“I mean—I need help. I hit my head, and this guy grabbed me, and I think I have some kind of short-term amnesia, because I don’t remember how I got here, but I do know my name, and…” I trail off as more patrons turn to stare, their heavy gazes assessing my rumpled clothes and flat hair. “If I could just use your phone or get on your Wi-Fi…” I hold up my phone as if this is another terrible pitch and they require a visual aid to understand what I’m asking.
“What’s that yer holdin’?” The man in the seat next to me surges up from his barstool so quickly, it wobbles on the sticky floor.
Silence falls across the tavern as stale and thick as the loaves of bread torn apart and crumbling on each table. The air is heavy, the sudden quiet palpable.
“It’s just my phone,” I say around a breathy laugh, trying to diffuse whatever situation I’ve gotten myself into. I give it another little shake, and my thumb slides across the screen, accidentally pressing the flashlight button. It blazes to life, shining directly into the face of the man on his feet in front of me.
His eyes widen, and the bartender shrieks. Men shoot up from their seats and clamber backward, their dirt-streaked faces going pale. The sudden panic is contagious, rippling through the tavern.
I step back, ice in my stomach. They weren’t justacting like they’ve never seen a phone before. They have never. Seen. A. Phone. I punch my thumb against the screen to turn off the flashlight, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Flashlight beaming like the sun, I shuffle backward toward the door.
Two men emerge from the terrified crowd, stalking forward to join the man at the bar.
My back hits the door, knocking the air from my lungs. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts as I fumble with the handle, the flashlight still shining. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. So why can’t I wake up?
“She has magick! She’s a witch!” the bartender screams, high and shrill, slicing through the din of the tavern.
“I’m awhat?” My heart pounds, panic gripping my lungs like a vise.
“Awitch!” The bar erupts into a chorus of voices, one on top of the other, spitting the word at me like a curse.
The three men exchange glances and rush me. Fear explodes in my chest, propelling me forward. I burst through the door and stumble out onto the cobblestone paved street, the cold air biting at my bare legs.
“Help!” The word rips out of me, a puff of vapor against the frigid night. “Someone, help—”
I jam my phone into my dress pocket and try to run, but the toe of my boot catches on an uneven stone, and I smack into the ground.
If I die in this dream, will I die in real life?
A meaty hand grabs my wet hair and yanks me to my feet as a scream tears from my throat. Every person inthe bar is now out on the street, watching as these three men surround me, like hyenas closing in on wounded prey. I scream and try to run, but the man jerks me back. Pain slams into my side, white-hot fire that throws sparks across my vision, and I double over. He pushes me forward, ripping my coat from my weak limbs as I slam into his comrade. With an agonizing gasp, I right myself.
My attacker lunges forward—a flash of a knife in his hand, blood dripping from the sharp edge. I let out another scream, my throat raw and dry.
As if brought on by my cry, the earth beneath me shakes. Hoofbeats hammer against the stone street, growing louder, closer. The crowd rushes to part as a dark and mysterious cloaked figure charges through the braying throng, sword held out in front of him, long and deadly.
There’s a shout, a gurgled cry of pain, and one of my aggressors clutches his throat. Blood sprays from his neck, splattering hot against my cheek. Hooves continue to beat the ground, and there’s another flash of steel. The man in front of me drops to his knees, his knife clattering to the stones, sliding off into the shadows.
The crowd scatters, shrieking, but fear cements me to the spot. The horse and cloaked figure barrel toward me. Another cry escapes my lips as the figure reaches down, his rough hand grasping mine with a strength that leaves no room for refusal. In one fluid motion, he pulls me onto the saddle and against the warm iron of his body.
Five
I keep my eyes closed so tightly, my eyelids ache as the world shudders and jolts, each gallop of the horse sending a spike of pain through my side. I cling to the rider’s arm wrapped warm and solid across my chest while the horse charges down the cobbled streets through the pelting rain.
Eventually, the hoofbeats steady and slow, no longer wild, sharp hammers on stone, and I crack open my eyes to a blur of iron-gray skies, rolling hills dotted with shadowed stone cabins, and a distant dense line of massive pines.
I shield my face from the spitting rain and peer around the rider’s broad shoulder. A castle grows like a fang from the center of the small town we’re escaping, its turrets and keep, jagged edges silhouetted in the night sky.
Where am I?
The rider’s heart beats a steady, strong rhythm againstmy back, strangely calming, strangely safe. His hold tightens around me as the horse jumps over a fallen tree. The pain in my side breathes fire through my core when we land, eviscerating my second of calm. I bite back a scream, my fingers digging into his arm.
She’s a witch!
The knife…the blood…the snarling crowd.
I press my cold fingers to the spray of blood now sticky on my cheek. He killed those men. This rider has a sword and cut them down like they were paper.
But he saved my life…
