Then again, it might be she’s getting old. She’s pretty sure she’s been hurt worse than this, and it never slowed her down. A gargoyle put its horns into her stomach and tried to disembowel her. She lost more blood to a rakshasa that found its way to Middleton, called by a Hindu amulet awakened at the museum. A chimera burned the skin off her arm from shoulder to wrist and she still made it to school for midterms that week. She fought a goddamn dragon once.

All of that felt easier than this. She wonders why she’s thinking so slowly.

Wade charges again, slashing, biting, and punching, so fast she can barely keep up. She’s slowing down with every moment that passes, barely able to block or dodge one out of three of Wade’s lunges. Her gauntlets and her shin guards feel clumsy and a little idiotic now. Like Fuller and Lonnie wearing their old varsity letter jackets. She has the idea, dumb as it is, that she might move faster if she took them off. She knows that’s stupid, but she can’t remember why.

Alana realizes that the distant, fuzzy feeling between her mind and her body is not normal. She looks at her arm and sees the black ichor soaking her open wounds.

Then she remembers. She can see the flashcard her father prepared for her study sessions on the Compendium, so her mother wouldn’t beat her for a wrong answer.

Wade is toxic. The goblin’s bite spreads its infection. In Alana, it works like poison. If she had maybe another hour, she could metabolize it, burn it out of her system.

Wade’s not giving her a time-out, obviously.

Wade slices her cheek deeply, drawing her attention again. From a long way away, it begins to dawn on her that she could lose this fight.

Wade seems to see it too. His mouth splits in an even wider grin. He flips her up and throws her down, and pounces on her, pinning her to the ground.

She barely gets her arm up in time to keep him from closing his jaws on her neck.

Alana is definitely losing now. Really, it’s not close anymore.

Wade is hurting her. She knows his claws are cutting her deep, though she only feels the pressure, not the pain. Every time he slashes, she feels a tug down under her skin, and wonders if the next time he digs inside he will damage something that won’t heal.

The infection is making her slow and sluggish. She doesn’t have a sword. Her armor plates aren’t enough to protect her from the worst of Wade’s attacks. She is alone here.

If she’s going to win, she’d better come up with something fast.