The creature is outlined in thin green light. Its body flickers, gaining density, then thinning, then gaining it again. It could be a wolf except that it stands twice as tall and instead of fur it has a semitranslucent layer of stretched and blackened skin that flakes off at the joints of its four legs. It bares two rows of teeth, curved backward like scythes. Thin rivers of steaming black saliva stream between its lower canines and pool on the grass.
I don’t know what sound I make—a gasp, a near-silent yelp of fear—but its head whips in my direction, glowing red eyes and red-tipped ears pointing my way. It howls, and the piercing sound bounces between the buildings until it assaults me from all sides, freezing me to the spot.
The creature drops low, a growl gurgling in its throat, and launches itself at me.
I brace for the bite of teeth, but suddenly a figure barrels into the creature, knocking it off course mid-flight.
The heaving wolf-thing hits a brick wall with a heavy, squelching sound, a smear of black splattering the wall from the impact.
“Run!” It’s Nick who stands between me and the creature.
The creature hauls itself to its feet. It shakes its body like a dog, flinging dark liquid in every direction. Where the spray lands, grass sizzles like bacon in a pan.
“Bree!” Nick bends down on one knee. “Run!”
Heart pounding in my ears, I stumble—and fall. An arrow of pain shoots up my palms into my elbows.
Nick yanks a thin silver baton from a sheath strapped to his shin. He shifts into a high crouch, then whips the baton down in a slicing motion. The rod extends into a thin, sharp blade.
A hidden weapon. Just like Tor’s.
Nick spins the sword in his grip. At the top of the arc, a small silver cross guard pops out over his hand.
The creature leaps off powerful hind legs and Nick dodges, slicing its ribs as he goes. It lands and swings its tail. Nick ducks, narrowly missing the barbed tip.
The two dance faster than I can follow: Nick slashes. The creature swipes black-tipped claws at his chest. Nick opens it up and sickly light pours from its skin.
They circle each other, both panting hard. Then, the pattern breaks.
Nick steps backward; the creature follows. Nick drops his chin and takes another measured step back—into a closed alley between buildings.
There’s nowhere to run.
He’s trapped, and he doesn’t even realize it.
The creature rears back—
Instinctively, I scramble to my feet and yell, “Hey! This way!”
Nick’s eyes fly to mine at the same time that the creature’s ears flick back toward my voice.
“No!” Nick shouts, but it’s too late. I’m running and the creature is sprinting in my direction. I shift, running perpendicular to its path. Out of the side of my eye, I see it change direction to follow me.
It’s fast. Its teeth snap behind me, less than a foot away. I tuck my chin and push. Faster. Faster. A howl of pain—not mine. A heavy thud.
I can’t help but look.
Nick’s sword is buried a foot deep into the downed creature’s spine. The body shudders and spasms, the blade shaking with it. The creature’s front paws are splayed toward me. So close.
Nick had speared it mid-pounce.
A millisecond later—
“Get back!”
In one motion, the creature I thought was dead pulls its limbs in and under and springs. I raise my arms. It yelps; the embedded sword cuts its attack short. Its jaws snap, black spittle sprays through the air—I hit the ground.
My hands and arms are on fire.
Someone’s screaming.
Me, I think.
The world bleeds black, flowing like ink to the center of my vision.
The last thing I see is Nick, yanking his sword free, then driving it deep into the creature’s skull.
7
VOICES FADE IN and out.
What happened?!
Hellhound saliva.
Feels like my head is dunked underwater. Drawn up. Under again.
On campus? Corporeal? That’s impossible—
Help me get her on the table!
Falling. Falling down to the cold and the dark. The voices grow faint.
Who is she? Aether isn’t meant for Onceborns. If she—
It’s eating through her bones. Do it. Now.
* * *
The high-pitched, rhythmic trill of crickets pulses against my skull.
My eyes open to find a white ceiling with wide exposed wooden beams and a ceiling fan spinning lazy circles. I try sitting—and fail spectacularly. My arms aren’t working.
“You’re all right.” A gentle palm presses my shoulder down. Nick withdraws his hand. He’s standing beside the bed, one sleeve of his hoodie torn to shreds.
A white sheet covers the rest of my body, but underneath it, an intense itch crawls up, around, and over my arms. An awkward roll dislodges one limb; then panic rises. Thick layers of gauze wrap my right arm from knuckle to elbow. I yank my left shoulder back to confirm what the itching is already telling me, but the bedding catches.
“Careful,” Nick cautions. He folds the sheet back to expose my left arm, bandaged identically to the first. “You were injured.”
“Where am I?” I croak. My throat feels like sandpaper someone set on fire.
“I brought you to our healer.” Nick reaches for a glass of water on a bedside table behind him. There’s a straw crooked out of the top, and he brings the glass closer. It’s awkward, and it makes me feel like a child, but I’m too thirsty to turn him down.
He didn’t really answer my question, and I’m sure he knows that, but there are other ways to figure out where I am.
The room is comfortable in an expensive ski lodge sort of way, but the building feels old: furniture and wallpaper done in heavy fabrics and textures no one uses in updated homes. Tall ceilings, mahogany hardwood floors in wide planks. To my right, an upholstered seat below a tall window cracked open to the night—and the chirping of crickets. No lights beyond the glass pane. In the distance, the Bell Tower erupts in Westminster Quarters—the opening notes of the melody clear, but not close. Near campus, then.
I finish drinking. Nick puts the glass down and moves to the window seat to sit, his expression solemn. Nothing like the Nick I met outside Lenoir. “What do you remember?”
I frown, images coming in quick flashes: light in the sky. Running. Nick, wielding a sword. A monster. My eyes key to his in an instant. “You killed it.”
He nods. “I killed it.”
The Bell Tower chimes the hour. One. Two.
“You saved me.” Three.
He holds my gaze—four—nods again. Five.
A realization, clear and true before I even speak it aloud. “You’re Legendborn.” Six.
He inclines his head. “Yep. You must be a new Page? William said he didn’t recognize you.”
I shake my head. Seven.
He frowns, studying my face. “But you saw the hellhound—” When the tower strikes eight, Nick goes still as a statue.
I honestly don’t know who’s more stunned, him or me. We search each other’s faces, as if the next step in this conversation might be written on our skin. Nine. Ten. All I see are the hard lines of his jaw and his eyes, wide and wary. The strands of his straw-colored hair are still darkened from perspiration. Eleven. Silence.