An Artificial Night - BK 3 by Seanan McGuire Page A

a court as unfashionable as Sylvester’s. Judging by the slight accent Quentin displayed in times of stress, they were somewhere in or near Canada. The Torquills are both his liege lords and his parents now, at least until the fosterage ends.
    “No . . .”
    “Maeve wept, Quentin.” I stood. “Stay where you are. Understand?”
    He nodded as I stalked back to the kitchen, where I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for Shadowed Hills. The phone rang twice before a man’s voice came on the line, saying, “Shadowed Hills. How may I assist?”
    I paused, amazement overwhelming my annoyance. “Etienne, is that you? ”
    “Oh, blast. Hello, Toby,” he said, wearily. “Please don’t start.”
    “Was the phone in danger? Did they have to get a big, brave knight to guard it?” Etienne is one of Sylvester’s most reliable knights. Pureblooded Tuatha de Dannan and so honorable that he squeaks—in short, boring as hell. I respect the man and even like him in the abstract, but when it comes to actually spending time around him, well, let’s just say that we’ve devoted a lot of time to driving each other crazy.
    “Melly is out, so someone had to mind the phone. What’s going on?” It was impossible to miss the disapproval in his tone. I’m a lot more likely to just show up, trouble following on my heels, than I am to call ahead.
    “Right. Sorry.” I sobered, saying, “Quentin’s at my place. He’s fine, and I’m about to bring him back to the knowe.”
    “Quentin’s there? Why in the world would he be—”
    “He came on his own, Etienne, I didn’t steal him or anything.” His answering silence betrayed how close I’d been to guessing what he was thinking. I sighed. “Please let people know that Quentin is safe and will be there shortly for you to yell at in person.”
    “Of course,” he said, stiffly. “Open roads.”
    “Kind fires, Etienne,” I said and hung up the phone.
    I was smacking my head rhythmically against the wall when I heard Quentin clear his throat behind me, saying, “Toby? What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”
    I stopped banging my head and straightened, turning to face him. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
    He followed me to the front door, asking, “Where are we going?”
    “I’m taking you back to Shadowed Hills.”
    “What?” He stopped, staring at me. “Why?”
    “This situation is too dangerous. I’m not going to risk your life again.” The last time Sylvester sent me on a job, Quentin came along to watch and learn. He learned, all right. He learned what it’s like to get shot and nearly die, and what it’s like to bury your liege lord’s only niece. There are some lessons I really don’t feel like reinforcing.
    “But—Katie!” Quentin protested.
    “I’m on it. I don’t need your help.” I’d risk my own life to bring the children home, but I wouldn’t risk anyone else. Nobody was going to get hurt on my watch; especially not Quentin. I’d already hurt him enough.
    He stared at me, looking like I’d just slapped him. “But she’s my girlfriend. You’re supposed to . . .”
    “To what? Let you help?” I shook my head, doing my best to sneer. It hurt, but not as badly as the thought of his broken body. “Haven’t you been paying attention? When people get involved with me, they die. I’m not taking you on this case.”
    “I have to find her. Please, Toby, she’s just human; she doesn’t know—”
    “You’re not trained and you’re not coming.” I was being cruel, but there was no other way. Not unless I wanted my Fetch to stand for his death as well as mine.
    Quentin recoiled, eyes wide and hurt for an instant before his expression hardened. He nodded curtly. “Fine. I’ll find her on my own.”
    “No, you won’t. Come on.”
    “What?”
    “Like I said, I’m taking you back to Shadowed Hills.” He glared. I glared back. I’ve had more practice, and he looked away first, hunching his shoulders. I briefly considered