Artificial Night, An - Seanan McGuire Page 0,54

I closed my eyes, tall and vast against the sky. He was willing to be my god. All I had to do was let go of the candle and let him in.

No way in hell.

He was blind but saw everything in his lands—everything but me. He wouldn’t have agreed to my little game if he didn’t have to, because victory is always better than playing fair. He couldn’t see me, he couldn’t hold me, and so I was almost safe. But why was I so special? Why should a candle matter so much? I paused, reviewing. The Luidaeg gave me the candle and sent me into his lands. She said I could get there and back by the light of a candle.

Of course: we were in a child’s land, playing by children’s rules. Blind Michael would catch me if he could, because that was how the game worked, but he couldn’t stop me or see me as long as I kept my candle burning. That would make the game unfair.

“Just great,” I said. I was trapped in the realm of a mad Firstborn who obeyed the laws of children’s tales, and my only hope for escape was pinned on a candle flame. It hadn’t been able to hide Raj from the Riders, and I wasn’t counting on it to be able to hide any of the other children, either. The Luidaeg and I were going to have words when I got home.

And then there was the dream. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, but this was different. It felt almost real, and it felt like it was important. Like it was something I needed to remember. Not that I could have forgotten the look in Karen’s eyes, even if I wanted to.

My thoughts distracted me enough that I didn’t hear the rustling until something grabbed my shoulder. That’s the kind of mistake you only get to make once, because afterward, you’re generally dead. I whirled as far as the bush allowed, ignoring the thorns raking my cheek as I pulled back my free hand to strike my attacker. Whatever it was might be disoriented enough by prey that fought back for me to get out of the brambles and run.

I started to swing and froze, staring. Quentin stared back. The brambles had forced him to his hands and knees. Mud was caked on his face and hair, making him look more like an extra from Lord of the Flies than a well-groomed courtier. Spike was on his shoulder, looking unperturbed by the situation. I guess when you’re made of thorns, a few more don’t hurt.

“Quentin.” I slowly lowered my hand. Spike gave me a wounded look, and I added, “Spike. What are you two doing here?”

It took Quentin a moment to find his voice. He just gaped, still staring, before he stammered, “T-Toby?”

“In the flesh.” I glanced down at myself and grimaced. “So to speak. How the hell did you get here?” Don’t you know you’re going to get yourself killed? Did you think for a second before you did whatever it took to follow me?

Idiots. Idiots, children, and heroes.

“I—the Luidaeg said you’d be here. She told me to look for the candlelight.” He pointed to my candle. “But I didn’t think . . .”

“Yeah, it’s a little weird from this side, too. I ask again, what are you doing here?” He’d gone to the Luidaeg. Oh, root and branch. The Luidaeg can be kind when she wants to, but her gifts are never free. What had he paid to find me?

Quentin stiffened, looking away for a moment before he turned back to me and said, “I’m here for Katie. You’re going to let me help,” in what was probably supposed to be a commanding tone.

I’ve been commanded by a lot of people in my time. Some of them were pretty good at it, and a few were even good enough to make me listen. Quentin had heritage and history on his side, but he didn’t have the practice, and when you’re trying to make me do what you want, practice is what counts. It also helps if you’re not down on your hands and knees.

I snorted. “I’m sorry, but no. Go home. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care. They have Katie. I’m not going anywhere until we get her out.”

“There’s no ‘we’ here, Quentin. You have to go.”

“Why? This can’t be worse than when we went to help Jan, and I was good enough to go with you then. I’m