It was Laurel's twelfth birthday but she'd received no gifts. Over the past year, she had been pushed further and further out of her father's life. By now, he didn't even share breakfast with her. Her uneasy friendship with Sarah was a welcome distraction, from time to time, but she knew even that was all a part of her step-mother's plan to isolate her. Today, her father wouldn't even look at her, as the staff took her to what she assumed was one of her lessons. As she passed him by, she saw his jaw clench. His eyes looked dead ahead, out into the inner courtyard. Just as she was about to pass him, however, she felt two of the servants tug her, right towards the archway he was staring through.

  'No,' she said, as a dull sense of panic began to rise through her body, 'don't.' The men pulling her arms were strong but she was stronger and she yanked them back, so hard that they fell to the ground. 'Father!' she cried, but he kept his gaze fixed towards the courtyard. Seconds later, two palace guards had seized her, much stronger men with firmer grips. Instantly, she was drawn back to the death of her mother and she became paralysed by grief. She braced herself and closed her eyes, trying to focus on something good in what might've been her final moments but all she could think of was ash and smoke.

  Then, she heard gasps from the onlookers and felt the grips on her arms loosen. She dared to open her eyes and found herself standing in the courtyard, with the hot sun on her skin. Frist, she gasped with relief and then she laughed. She even threw back her head and clutched at her chest, half performance and half sincerity. Dhampir or dreamling, she was free. She looked up at her father's face and saw guilt in his eyes, but a smile. Her step-mother did not seem pleased, though nothing in her manner gave away any anger or disappointment either. Laurel herself did not know what emotion to replace her sense of relief with. Eventually, once she was done twirling around in the open air, she played the part of a grateful and dutiful daughter and used the opportunity, probably one of the few she'd get for a long time, to enter her father's embrace.

  He muttered apologies to her as they held one another, though only for trying to kill her and not for cutting her out of his life. Before long, he drew himself away and the palace returned to business as usual, as though nothing had even happened. For her, however, everything had changed, and she headed straight to the gardens. She'd seen sketches of them and been given cuttings of the flowers but she was still unprepared for their true majesty. The air was thick and sweet and she drowned herself in it. She let the rows upon rows of colourful flowers dazzle her and observed every insect she found with utter fascination. Whereas humans found her stillness unnerving, it seemed to endear her to all the tiny things that buzzed and crawled. As she lounged about, she stretched out her arm and held it up, perfectly still, for an hour.

  It delighted her when a butterfly, gorgeous with big blue wings, landed on her finger within seconds and she studied its every move. Her dressing gown was stained, possibly beyond saving, by the time Sarah came out to give her a sandwich. She offered one half to the servant girl without a moment's hesitation. 'Come,' she said, with a smile, 'sit with me.'

  'It's strange to see you out here,' her friend said, to which she gave no reply. They ate in comfortable silence, basking in the sun, and when they were finished Laurel insisted on exploring. The gardens ran the length of the palace and extended far out, with no obvious terminus. At a certain point, the flowers simply seemed to grow more wild, as careful arrangements, trimmed lawn and gravel paths gave way to long grass and thorny bushes. Across the clearing, on the western side, were the woods. Even in the summer sun, the shadows within were black as pitch and some darker still beckoned her forth. 'We're not allowed in there, my lady,' Sarah called as she walked with determination towards the darkness.

  'Turn back if you're scared,' Laurel said to her, not without sympathy. Fear of the dark seemed ubiquitous across all ranks of humanity and it seemed perfectly reasonable but Laurel had never been afflicted by it. Until now, she had feared the sun but those days were over. She could truly be fearless from here on, she said to herself as she strode ever closer. It did not take long for her to notice that the trees had been warped and twisted by whatever foul nightmares lurked within. There were faces in the woods, sparkling eyes flashing in the dark, and they strengthened her resolve to enter.

  'Laurel,' her servant practically screeched, searching for her hand and gripping it tightly. 'I don't like this.'

  'Don't worry,' she replied, absently, 'I'll protect you.' Sarah's only response was to squeak and hold her hand more tightly.

  Soon enough, the pair had entered the woods and Laurel immediately heard voices calling out to them. Some taunted her, whereas others tried to tempt her with promises of sweets but she ignored them with ease. As they went deeper and deeper, crunching through the forest floor as the light faded beneath an unnatural canopy, Sarah began to squirm and shiver. 'I really don't like this,' she said, 'we should go back.'

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  Laurel rounded on the girl, somewhat irritated by her. 'I said you could go back if you were scared.'

  'But I was worried about leaving you alone,' Sarah replied, her voice shaky and tearful.

  After letting out a performative sigh, Laurel relented. 'Fine, fine. We'll go back but tomorrow I'm going in alone and don't you dare tell anyone.'

