Tor aims; the string tightens. “On your signal.”

A beat.

“Now!”

Three things happen in quick succession:

Tor’s arrow flies.

Selwyn swings toward the boys, spreading his arms wide and murmuring words I can’t hear.

And the boys stand up. They march around the campfire in a line and walk in my direction.

Tor’s arrow has pierced the shimmering mass. For a split second, I see wings in the campfire smoke. Claws. A thud—and it’s writhing on the ground, scattering leaves and dirt, half the arrow sticking up. Whatever it is, it’s not much bigger than a possum. But just as angry as one. I shudder. A possum, with wings.

The football players reach me, and I duck out of sight as they pass. My blood runs cold when I see their expressions: mouths slack, eyes unfocused. They move as if drugged.

Is that how I’d looked?

A screech splits the air, yanking my attention back to Selwyn and Tor. A hiss. A voice like metal scraping across glass. “Merlin…”

I blink in confusion. Merlin as in King Arthur?

Selwyn advances on the flickering creature twitching from Tor’s arrow. Five needle-thin points of light appear at the fingertips of his extended hand. He snaps his wrist, and the light spears fly into the ground. The creature screams; Selwyn’s pinned it in place like a butterfly to a board. His low chuckle makes me shiver. “Not just any Merlin.”

The creature hisses again in pained rage. “A Kingsmage!”

A feral grin spreads across Selwyn’s face. “That’s better.” My heart skips. Mage. Magic.

“It’s just a small one, Sel.” Tor pouts, another arrow already nocked in her bow.

“Doesn’t matter how small it is,” Selwyn—Sel—objects. “It shouldn’t be here.”

The thing struggles against its restraints. A flapping sound.

Sel clucks his tongue. “Why are you here, little isel?”

He says “isel” with a long “e” on the first syllable—and a derisive sneer.

“Nosy Legendborn!” The isel makes a sniffing sound. “Nosy trai—” Sel stomps down on its wing. Hard. The creature screeches.

“Enough about us. Why are you here?”

“Feeding!”

Sel rolls his eyes. “Yes, we saw that. Found yourself a spark of aggression and blew on it until it became a feast. So intent on gorging yourself you didn’t even see us when we were right beneath you. But so far away from campus? You’re a weak, miserable thing. Barely corporeal. Surely it’d be easier to feed there, closer to your Gate?”

A grating, rhythmic sound comes from the ground where the isel lies trapped. It takes a moment for me to recognize the sound as laughter. Sel hears it too; his lips curl back.

“Something funny?”

“Yesss,” the isel crows. “Very funnnnny…”