An Artificial Night

When shapeshifters copy a person, they copy them exactly, body language and all. I’ve seen Fetches before. I would have known what she was the moment I saw her if I’d been willing to believe it. Fetches don’t have time to learn little things like motor control, so they come complete with the knowledge of how to move and comport themselves. May was created from fragments of me, but she moved like a pureblood: all fire and air and unconditional grace. She moved like something I’d never been and never would be.

“Anyway, I’m just here to do my job,” May said, and then grinned, solemnity abandoned. “I just want you to know what’s coming down the pike, so to speak. Now that you do, I’m going to go try that twenty-four-hour Chinese place down the block. I remember that you like kung pao chicken. I wanna see if I do, too.”

Dazedly, I said the first thing that popped into my head: “If you had to steal clothes from the Goodwill, how are you planning to afford Chinese food?”

May laughed as she crossed to the door. “Don’t worry about it.” Putting her hand on the knob, she paused. “I’ll be around, and when the time comes, I’ll be waiting.” Then she stepped out the door, whistling. I can’t carry a tune; neither could she, and that made it all real. I’d believed her, but I hadn’t really understood what she meant until I heard her mimicking my utter inability to whistle. I was going to die. I couldn’t stop it.

I was going to die.

She paused to wave. I grabbed a plate off the coffee table, flinging it in her direction. Her eyes went wide before she slammed the door. The plate hit it and shattered.

“No!” I shrieked, regardless of whether or not she could hear me. I was screaming at the universe as much as I was screaming at her, too angry to think straight. “I will not lie down and die because you say it’s time! Do you understand me? I refuse!”

There was no answer but the sound of my own breathing. The cats crept out of the hall with their ears pressed flat, growling in the backs of their throats. Spike slid out from behind the couch, stalking stiff-legged to sniff at the doorjamb. The threat was over from their point of view; it was safe for them to come out and make a show of being brave.

I really wished that I could say the same. I’ve never been the most safety-oriented person in the world. I know I take too many risks. But I’ve always been able to promise myself that I’d stop, that tomorrow I’d settle down and stop playing with fire. Only now it looked like there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. And it wasn’t fair.

Spike was pacing in front of the door, making an angry keening noise. “Aren’t you a little late to play protector?” I asked. It rattled its thorns. With a sigh, I moved to lock the door. Fragments of plate crunched underfoot, cutting my feet. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. When you’re waiting to die, you have bigger things to worry about than a little bit of blood.

I clicked the lock home, shuddering, and turned away. Dawn was coming; it was time to get ready for breakfast with Connor. If there’s one thing I know about destiny, it’s this: it doesn’t give second chances, and it doesn’t believe in waiting for you to be ready. If it was coming for me, it was already too late. All I could do was try to make sure it didn’t catch me sitting still.





THREE



“EARTH TO TOBY.You in there?”

“What?” I stopped mashing my eggs into my home fries to blink across the table at Connor. He was leaning on his elbows, watching me. It’s always hard to adjust to seeing him with a human disguise—I deal with him mostly at Shadowed Hills, and he has no reason to hide himself there. His hair was supposed to be speckled with gray, like his pelt in seal-form, not a standard shade of brown. His hands look weird without webbing, and I’m not used to seeing whites or definite pupils in his eyes.

Those eyes were fixed on me now, and his expression was one of earnest concern. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” I put down my fork and brushed my hair back, trying to look casual. It wasn’t working.

“You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”