I’d never punched someone before. 

They don’t show in movies how much it actually hurts. 

Pain exploded through my knuckles as they connected with Lucian’s face.

“Jesus Christ!” I gasped, stumbling back. “Ow!”

“What the sodding hell?” Lucian snapped, clutching his nose. “You really are a bloody psychopath!”

With my knuckles still throbbing like they had a freaking vengeance, I stared at the young man with wide, rounded eyes. Not exactly the best look on my part for fighting off Lucian’s psychopath allegations. But seriously—there was no way I was staring at the real Lucian Darkona. He was a fictional character. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this.

Was this guy some sort of cosplayer? 

I cocked my head to the side, squinting as I took him in. The young man (who couldn’t possibly be Lucian) pulled a face, his expression twisted in irritation, like it was a personal offense for me to even be looking at him. Or maybe he was just bracing himself in case I decided to punch him again.

I squinted even harder. 

His ears looked really real. Way better than the cheap ones I’d bought off Amazon for Comic-Con that fell off every fifty seconds, leaving me so frustrated that I went on a rampage and wrote a scathing ten-paragraph review. Were they some sort of high-end prosthetic? Where had this guy gotten them? And how much did they cost, because I absolutely needed a pair.

That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks—the horror that I’d just punched some random cosplayer.

“Oh my God!” I gasped. “I’m so sorry!”

“You damn well better be!” the cosplayer snapped, still clutching his nose. “Why would you do that?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I guess it was just a… uh… weird impulsive reaction.”

The cosplayer’s eyes narrowed. “You have weird impulsive reactions to punch people?”

“I just like to, err…” I forced a smile, “keep people on their toes. Y'know?”

“Well, you smashed that, at least.” The young man’s eyes narrowed further until they were practically slits. “Literally.”

The cosplayer finally dropped his hands, revealing a trickle of blood dripping from his nose.

“Oh shit!” I frantically dug through my pocket, managing to find a napkin that was crumpled yet mercully unused. “I really am sorry!” 

I shouldn’t have reacted that way, even though this cosplayer had really bad taste in characters. I made a mental note to bring this up with my therapist, Sharon, on Wednesday. Maybe we could add it to the growing list of ‘things Niko should probably work on.’

The cosplayer gave me a long look as I leaned forward to dab at his nose—critical and calculating, as if he were trying to dissect me with his mind. But at least he didn’t protest.

“So, what’s your name?” I asked, wiping the blood away. 

“Lucian Darkona,” he replied without even skipping a beat. 

I rolled my eyes. God, after all these years of comic con, I still couldn’t stand these pricks who tried to stay in character 24/7. You’re a nerd in a costume, not Daniel Day-freaking-Lewis.

“No, I mean your real name.”

“What are you talking about?” the cosplayer said with a huff. “My real name is Lucian Darkona.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” I said with a smirk. “Then prove it.”

Checkmate, asshole. 

“You are quite possibly the strangest person I have ever met,” the cosplayer muttered, removing a silver chain from around his throat. “And I go to a school full of right nutters.”

The cosplayer slipped off the necklace, dangling it in front of me. A ring hung from the chain, its centerpiece a spider made of glistening black diamonds. Then, to my astonishment, the spider's legs began to move, pulling apart to reveal the initials L.D.

A Darkona family ring. 

Oh my God.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. 

The napkin tumbled from my fingers. My mind reeled, unable to process what the hell I’d just seen. My instincts, unhelpful as ever, kicked in then. So, without thinking, I did what most completely unremarkable people would do. 

I ran. 

Did I know where I was running to? Hell no! But I figured maybe if I ran far enough, I could break out of whatever dream or weird hallucination I was currently in. 

“Wake up,” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut as I slapped my face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up—”

I barreled straight into a tree.

My eyes snapped open, staring up at it. The bark seemed to ripple and breathe, as if it were some ancient creature awoken from its slumber. Each branch was thin and drooping like a weeping willow, adorned with pink, glowing blossoms that pulsed gently with light.

The tree shuddered at the contact, its bark folding back like eyelids to reveal a pair of bright pink eyes staring down at me.

My heart dropped into my stomach. 

I knew what this tree was in an instant—the cause of countless kids’ nightmares after reading the third Owen Thorn book. 

This was the Child Snatcher. 

The branches shot toward me with alarming speed. I spun on my heels and charged away, only for a branch to hook around my ankle and wrench me back. I hit the ground hard, my stomach slamming into the grass.

I might have let out a high-pitched screech as the tree flung me into the air by my ankle. My glasses flew off, sending the world into a chaotic blur as the tree swung me back and forth. The motion was dizzying, my stomach lurching with each pendulum swing.

With blood rushing to my head and my heart racing a mile a minute, I scrambled through my pockets for anything to defend myself. Useless items tumbled out: an old McDonald’s receipt for a Happy Meal (don’t judge me), a few coins, and, at last, my fingers closed around a fountain pen. It was neon green, with the words “I Love Owen” scrawled across it—a pen I’d fought tooth and nail for in a two-week eBay bidding war.

Realizing what I was doing, a branch shot toward my hand with a menacing lunge. I sucked in a breath and drove the sharp tip of the pen forward, slamming it into the branch with all my might.

With a blood-curdling shriek, the Child Snatcher’s branches flailed and thrashed, as if trying to shake my very brain from my skull. Gritting my teeth, I drove the pen deeper into the gnarled bark. The pen pierced through with a sickening squelch, and purple sap erupted in a dazzling arc.

The hold on my ankle loosened just enough. Summoning every ounce of strength, I kicked my leg, finally managing to wrench it free.

