Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(97)
Anna swung off her horse and took a good hold on Max’s gelding’s bridle. She kept an eye on him and one on Michael.
“Both of you stay right here. Mackie has your grandparents and Hosteen’s wolves, and Charles is on his way.”
“We’re miles away,” said Max.
“She’s going to get Mackie like she got Amethyst,” Michael said, sounding frantic. “We’ve got to stop her.”
“Charles is fast,” she assured them. “Max, do you have your phone?”
He nodded.
“You call Hosteen and you tell him that the fae is here. That its human shape is female. Probably one of the teachers”—she looked at Michael—“probably the principal from Mackie and Michael’s day care. Then you stay here and keep Michael away from that thing so we can minimize the damage it might do, okay? It’s not going to find you out here.”
Max took a deep breath and let it out. He hopped off his horse and took Michael’s reins. “All right.”
“I’m going to help Charles. I can’t change like Charles. No one changes like my husband. I’ll take Merrylegs and head back. You have the worse task, but it is the most important one. Stay here until someone calls you. Or until you talk to your dad or Hosteen and they say it’s safe.”
Max nodded soberly. Then he said, “Take Portabella, not Merry. Bella’s a lot faster. If you ride up the trail a hundred yards that way”—he pointed opposite the way Charles had run—“and take the left marked by a white flag, you’ll be on one of the maintenance roads. I’m not supposed to, but I run her on that road all the time. There are three gates across the road. You can dismount and open them; you can’t open those kinds of gates without dismounting. But she’ll jump them. I jump them with her all the time. You do much jumping?”
“No,” Anna said. She handed Merry over and took Portabella from Max. “A couple of times, but there were two-foot-high logs on the trail.” She shortened the left stirrup six holes and did a quick measure against her arm. It looked about right, so she rounded the horse to do the other side as she absorbed Max’s instructions.
“These are about four feet high and, fair warning, jumping in a western saddle sucks. Just make sure your butt is out of the saddle when she goes up. Keep it out until she’s all the way down. Keep your weight in the stirrups and your knees and not your butt. She won’t run out—just give her her head and don’t hit her in the mouth when she lands.”
“Got it,” Anna said, mounting up and gathering her reins. “Don’t hit her with my butt or my hands while she’s doing what she can to get over the fence.”
“That’s it,” said Max.
“Stay safe,” she told them.
“You, too,” he said.
She asked Portabella to go. The mare took three short strides as if to ask, Do I have to leave my friends?
When Anna asked her a second time, she ran.
She was turning at the white flag before Anna asked her, obviously used to the path. Four strides and the trail connected to a narrow road, groomed and flat, and the mare put her mind to getting down the road.
At first Anna tried to ride this new gait like Charles had taught her to do, sinking her rump into the saddle and taking the movement with her back so her hands stayed steady. But a particularly hard stride pushed her up over the horse’s shoulders, where the ride was smooth as glass. She balanced there on her feet and knees and thought, So that’s how jockeys can stay on a racehorse.
She didn’t even think about slowing for the gates. The first jump was a disaster, except that she didn’t fall off. Portabella pinned her ears and gave a half buck to complain about the way Anna had landed on her back. The second jump was better, even though the saddle horn hit her in the stomach. The third jump … was magic.
Charles ran flat-out for the house. He hit the front door and broke the door frame so the heavy old door swung free. He staggered a couple of steps and saw Maggie.
She was crumpled up against the wall, a small figure for such a big personality. It took no time at all to see that she was already gone.
Her knuckles were split; she’d hit her attacker at least once. He took one hard breath that hurt—but there was Joseph and Mackie to think about. He would mourn Maggie later, when her loved ones were straightened out.
He wasted a minute checking out the house and when he didn’t scent the fae anywhere except the living room, he followed Joseph’s trail out a window in the back of the house. When he encountered the disabled vehicles he thought, as he had once before, You’ll do to ride the river with, Joseph.
Following the scent trail the fae had left, Charles ran for the barn.
It was hard to hide in the shadows and listen to Mackie scream. Joseph bit his lip and hunkered down in the empty stall. The staff had been busy and this stall hadn’t been properly cleaned. He was pretty sure that if the fae did have a good nose, the scent of horse urine would disguise the scent of one old man.
He caught a glimpse of them as the woman hauled Mackie out of the barn to the truck. He’d flattened the tire on the far side so she had to go all the way out to see. He heard the door of the truck open, and suddenly Mackie wasn’t making any noise.
The little girl had been like that when Charles and Anna had found her, he knew. It was magic, not death, that had silenced his Mackie. He held that thought close to him. He … she … it. He could think of the fae as it. It didn’t want to hurt Mackie, yet—not until it could use her. Left to its preferences, it kept its victims for a year and a day, Charles had told him.