finally, and yanked, hard.
I jerked away, clapping my free hand against my scalp. “Hey! That hurt!”
She ignored me, laughing as she held up the strands of hair she’d stolen. “Rider or ridden?” she demanded. “How strong?”
This seemed to be a great question, and an even better game. The children began to skip in a circle around me, chanting, “Rider or ridden, Rider or ridden,” over and over. They stressed the second syllable of each word, making it a singsong rhythm that clashed with the pounding in my head. I was uncomfortably aware that at least half of them were bigger than I was, and that the ones who weren’t either came paired with larger friends or had some sort of natural weaponry. All I could think of was the Jabberwock, with its claws that catch and teeth that bite. Me, I had my knife and my candle, and that was it.
The flame was burning higher and higher, and it seemed to be doing some good—only the Piskie had touched me. The circle they’d formed around me would draw in close and then spread out again, like the children were trying to stay out of the candlelight. I waited for the circle to close again and then thrust the candle out at arm’s length to test my theory. The nearest of the children shied back, nearly breaking the line.
“How many miles to Babylon?” I asked, half whimsically. The entire circle staggered back, so fast that some of the smaller children fell. The youngest I could see was a tiny Roane with raw-looking gills fluttering in the sides of his neck. He looked like he couldn’t have been more than three years old when he was taken. Oberon only knew how long ago that was; the Roane have been all but extinct for centuries. Oak and ash, how many lives had this man destroyed? Why hadn’t anyone stopped him?
There’d be time for hatred later. Right now, getting out was what mattered. I took a step forward. “Don’t you remember the answer? It’s threescore miles and ten.” The children moved back again. One of them hissed. “Can I get there by a candle’s light? Oh yes, and back again.” I was passing them, and they weren’t stopping me in their haste to get away from the light. All of them were fleeing now, all but that little Roane boy who couldn’t seem to get back to his feet.
Pausing, I offered him my free hand, heedless of the danger. It wasn’t his fault. None of them had chosen this. He raised his head and looked at me, eyes wide and empty. I jerked away instinctively just before he lunged, leaving his razor-sharp teeth to close on empty air. They opened a wide gash in his upper lip, and it began oozing blood that was practically black.
That would teach me not to reach out to the monsters. I stepped backward, holding up my candle like a shield. “If your feet are nimble and your heart is light, you can get there and back by the candle’s light,” I said, as fast as I could. “How many miles to Babylon? It’s threescore miles and ten—” I kept chanting, backing toward the wall.
The children were slinking back into a group, watching me with angry, empty eyes. It’s always nice to feel loved. I kept backing up, chanting the rhyme over and over until my shoulders hit the wall. I glanced from side to side. There were no doors. No way out.
Emboldened by my sudden stop, the group of children began creeping closer. They surrounded me in a loose semicircle, stopping well out of reach. The Piskie looked at me, saying, “Oh, you won’t go.” She seemed to be the unofficial spokesperson for the group. Most of the others didn’t say anything more complex than “new girl” without being prompted. “There’s no leaving before it’s time.”
“I see,” I said, not moving. “That’s good to know.”
“Good and bad don’t matter—there’s no point in running. Rider or ridden, it’s not your decision, and if it’s the second, to the stables you’ll go. If the first, you’ll join our company . . . for a time.” There was no softness in her smile. “Making enemies of the only friends you’ll find here isn’t wise.”
“Maybe she wants enemies,” said the Centaur.
“No one smart