  The servant girl gave her no assurances but she didn't press the issue and, soon after, they were back in the gardens, chasing butterflies and lounging around until they were called in for dinner. Later that night, she was annoyed to learn that the custom of locking her in her room was going to be continued and she struggled with her pretend sleep. Instead, she paced around her room, as she'd often done when she was much younger, desperate to be allowed out. Eventually, she settled into her favourite spot where she heard, from far beyond what used to be a window, more voices calling out to her. It was the nightmare in her veins, she intuited, that drew them towards her.

  The things in the woods came from all over but a great many of them came from the palace itself. Every momentary fright, every dark dream, from its inhabitants, young and old, common and royal, birthed such creatures. Most were shades, barely able to affect the physical world beyond a stiff breeze, but she knew that much nastier things also dwelled there. When something big and powerful and savage, like a werewolf or a troll, was born, it rarely left without causing trouble but such things as were less sure of themselves, like goblins, often fled. Then, of course, there were the more intelligent creatures, like vampires and hags, that could rampage through whatever place they found themselves in, but that generally preferred to leave without a trace.

  That was how the Nightmare War had begun, it was said. Dream creatures slipped into the waking world in greater and greater number but for every one that caused a scene, a hundred more left to join one of the armies. For years, they plotted in the darkest parts of the world, the deep woods and the foul bogs, and massed themselves into hordes, each a million strong. Then, just when the world had grown accustomed to the odd nightmare getting out of hand, they unleashed themselves, in the worst night humanity ever knew. A hundred million died every hour and, by the morning, the survivors struggled to come to terms with what had happened. Laurel wondered if the voices in these woods were plotting an attack of their own.

  It occurred to her that she did not know how she would feel about that. She disliked most of the people here and smashing the whole thing to pieces held its appeal but she loved her father and a few of her siblings. It was also hard to stomach the thought of the palace's poor animals suffering from such an attack, never mind the children. Even her step-mother, as much as she hated her, was not someone she could bring herself to condemn to a painful death. 'Join us,' a voice called, much louder and nearer than the others, breaking her out of her deep contemplation.

  'Why?' she whispered, unsure if it could hear her.

  'One of us,' it chanted, perhaps in response and she shook her head.

  'No, I have the nightmare in my blood, but I'm half human.'

  'Join us,' it called again, this time a little quieter, as though it were retreating. 'One of us.'

  The morning could not come quick enough and she was ready, as soon as her door was unlocked, in her wellington boots, to race right down, through the outer courtyard and the gardens, across the clearing, and into the woods. She twirled around, much as she had done the previous day, when first exposed to the sun, letting herself enjoy the true darkness and the hungry eyes that twinkled all around her. Bolder shades nipped at her but she batted them away as she journeyed deeper and deeper into the woods. The chanting voices grew wilder, almost frenzied, until one of them decided to make its presence known.

  'Sweet girl,' it said as it stepped out from behind a large dead tree. She assumed it would look much uglier in the sunlight. 'How brave of you to come so far.'

  'It isn't bravery, really,' she said as she studied the bloated form of the hag, 'I just don't feel much fear.'

  The monstress chuckled, 'oh, you will do, in time.' It walked further towards her, seemingly trying to scare her. Just as it reached out with one of its clawed hands, however, Laurel raced around it in the blink of an eye. 'Ooh,' it gasped as it wheeled around, 'you've got tricks, I see.'

  Laurel smiled smugly.

  'I've got a few tricks of my own, however,' the hag said, before whipping around to chase off a few shades, 'stop it, you lot, I'm starving.' It smiled grotesquely, baring its sharp, rotten, teeth. 'I'm going to need a few of your bones, girl. I'm making stew, you see? Dreamling bones are so much more flavourful than peasants.'

  'I'm not a dreamling, witch.'

  'Oh, but you are. We can smell it. And those lovely red eyes of yours. They're not human, I'm sure you've heard.'

  'I'm a dhampir,' Laurel replied and she noticed the hag's face change in an instant, just a slither of fear creeping over it.

  'Nonsense,' it said, trying to assure itself, as it reached out another hand. Laurel clawed at it, drawing awful green-black blood. It shrieked and launched itself at her after that but Laurel simply danced around it, laughing all the while and delivering cuts and slashes wherever she could. Once the foul thing had been brought low and began to cry out for relief, the shades that had been watching them fight with great enthusiasm took advantage, descending upon it in dozens, then hundreds, and draining its blood from all the open wounds. The hag was dead within minutes and Laurel was free to continue heading deeper into the woods.

  The chanting voices soon returned and she skipped along to them, as if they were a party of bards.