An Artificial Night - BK 3 Read Online Free Page B

morning. It was like looking at a photograph, only this photograph was answering my openmouthed shock with a smirk and a tip of an imaginary hat.
    The only major difference between us was the clothes. She was wearing a long green skirt and a cream-colored sweatshirt that proclaimed, “Shakespeare in the Park: What Fools These Mortals Be” in faux-Gothic lettering. I was underdressed in bare feet and bathrobe.
    “What the—”
    “The name’s May Daye,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”
    Not even shock can dim my eternally inappropriate sense of humor. “How cute,” I said. Then I froze again, wondering what I’d just insulted. I’m normally pretty good at spotting the bloodlines of anyone—or any thing —I deal with, but painful past experience has taught me that I’m not always accurate. Especially when I’m dealing with shapeshifters.
    “Really? I thought it was sort of trite myself, but what can you do? Post a complaint against the universe? Anyway.” She brushed past me and took a slow look around the living room. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Hey, it’s the cats!” She held out a hand toward Cagney and Lacey, who were still doing their best to disappear under the coffee table. “Here Cagney, here Lacey—” The cats bolted, vanishing down the hall.
    May shook her head and dropped onto the couch in an easy sprawl. “Silly cats. Anyway, you’d better put that bat down before you hurt someone, like me. I’m allergic to physical pain. I’m pretty sure it gives me hives.”
    I closed the door without letting go of the bat, unwilling to take my eyes off her. She looked like me, she sounded like me; she could have fooled an uninformed observer. If she’d been willing to hold still and keep her mouth shut, she could have fooled my best friends. Even Devin’s hired Doppelganger hadn’t done its job that well.
    May shook her head again. “Close your mouth. You look like a goldfish.” The barb hit home. Anyone who knew me well enough to steal my face should have known better than to make cracks about the time I spent as a fish.
    My notoriously short-lived patience was running out. I glared, demanding, “What the hell are you?”
    “A Fetch. Your Fetch, to be exact,” she said. “You know, the spirits that wear your face when they come to escort you to the lands of—”
    “—the dead,” I finished. “Little problem: I’m not dead. ” A Fetch is a duplicate of a living person created when it’s time for them to die. They’re incredibly rare, and most people don’t get one. I certainly never requested the honor.
    May shrugged. “Mortality’s a constant. I have time; I can wait.”
    “You can’t be my Fetch! I’m not going to die!”
    “Are you sure?” she asked, looking at me with renewed interest. “Did you go all pureblooded and death-proof when I wasn’t looking?”
    “Yes! I mean, no! I mean, yes, I’m sure!”
    “I wouldn’t be. I mean, you’re not exactly Little Miss Caution. Look at this.” She pulled down the collar of her sweatshirt, displaying a knot of scar tissue on her left shoulder. “Iron bullets? Yeah, those are a sign of good survival prospects. Or this?” This time she raised the bottom of the shirt, showing the curved claw-marks that crossed her stomach. I’d never seen those scars from the outside: they looked a lot worse from this angle. Some of those wounds should have been fatal.
    May tugged her shirt back into place. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’re not exactly on the universe’s ‘ten longest projected life spans’ list. I wish you were, because when you die, I die with you.” She shrugged. “But fate doesn’t have a suggestion box.”
    “Why are you trying so hard to make me believe that I haven’t got much time before I—”
    “—shuffle off this mortal coil? Because you don’t, hon. I’m sorry, but it’s true. And what’s with the Shakespeare fixation? Didn’t your mother know about Nora