I pulled away and Phelan let me go.

I entered the hall; I stepped into my dream.

It was like treading a river, one that deepened with each step. The currents tugged me toward myself, this terrifying flesh-and-blood copy of Anna. What would she do if I caught her attention, if our eyes met? What would I do?

I was relieved that I had not taken that bejeweled dagger, that I had not exposed my true self. Nothing about this dream gave me away as Clem, although it did mention my secret and it raised suspicions about Olivette’s father.

We had nearly reached the end of the dream. The armor shone and dripped blood.

“Father?” Olivette cried, staring at Mr. Wolfe holding the axe.

I knew she was caught up in this dream just as I was, struggling to tell what was real and what was fantasy. She saw her father and thought it was truly him, arriving to assist in fighting the nightmare.

“Olivette!” I called to her, hurrying to close the gap between us. My friends didn’t know this dream like I did. I was the only one who held the advantage.

The sound of my voice drew dream Anna’s and Mr. Wolfe’s attention. The moment they looked at me, I was overwhelmed. I sank to my knees, dazed as if I had been struck across the face.

Nura was the one of us who responded.

She cast a defensive spell as Mr. Wolfe approached with the axe. Her magic arced with blue light, finding its mark in his chest. The smith stumbled back but did not fall. It roused his anger and he moved faster.

“Wait, Nura,” Olivette shouted. “It could be him!”

“This isn’t your father, Oli,” Nura said, hurling another charm to slow him down.

I could feel my pulse in my ears as I rose.

Olivette was shouting and Nura’s magic was teeming in the air, scorching Mr. Wolfe’s clothes, burning his skin. But he continued to press us, swinging his axe.

Nura blocked it with a charm and attempted to wrench the axe from his grip. Her magic rebounded and tossed her back a few yards. She landed lithely on her feet several tables away, and I saw the tension in her face as Olivette attempted to speak to Mr. Wolfe’s phantom.

“Father, lower the axe,” she said.

He swung.

Olivette gasped and lurched backward, scrounging up a magical shield, but the edge of the blade sliced her raised forearm. Nura launched herself over the tables, teeth bared as she struck Mr. Wolfe again with more force. He stumbled, granting her enough time to ease Olivette up and away safely out of his range.

Phelan appeared. He engaged with the smith so Nura could continue retreating with Olivette, who was weeping, her forearm leaving a trail of blood on the flagstones.