Nightmare

Huntsgirl stood before her master, watching expectantly as he took in the information she had given him.

"You're certain you know the identity of the American Dragon?" The Huntsman asked her.

"Yes, Master." Huntsgirl nodded. "His name is Jake Long. He goes to my school."

"Really?" The Huntsman's eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes," Huntsgirl said. "He revealed his human form to me when I captured him during the Grand Equinox Hunt. He must have thought I would show him mercy because he was someone I knew. As if that could somehow change my destiny!"

"And yet he escaped," The Huntsman said, eyeing his student suspiciously. "How did that happen?"

"Because," Huntsgirl narrowed her eyes. "I let him go."

"What?" The Huntsman towered over her, furious. "Why would you—"

"I saw a greater opportunity." Huntsgirl interrupted. She stepped forward and lifted her chin, facing her master unafraid. "I realized that if he believed I was on his side, if I let him think he could trust me, I could gain access to parts of the magical world that no Huntsclan member has ever come close to rooting out. This idiot boy has practically handed us the entire magical community on a silver platter."

The Huntsmaster regarded his young apprentice contemplatively, and she folded her arms and smirked.

"Excellent work, Huntsgirl." The Huntsman said at last. "You are—truly—one of us."

Rose bolted upright in bed with a gasp. She looked around frantically, breathing hard. She was alone in her quarters, and all was quiet, save for the pounding of her own heart.

One of us...

-

The words reverberated through her head, and Rose drew her knees up to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the lingering vestiges of the nightmare.

"It was just a dream," she whispered. "It was just a dream."

She raised her head, took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Standing, she crossed the room and stood before the floor-length mirror on the opposite wall.

Her reflection stared back at her—a slim, blue-eyed girl of thirteen, dressed in the form-fitting maroon uniform of the Huntsclan. There was a time not long ago when this uniform gave her a sense of belonging, a time when she wore it with pride. Now she couldn't stand the sight of it.

Rose turned away from the mirror and paced the length of the room, her braided hair swishing behind her with the movement. She stopped by the bedside table, where her mask lay on top of a stack of schoolbooks, and ran her fingers over the fabric. She clenched a hand around the hated mask for a moment, then set it down and picked up her room key instead. She needed some air.

Her boots lay beside the bed, and she left them there and walked barefoot across the room to the automated grey door; she tapped her card key against the glowing panel on the wall, and the door slid open with a soft whoosh. Pocketing the key, she slipped out of the room and into the darkened corridor.

Out here, the hallway looked like an abandoned service tunnel, a thoroughly unremarkable space between subway stops, thanks to an enchantment the Huntsman had placed over it to disguise the living quarters and the control room of his base of operations. The Huntsclan had dozens of bases like this one all over the city, all hidden in plain sight by concealment charms to keep them away from the prying eyes of curious New Yorkers.