An Artificial Night

“Your coffee cup’s been empty for five minutes, and you haven’t threatened to track down and gut our waitress.” Connor shook his head. “I know you. What’s wrong?”


“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just tired.” I didn’t want to tell him about May. I didn’t want him trying to help; I just wanted to have it left alone until I was ready to deal. That might not be until after I was dead, but it was my choice, not his. I try to be straight with my friends when I can, but there are times I make exceptions. Right after I’ve had my death predicted by the fae equivalent of a singing telegram is one of those times.

Connor sighed, turning his attention to his own breakfast. “Have it your way.” After a pause, he added, “If this is about my wife . . .”

“It’s not. I haven’t given her a reason to kill me this week, and I’m not intending to give her one, either.” I smiled faintly. “I’m over you.”

“My heart bleeds.”

“It would if I weren’t over you and Raysel found out.” I took a bite of my eggs. They were cold and gummy, but I swallowed them anyway before I said, “Your heart, my heart, a lot of other body parts . . .”

“You give her a lot of credit.”

“For potential mayhem? Yeah.” I put my fork down. “She worries me. There’s something not right about her.”

“You know, most guys just have to deal with their exgirlfriends being jealous of their wives. Not coming up with elaborate conspiracy theories about them.”

“I was never your girlfriend.”

“The point stands.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

He sighed. “I can’t.” Glancing to the clock, he added, “I should be getting back to Shadowed Hills. I’ve got to attend formal audiences today.”

Sometimes I wonder if the essentially diurnal nature of the Duchess of Shadowed Hills is the real reason she married her daughter to a Selkie: she was looking for moral support. “I need to get going myself,” I said, leaving my mostly untouched breakfast behind as I rose. Connor eyed my plate. “If you want a doggie bag, get it yourself.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his tone making the words into a lie. He clearly wasn’t happy about my failure to eat, but I decided to let it go. I didn’t have the energy.

We paid our check and exited the restaurant. Connor, ever the gentleman, held the door for me. My fingers brushed his before he let it go, and I pulled away. Wanting each other wasn’t allowed to matter anymore.

There was a chill in the air outside, and the sky was solid gray, warning of rain. I looked up, frowning. “Weather’s taking a turn for the worse.”

“Guess so.” Connor stepped closer. I stepped away, and he stopped, not bothering to hide the hurt expression that flashed briefly over his face. “Toby . . .”

“Just don’t, okay? Please.” I shook my head. “Just don’t.” I hadn’t been so quick to pull away when we were in Fremont together, trapped in a knowe with a killer stalking the halls. I kissed him there, tasted the salt on his lips, remembered why I’d ever wanted him as more than a friend.

Oberon help me, I couldn’t risk that happening again.

Connor sighed. “Right. Well. Later, Toby.”

“Open roads,” I replied.

Treating Connor like that makes me feel low, but until he stops trying to get closer, I don’t have a choice. He’s married, and I have principles. I’m also smart enough to be afraid of his wife, which means I need to be even more careful about how close I am to him. Raysel strikes me as a serial killer waiting to happen. I don’t intend to be in front of her when it does.

The phone was ringing when I got home. I ignored it. I’m not normally fond of the answering machine, considering that Evening Winterrose used it to cast a binding spell on me from beyond the grave, but it has its uses. Taking calls I’m not in the mood to deal with falls into that category.