“Do you want me to surrender without a fight, then, Mr. Phelan?” Papa countered, his voice edged with ire. “Do you want me to surrender this town and its inhabitants after I’ve given years of my life protecting it? Is that how wardenship works in the city you hail from?”

Phelan had the decency to appear briefly shamed.

“Of course not, Mr. Madigan,” Lennox rushed to say. “And besides, you are here with your daughter, and we are ready to play out the challenge. Whoever defeats the nightmare will win the right to Hereswith.”

“Win the right,” Papa murmured, and I knew the words galled him, because they certainly irritated me. “Very well, then, Mr. Lennox. When the clock strikes nine, the new moon is announced, and your challenge will begin.”

All of us glanced at the market clock, whose face was illuminated by lanternlight. Three minutes remained, and they dragged by like years.

I fought the temptation to pace, to fidget. I made myself stand like stone, just as the two upstarts did, and waited for the clock to strike nine.

Finally, the chime sounded.

And the mountain wind blew through the streets, sweet and dark and full of magic.

Lennox frowned as he glanced about the market, waiting for the nightmare to materialize. Sometimes the dreams were born quickly, as if they were ripe and bursting, eager for the mortal world. Sometimes the dreams arrived gradually, shade by shade, like an artist painting a canvas. Sometimes they were easy to defeat, and Papa and I would be home within the hour with only a few rips in our garments. Sometimes they lasted until dawn, stubborn and vicious and crafty.

As I waited to see whose nightmare greeted me that night, I noticed Lennox and Phelan were rigid, and I knew this victory was ours. Papa was right; we had the advantage. We possessed the knowledge, the experience. I knew every nook and cranny of the streets of Hereswith, every garden, the slant of every roof.

This town was my home, and I would defend it.

I noticed the rain before the men did. Before Papa, even. A drop fell in my hair, then on the back of my hand, the moisture gleaming like a jewel on my skin. I resisted the urge to look up at the sky, because I didn’t want to tip off the magicians, but I took hold of Papa’s arm and began to guide him away from the market.

“Papa, let’s go,” I whispered.

Lennox’s eyes bugged at the sight of us retreating. I sensed he was tempted to follow us, to mimic everything we did, but Phelan had the same idea as me. He drew Lennox to the protection of one of the market stalls, and they melted into the shadows.