As I plummeted toward the ground, a triumphant grin spread across my face.

But my little victory was short-lived.

A new wave of branches shot up to greet me. One slapped the pen out of my hands, while the others twisted and coiled around my arms and legs. The more I struggled, the more they tightened, their rough, sap-slick surfaces digging into my skin, cutting off my circulation.

Slowly, the branches began to lower me, relishing each agonizing second before the final blow. The Child Snatcher’s eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto me with a ferocious glare. But beneath that fury simmered something far more terrifying—an insatiable hunger.

My heart skipped a beat, realizing what was coming.

Oh no. Oh nooooooo!

The bark beneath the eyes cracked open, revealing a gaping mouth lined with rows of jagged teeth, purple sap oozing between them. I kicked and writhed to no avail, the branches holding me firmly in place as the maw opened wider and wider.

“Holy shit!” I screamed as the branches dangled me over the great, gaping mouth, ready to swallow me whole. “Holy shit!”

“Riˈlēs!” a voice sounded beneath me. 

A flash of light lit up my vision. 

The branches recoiled all at once, as if scorched, curling in on themselves as I plummeted downward.

Luckily there was something to break my fall.

Unluckily—that something was Lucian Darkona.

I fell on him hard, sending us both sprawling to the ground. 

I glared down at the blurry shape of what I assumed was his face. “Why didn’t you do that earlier?!” 

“Just be glad I did it at all,” Lucian snapped, pushing me away. “Now get off me! For someone so scrawny, you shouldn’t be this heavy!”

Panting heavily, I rolled off Lucian. As we stumbled to our feet, a pair of hands shoved my glasses back onto my face. I blinked, Lucian’s furious face coming into focus directly in front of me.

“What’s your bloody problem?” Lucian jabbed a finger against my temple. “I’d ask why the hell anyone would run directly into the Child Snatcher, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious you’re a full-blown lunatic.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Dream or not, telling my least favorite character of all time that he was a book character and I was from another world would only make things considerably worse. For now, all I could do was play along.

“Yeah,” I said. “I can act a bit, uh… bizarrely at times. It’s just my shtick, y’know?”

Lucian arched a dark brow. “Your… shtick?”

I forced a grin. “Yep!”

Lucian was giving me that look again, like he was trying to mentally dissect me. “I’m pretty sure there’s something reeeaaaally wrong with you”

I ground my feet in the dirt, holding his gaze. “You’ve been all up in my business, but what about you? What were you doing loitering near The Child Snatcher? That’s what it does, right? It snatches children. Like, it's literally in the name. Pretty dangerous hang out spot.”

Something pained flashed across Lucian’s gaze. It was gone in an instant, a blank expression settling over his features like a mask. “My friends and I used to study here since no one would bother us.”

I sucked in my breath. Right, Lucian’s two best friends (and cronies) Jay and Trip. They were killed at the end of book six in a wyvern attack. If Jay and Trip were already dead and Lucian still hadn’t merged with an evil monster, then that meant I was currently at the beginning of the seventh and final Owen Thorn book.

“And besides,” Lucian continued, “The Child Snatcher doesn’t hurt you unless you act like a complete idiot and run into it.”

Ouch.

Lucian’s gaze wracked over me. “Why haven’t I seen you around before? I definitely would’ve clocked someone with as weird an accent as yours.”

Shit, I needed to think fast. My mind reeled, putting any and all Owen Thorn trivia I had to use.

“You’re right. You haven’t seen me around before because… uh…” I grinned at him, adjusting my glasses. “I’m a transfer student from Oakwell!”

Oakwell, the school the author had mentioned once in a passing chapter and then promptly forgot about.

Lucian scoffed. “Oakwell, huh? Well, I suppose that explains why you’ve got the social skills of a gnome in tap shoes dancing about with a ribbon baton.”

I blinked. “What does that even mean—”

“I suppose that explains why you’re not in uniform.” Lucian’s eyes skimmed over me, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “In fact, that sweater of yours bears a rather unsettling resemblance to the ones that dreadful Owen Thorn wears on weekends.”

Yeah, that’s why I bought it. 

“Thanks!” I said with a smile.

“That wasn’t a compliment.” Lucian crossed his arms. “Please tell me the students at Oakwell aren’t as ga-ga over Owen Thorn as they are here.”

My gaze darkened, defensive over the way he was talking about Owen despite the fact that it was obviously written into his character.

“He’s the Chosen One.” I said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

I braced myself for a fight, ready to unleash the kind of wrath usually reserved for late-night Reddit arguments with people who had egregiously wrong opinions.

But to my surprise, Lucian merely shrugged. "Well, prepare to be disappointed. He’s just a boy. I don’t know why that’s so hard for the world to see." He snickered, a sound that grated against my nerves. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You humans need someone to believe in, especially since you’re nowhere near as powerful or gifted in the magical arts as us elves. Thinking Owen Thorn is the one to save you from the Great Darkness is your only hope." His mouth twisted into a sneer that made my fists itch to punch him all over again. "Heh, pretty pathetic if you ask me."

And I could practically hear it, echoing in my ears—the laughter and jeers of my classmates, the disappointment in my dad’s face. Loser. Weirdo. Pathetic. All for loving Owen Thorn.

Anger surged through me, bursting out before I could stop it. "Not nearly as pathetic as falling down a flight of stairs trying to snoop on Owen Thorn in second year!"

I realized my mistake the moment the words left my mouth.

Lucian froze.

“I was only twelve when that happened,” he said, eyes wide. “And I was completely alone. So how the hell did you know about that?”

Shit.