A wild fear wraps itself around me. That was the cry of a child. I sprint off in the direction of the voice. What sort of parent would allow a child into the forest—especially this forest—at any time, let alone at night?

Eventually, I come out into a foggy clearing that borders a large, dark lake. I look around, groping for the torch in my rucksack.

“Hello?” I call out uncertainly, flicking on the light. “Is someone there?”

“Yes! I’m here! Come help me!” The young girl’s voice carries through the wind, bouncing off the trees, surrounding me on all sides.

I scramble around the clearing, shining the torch through the thick haze. “I don’t see you!”

“The lake! I’m in the lake!”

There is a gurgling noise behind me in the lake. I turn slowly, an inexplicable feeling of foreboding washing over me as I stare into its murky depths. “Can you swim out? Swim toward my voice!”

“I’m scared! I can’t swim! Please, come save me!”

I swallow. Despite being a good swimmer, something about the lake is making me hesitate.

“Hurry! PLEASE!”

I rub my temples. What choice do I have? I can’t let the child drown. “Okay, I’m coming!” I call weakly, sliding out of my coat and shoes.

Now shivering in my thin shirt, I touch the water with my foot and wince; it’s freezing. I take a deep breath and, before I can talk myself out of it, dive forward.

The icy water hits me like an electric current, all-consuming. I resurface and swim forward, limbs already seizing up, constricting my movement. “Where are you?” I shout, unsure which way to swim.

No reply.

“Hello?” I call again, teeth chattering. Am I too late? Has my moment’s hesitation cost the little girl her life?

A trough converges from the back of the lake, sending small, rippling waves outward from either side as it moves toward me. Is it the child?

But she said she couldn’t swim—

“What are you doing?” A panicked male voice rings through the air, and the frantic note in his voice makes my blood run as cold as the icy water around me.

I whirl around, alarmed. A figure, blurry in the fog, is tearing across the clearing toward me.

“Get out of there!”

The words have no sooner left his mouth than there is a thunderous splash behind me. I look around; something is accelerating toward me from mere yards away. Terror rips through me. A child can’t swim that fast. I can’t swim that fast. As this horrifying realization dawns on me, I whip around and kick hard against the water, ignoring my protesting muscles. Just a few strokes, and I’ll reach the bank. But the thing in the water is gaining on me.

Suddenly, my world blurs as a strange, all-consuming rush of adrenaline seizes me. An adrenaline unlike anything I have experienced before. My mind stills as my limbs take over. I dive sideways in the water, sensing movement as the thing misses my leg by an inch.

The feeling leaves me as quickly as it came.

Before I have time to consider what just happened, the thing claws through the water a second time. My world blurs again, and I draw my leg in, but it isn’t enough. A viselike grip clamps around my ankle and yanks me under. I flail my arms, hands groping uselessly in the water, trying to find purchase on something—anything. I catch hold of an underground root and manage to pull myself up just enough that my head resurfaces, and I gasp for air.

The creature yanks again on my ankle, and I lose my grip on the root. Before I can be dragged back down, I kick out with my free foot and feel a burst of mingled triumph and revulsion as it collides with a patch of slimy flesh. Whatever the thing is, it isn’t human. Not even remotely. Its grip slackens, and I grasp the root again, holding fast to it for dear life. If it breaks, I’m done for.

A boy appears in front of me, holding a large stick with blazing flames at one end. A welcome wave of heat passes over me as he plunges it like a sword into the water behind me.

A savage, high-pitched shriek pierces the air. The grip around my ankle vanishes, and I lug myself out of the water. “Thank you,” I gasp, crawling forward on frozen hands and knees.

“What on earth were you thinking?” The boy is staring at me as though I have three heads. He looks around my age and is tall and slender, with russet-brown skin, broad shoulders, and wide, deep-set eyes. An odd lizard-like bird sat perched on his shoulder.

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I open my mouth to warn him that there’s a child out there but cough up water instead. Once my coughing subsides, I climb shakily to my feet. “We have to go back out there!”

His forehead crinkles as he surveys me. “Um…” he starts. He seems to be trying to work out whether or not I’m joking. “Let me get this straight—you want to jump back into the freezing, kelpie-infested water?” As he speaks, he edges sideways, positioning himself between me and the lake.

“I—what? No—there’s a child out there who needs help!”

“No,” he says slowly. He raises his hands, palms out, as though preparing to tackle me if I make a break for the water. “That was a kelpie.”

I shake my head. I have to make him understand. “No, there was a child out there, before you came—”

“No, there wasn’t.” When I open my mouth, he cuts across me, “Do you hear a child out there now?”

“That thing probably killed her in the time we’ve wasted talking!”

He opens his mouth to respond, but a new voice rings out across the lake.

“Help me! Please help me!”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. That’s my voice. Dumbfounded, I turn, staring across the lake.

There’s a small, choked noise; I look back in time to see the boy attempting to pass off a laugh for a cough. He presses his lips together.

