My fractured vision magnified the strangeness of the landscape, the shared perspectives making it feel like I was watching the world through a prism. The individual viewpoints melted together as we Rode, making the world into something deeper and wilder than anything I’d seen before. It wasn’t natural yet, but I knew that it would be, when the Ride was done and Blind Michael took me as his bride. Oberon help me. We were nearing the end of our journey; I could feel it in the air, and every step we took brought me a little closer to being His. If I was already lost, why was I still so afraid?

We flickered back into the mortal world, racing down a street I knew: the road through the center of Golden Gate Park, flanked by jogging trails and tangled foliage. Pixies flashed past, pinpoints of light that did nothing to break the darkness. I’d never seen a night like this before. It was too unreal and half-drawn for the human world, too solid and bitter for Faerie. I’d never seen a night like this . . . but I’d never ridden with a mad Firstborn before, either. This was Blind Michael’s world.

The air got thick and hazy as we ran along the road, and we slowed. I braced myself, waiting for the darkness to return. We’d passed through more than half of the Bay Area; we had to be almost done, ready to finish our descent into the night.

The first Riders were almost to the crossroads when white light blazed ahead of us, reaching past the tops of the dark-tipped trees and drawing a circle around the center of the street. Blind Michael’s horse reared in terror. “Halt!” he shouted, and the Ride came to an uneven stop. I had no idea how to make Katie stop, and so she did it on her own, stumbling over her hooves, eyes wide and frightened. I wanted to lean forward to comfort her, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stare into the light.

The Riders looked as lost as I felt, pushing and snarling at each other as they queued up behind their lord. They were too frightened for this to be a part of the ritual. This was something new.

A voice from behind the light shouted, “For I will ride the milk-white steed, the nearest to the town! Because I was an earthly knight, they give me that renown!”

It took me a moment to realize why I knew those words. I’d always spoken them myself, or heard them sung, usually in my mother’s sweetly discordant voice as she coaxed me to sleep. Knowing the words didn’t make them make sense. Why was someone reciting the ballad of Tam Lin? Old Scottish fairy tales aren’t typical reading material for Halloween—of course. It was Halloween, the night for Rides and sacrifices, and Tam Lin ended with a faerie Ride on Halloween night. It was meant to be a sacrifice. It turned into a rescue.

Most people believe it’s just a story, but it’s not, quite; it happened a long time ago, before the Burning Times began. The Ride that was interrupted that night resulted in the loss of Queen Maeve and heralded the fall of the old Courts. I’ve never understood why my mother chose that song as her lullaby, our world began dying the night that ballad began. Janet waited for Maeve’s Ride at the crossroads, standing in the center of a circle cast for her protection. She was clever, she was careful, and she won the man who betrayed us all. Could the speaker be coming to stop this Ride the way Janet stopped that one? So who were they stopping it for?

“First let pass the black steeds, and then let past the brown,” the voice chanted. There was no arguing with that voice. The children around me were raising their heads, shivering and confused. “Quick run to the milk-white steed and pull the Rider down!”

Someone grabbed Katie’s reins. She reared, startled, and I fell.

I went limp, almost glad that I didn’t have enough control to catch myself or fight. Maybe I couldn’t run away, but that didn’t mean I had to save myself. Death would be better than survival in slavery.

“No, you don’t!” said a cheerful voice, grabbing me out of the air. An elbow slammed into my solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me, and we went tumbling through the light, into the circle that it defined. My captor twisted as we fell, making sure to cushion the blow when we hit the ground. Considerate kidnappers—that was a nice change. It was a pity I was too busy screaming to appreciate it. The light burned. It was like being shredded alive and reassembled by countless unseen hands, none of which were being very careful. Other voices were screaming around me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the light. It didn’t help.

The eyes of the Ride kept feeding me images, showing the parade of children and Riders quailing from the fury of our mad god. I saw myself falling in the arms of a green-robed figure while smaller shapes held the reins of my horse, fighting her as she bucked to get free. Other children were falling, pulled down by figures of their own who dragged them into the light and wouldn’t let them go.

And I could see the woman standing at the circle’s edge, hands held in front of her, palms turned downward. She wasn’t tall, but something about her made her seem almost as vast as Blind Michael. Her hair fell in dark curls, like the waves of an angry sea; her eyes were white as foam, and she wore a gray robe stitched with patterns of mingled white and black that made the shared eyes of the Ride turn away. Only Acacia didn’t look away: she knew her, named her and showed her to me with a delight that was close to rejoicing. The Luidaeg.

Something woke in me that remembered how to hope, because I recognized her as soon as I knew her name—the sea witch, Blind Michael’s sister, who sent me to him in the first place. There were figures in the darkness behind her, but none of them mattered; the Luidaeg would save me if anyone could. I owed her, after all. She needed me alive to pay my debts.

I landed on my captor, shivering as the pain faded. The woman beneath me must have had an easier trip through the light than I did, because she was already stirring. Bully for her. She flipped me over as soon as I was breathing again, keeping her arms around my waist and pinning my legs with her knees.

“Sorry,” she said, in an almost familiar voice, “but I’m not letting you go.”

“That’s okay,” I managed. “I don’t think you’re supposed to.” The scene was still playing out behind my closed eyes, and I didn’t know who I wanted to win. I wanted to be free, but Blind Michael’s spell was strong. He still had my loyalty.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Blind Michael. The remaining procession shuddered behind him. Someone in the back whimpered and was silenced. All eyes were on their lord, and on his sister.