Lincoln grits his teeth. “Shadow Dragons are rare, the Master of Creatures wanted something to dazzle the crowd. But any creature this young, it’s not–” The dragon flinches, Lincoln pats his side. “Calm down, boy.”

I finish the thought. “Honorable.”

“Yes.” Lincoln’s mismatched eyes find mine again. My stomach lurches with something I don’t know how to name.

It’s time to leave.

“It’s late. I better head out.” I reach for Nightshade, she whinnies and prances away. I follow her down the stable’s main aisle. “Come on, girl.”

“Myla, what did you do to your back?”

I look over my shoulder. “Oh, that was the Arachnoid. I forgot it got one good lick in.”

Lincoln rises to his feet. “Come over here.”

What a worrywart. “It’s fine, really.”

Lincoln steps up behind me. “That looks bad. Arachnoids are poisonous. Wait one minute.” He rushes over to the shelves on the far wall, pulls down a white towel, and jogs back to my side. “I’m going to pat the wound, all right?”

“Okay.” I barely feel the fabric on my skin.

Lincoln steps in front of me, the towel in his hands. It’s covered with green and yellow pus. “See, what I mean? Bad.”

“Hells bells! But I don’t feel anything.”

“It’s the neurotoxin.” Lincoln jogs back over to the shelf of jars. “By the time you feel the pain, it’s too late.” He pulls a yellow jar from the shelves and inspects the hand-written label. “Don’t worry, this one’ll do it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve hunted demons since I was six years old. I’ve seen every injury you can imagine. That’s an Arachnoid cut, and this ointment’s the cure.” A green horse blanket hangs from a peg on a nearby wall. Lincoln pulls it down with his free hand. “You’ll need to take your upper armor off. Cover up with this.”

He tosses the blanket to me; I catch it with my right hand. I look at the once-white towel lying on the stable floor. It could be my imagination, but the gooey stain seems to slowly creep along the fabric. Lincoln’s right; this is bad.

“Give me a minute.” I step into a nearby stall and strip off my breastplate and under-armor. I wish I’d brought my fighting suit–that Arachnoid would never have gotten through dragon scales. Oh, well. I hold the blanket to my chest and step back into the main aisle.

Lincoln steps closer. “You better sit.”

Bending my knees, I fold my legs beneath me on the stable floor. Lincoln crouches behind me. He leans forward, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “This is going to hurt at first.”

I hear the scrape of the jar’s lid, then sense Lincoln’s vague touch on my back.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Give it a few seconds.”