Let me out, the Nightmare said again, his voice slithering out from behind his jagged teeth.
Shut up and let me think, I snapped, my eyes still on the dagger.
“Hello?” said the highwayman at my back, tugging my hood again. “Can you hear me? Are you daft?”
“Wait,” cautioned the one with the dagger. I could not see his face behind the mask, but his gaze held me pinned. When he stepped closer I flinched, the scent of cedar smoke and cloves clinging to his cloak.
“Search her pockets,” he said.
Trespassing fingers roved down my sides, across my waist and down my skirt. I clenched my jaw and held my nose high. The Nightmare remained quiet, his claws tapping a sharp rhythm.
Click. Click. Click.
“Nothing,” said the highwayman.
But the other was not convinced. Whatever he saw in my eyes—whatever he suspected—was enough to keep his dagger stilled just above my heart. “Check her sleeves,” he said.
Help me, I shouted into my mind. Now!
The Nightmare laughed—a cruel, snakelike hiss.
White-hot heat cut through my arms. I hunched over, my veins burning, and muffled a cry as the Nightmare’s strength coursed through my blood.
The man behind me took a step back. “What’s wrong with her?”
The highwayman with the dagger watched me with wide eyes and lowered his blade. He lowered it only a moment—but a moment was all the time I needed.
My muscles burned with the Nightmare’s strength. I struck the highwayman’s chest with brutal force, knocking the dagger out of his hand and propelling him backward onto the road. His head slammed heavily onto soil just as the highwayman behind me reached for his sword.
But the Nightmare’s reflexes were faster. Before the highwayman could free his blade from its sheath, I caught him by the wrist, my grip so tight my nails dug into his skin. “Don’t come here again,” I said, my voice not entirely my own.
Then, with the full force of the Nightmare’s strength, I pushed him off the road into the mist.
Branches snapped as he struck the forest floor, a curse echoing through the moist summer air. I did not wait to see him get back up. I was already running—running full speed for my uncle’s house.
Faster, I called over the drumming of my own heart.
My legs strained with effort, my steps so quick and so sure my heels hardly touched the ground. When I reached the yellow torchlight, I threw myself against the brick wall near my uncle’s gate and forced myself to take long, burning breaths.
I peered over my shoulder down the road, half expecting to see them chasing me. But the darkness was merely punctured by trees and mist.
The Nightmare and I were alone once more.
My arms continued to burn, even when my lungs grew steadier. I rolled up my sleeves, staring at the ink-black tributary of magic shooting down my veins, flowing from the crook of my elbow to my wrist. It looked just as it had that night eleven years ago when the fever took hold of me.
It looked just the same every time I asked the Nightmare for his help.
I waited for the ink to burn off, grinding my teeth against the stinging warmth. Do you think they realized I’m infected?
They’re Card thieves. Report you, and they report themselves.
A few moments later, the warmth was gone, its ghost twitching up and down my arms. I leaned up against the brick wall and heaved a rattling sigh. Why does it burn every time? I asked.
But the Nightmare had already begun to vanish into the dark chasm of my mind. My magic moves, he said. My magic bites. My magic soothes. My magic frights. You are young and not so bold. I am unflinching—five hundred years old.