“Help! I’m in the lake! Swim out to me!” my voice cries out again.

“Master imitators,” he says. Obviously convinced that I’m not about to go charging into the lake again, the boy’s voice has taken on a relaxed, cheerful note. “Though they’re a bit stupid. They imitate voices they’ve heard before but don’t stop to think that the person whose voice they’re mimicking might still be standing around.”

“Well, why isn’t there a warning or something?” I ask, cheeks warming despite the chilly air around me. I think of the warning signs sprinkled around the Isle of Lewis flagging those bodies of water that aren’t safe for swimming.

“Because everyone knows about them.” A pause. “Except you, I guess,” he adds, sounding genuinely surprised.

And just like that, the reality of the past several hours comes crashing back. I scold myself; I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile and, so far, I’m doing a lousy job of it. What if the boy discovers I’m not from Aurelia and decides to dig deeper?

“What’s your name anyway?” he asks.

“Riley Ja—” I bite my tongue and pretend to clear my throat. “Riley Jacobs.”

“I’m Patrick,” he says, flashing me a friendly smile. “Patrick Goodwin.”

“How did you know I was in trouble?”

“We’re in Echo Forest,” he says, as though this is all the explanation needed. He gives me another strange look. “Honestly, did you hit your head on a log out there?”

“Feels that way,” I say dully. Shivering in the early morning air, I bend down and slip on my coat and shoes.

“What are you doing in the forest at this time of day anyway?”

“Uh… couldn’t sleep.”

He stares at me. “So you go hiking through dark forests when you can’t sleep?”

“Yep. That’s me. Avid hiker,” I say. “Great way to… um… catch the sunrise…” I glance up at the murky sky.

No sooner do the words leave my mouth than Patrick’s eyes bulge. He slaps his forehead. “Oh no,” he says, looking at the burgeoning purple-gray veil that is the sky. “No, no, no.” He whirls on the spot, looking desperately around the clearing.

Alarmed, I follow his gaze but see nothing of particular interest. “What is it?”

“Sun’s up,” he says miserably, dragging a palm down his face.

“Is it though?” I say, before I can stop myself, glancing again at the very gray sky. “I mean, is that a bad thing?” I ask, utterly baffled by the frown on his face.

“No, I—it’s my mother. She’s sent me after twilights.” The boy turns back to me. “She owns that apothecary in Skeleton Grove—”

My heart jumps. That’s where I need to go.

“—and twilights are one of the main ingredients for all kinds of tonics and potions. She needs them for an elixir she’s brewing this morning for a client. I swear, she treats me like I’m her assistant. Unpaid assistant. Why hire help when you’ve got a kid to order around? She’s always sending me after ingredients when school lets out, never mind that Grimlock isn’t even in session right now—just decides to wake me up at four o’clock in the morning.” He huffs.

“Ah,” I say, trying to hide the fact that nothing he just said made the least bit of sense to me. “Um. What does that have to do with the sun being up?”

“You know… twilight flowers? As in, the ones that come out only at night,” he says, before raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard of them?”

“Uh—”

“But you must have seen them during your hike,” he says, cutting me off, which is perfectly fine, seeing as I haven’t the faintest clue what to say. “You know, the big angry purple ones with serious personal space issues?”

“Oh, those!” I say, feeling a modicum of triumph that I finally understand something he’s talking about. “Yeah, I tried picking one earlier, but it stung me!” I show off the welt on the back of my hand. “And then it… um… tried to spit on me,” I add slowly, still bewildered by this.

He chuckles. “Yeah, you really ought use your familiar for something like that. Immunity to burns and all that.”

I stare at him blankly. “What?”

“Your familiar,” he repeats, with a nod toward the strange bird on his shoulder. With a waxy coat of bright green feathers, a long neck, and even longer tail, it looks almost reptilian. Nearly dragon-like, only a thousand times smaller. It has sea blue eyes, which peer at me curiously.

“This is Dooner,” he tells me. He looks around. “Where’s yours?” Then he tilts his head. “Or are you a werewolf?”

It takes me several seconds to realize this is a real question. “Oh. Um. No.” Surely my parents would have thought to drop a fun fact like that into their letter.

“Well, I should be getting back—you know, face my mother,” says Patrick, sucking in a breath between his teeth. “Are you going to continue your hike? Or does daytime take the fun out of it?”

“Hike?” I say, before catching myself. “I mean, nope, all hiked out.” That much is true, at least. “So… you said your mom’s shop is in Skeleton Grove?” Patrick nods. “Mind if I tag along?” I ask casually. “I’m… uh, visiting a friend there today, and…well, I’m not familiar with the village.”

“’Course!” says Patrick, leading me back up the clearing. “It’s a bit of a walk. We can get to know each other better!”

I inhale, my mouth going very dry. “Great. Yeah. That’s… just great.”

I’d only been talking with Patrick for a couple minutes, and almost blew my cover more times than I could count. What will he do if he discovers my secret?