I kept my eyes on the knight, despite the nagging temptation to look at Phelan. I heard him hit the flagstones behind me, and I coaxed the light of my hands to flood the knight’s helm. His focus shifted to me, and I suddenly became aware that I was too close to him. I was within his striking range, and I had no choice but to flee to where Phelan was sprawled in the center of the street, his blood blooming like a rose across his torn waistcoat.

“Phelan,” I breathed. “Phelan, can you stand?”

We only had moments before the knight reached us. His heavy tread began to sound again, and I reached down to haul Phelan up to his feet.

His eyes were glazed, but he responded as I supported his weight, his arm draped over my shoulders.

“To the house, Miss Neven,” he said, his voice wispy as if he was about to faint. “If you please.”

I wildly searched for his house, my bearings lost in the fray. I knew it must be nearby—we hadn’t strayed far from it when the nightmare manifested. And then I saw house eleven, with its gray brick and climbing ivy, three doors away, and my relief nearly crushed me as I began to haul him to the front gate, the knight hounding us.

Don’t look behind you, I ordered myself, even though I wanted to see how close the knight was to catching us. Don’t look down, even though I wanted to see how much blood Phelan was losing.

My eyes on the door, Phelan limping at my side, the knight hounding us. This new moon was unraveling around me.

I dragged us through the gate, up the path and porch steps, the lantern light flickering as if beckoning us to hurry, hurry, hurry . . .

“The key,” Phelan moaned. Of course, he had locked the front door when we had departed, and I frantically searched his pockets. He was steadily bleeding, and it coated my hand as my fingers darted from pocket to pocket.

The front gate creaked behind us; the knight was in the yard. Cold air washed over my back, like winter had arrived early. The ivy on the trellis withered; frost spangled the shutters. At last, I found the iron key, tucked within the inner pocket of Phelan’s jacket, and I struggled to unlock the door, my hands numb, trembling.

“Miss Neven,” Phelan whispered into my hair. “Anna . . .”

He was begging me to rush, because the knight was only steps away from cutting us both down.