Forged in Fire

by J. A. Pitts

  Thirteen

  I pulled into Circle Q thirty minutes later. There were two cruisers and a couple of normal cars. I recognized the Taurus that Julie was driving, since it was mine. I guessed the second was a detective or something.

  I parked the bike, took off my helmet and gloves, and approached the police officer who stood between the road and the barn. He was fairly short, five six maybe, and thin. I bet he didn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, but the gun on his hip was in a worn holster. He’d used it a long time. There were a few folks down on the road, neighbors, I reckoned, but no one was approaching the farm. The officer had an aura that demanded respect, despite his physical stature.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “This area is off-limits at the time.”

  “I understand, officer,” I said, using my bestest, sweetest girl voice. “But, I’m the farrier for Mrs. Campbell. I was just here this week, and she called, asked me to stop by and look in on the rest of the horses, with all the excitement and all.”

  I smiled and even thought about batting my eyes, but the matted-down hair and black eyeliner probably didn’t instill much confidence.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Crime scene—I’m sure you understand.”

  He had a craggy face, pocked from years of acne, but his eyes were kind. He didn’t raise his voice or lean into my space or anything, but you definitely knew who was in charge here. I took a breath, ready to change tactics, when I heard tires on gravel behind me.

  I turned to see a van pull up from Smythe and Williams Veterinary Medicine. I thought Mary used the Cadiz Brothers, but I could’ve gotten it mixed up.

  The slick young man who walked up to us had a smile on his round, pale face. He had on a stocking cap with blond curls poking out from underneath, a tiny mustache, and not much of a chin. He shrugged into a white doctor’s smock and carried a messenger bag. When he got up to us, he nodded to me but turned his full attention to the officer.

  “Beg your pardon,” he said, politely. “Sorry it took me so long to get out here. We had a foaling out in Maple Valley that took longer than we expected.”

  He handed the police officer a business card he took from his shirt pocket and stood with both hands on the handle of his bag, looking as contrite and demure as one could expect from a schoolboy.

  The officer read the card, looked at both sides, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “You’ll be wanting to speak with Detective Carmine,” he said. “Tall lady, black hair. Dressed like Columbo.”

  The young vet tech looked at him, puzzled, then looked at me. I shrugged. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

  The cop shook his head, snickering. “I must be getting old. Okay, tall woman in a trench coat. She’s directing things up at the barn. You can’t miss her.”

  He stepped aside, and the vet tech took three steps before turning back. “Would it be okay if the farrier came with me? She really does work with the animals more than we do.”

  The officer just nodded and waved me through. I was stunned. But I wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. I grabbed my pack off the back of the bike and scrambled after the vet.

  He held out his hand when I got to him. He had a firm shake, not aggressive, but he was definitely not a pansy. “Charlie Hague,” he said, smiling. He turned and began walking to the barn.

  “Sarah Beauhall,” I replied, falling into step beside him.

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “Folks talk highly about you on the circuit.”

  Hmph … I was getting recognition. The community was too damn small.

  “You need to get some business cards,” he offered.

  I gave him the eyebrows, but he just smirked at me. “Trust me on this one. Makes you official. Cops just need some scrap of authenticity to hold on to.”

  It made sense. Da called it the clipboard theory. Walk around with a clipboard, everyone assumed you were in charge. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  The sun was bright and the sky a startling blue that we only get here in the Pacific Northwest. We neared the barn and Charlie slowed down, delaying our arrival.

  “What do you know?” he asked me as we walked the long drive.

  “Just that someone killed one of her high-steppers. Not sure which one.”

  He twisted his mouth back and forth, thinking. “I don’t know them, personally. I’ve not visited this farm more than the one time Mr. Smythe brought me out to introduce me around.”

  “How long have you been with Smythe and Williams?”

  He grinned. “About a year. Got my degree from Washington State and did some time in the stockyards in Pullman. You wouldn’t believe the amount of experience you can get in a stockyard. I saw more cases in the one month there than I’ve seen the entire year I’ve been here.”

  “Quiet life?” I asked, amused.

  “Well, vaccinations and an occasional abscess is fine with me,” he said, glancing around. “I just hate being low man.”

  “Why’s that?”

  We stopped by the barn, not going in. “Newbie does the lion share of necropsies. Messy work and great experience.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Yeah,” he said, digging into his kit for a couple of face masks. “Put this on, helps with the smell.”

  I took it from him and held it up to my face. It smelled like anise, not cloying, but fairly strong.

  “Never get used to the smell,” he said, hooking the mask over his ears. “Ready?”

  I pulled the mask on and followed him into the barn.

  It was horrible. I leaned against the stall door, trying to breathe.

  “Take it easy,” he said, grasping my arm. “Try not to breathe too fast. You’ll hyperventilate.”

  I tried to slow my breathing, but I needed the oxygen and taking deep breaths just filled my head with the stench.

  Not only did they kill the horse, whoever did this was a sick bastard. The body had been dismembered. I looked around the stall. It was like something from a bad Santeria movie. There was a ritual circle drawn on the floor with salt and wax. A five-pointed star cut through the circle, and bowls were placed at the lower four points. Flies were thick around the bowls, which told me that they held blood. At the pinnacle of the star was the horse’s head.

  Charlie stepped aside to talk with the detective, and I walked down the length of the stalls. The horse had been dismembered in the third stall down, and most of the body remained there. The feet were missing, hacked off with a special blade. I was positive, because it was sticking in the floor of the stall next to a series of marks. I didn’t touch it. The thing practically glowed it was so vile. Magic for sure. It was a serpentine blade used in rituals. I knew my blades. I also knew not to touch something that putrid. It screamed bleeder. Something that would keep the blood from clotting while the ritual was being performed. I’d read about them. Allowed for the maximum bloodletting. I’d always assumed they were rumor, but now … This had to be the real deal.

  Across the back of the murder stall, words were written. “I’m looking for you, little pig.”

  I walked back to the first stall, where the head remained, and knelt down, keeping a good distance from the ritual site. The horse’s eyes were missing. Instead, candles had been inserted into the sockets and burned down to waxy nubs.

  In the center of the macabre design was a small box. No one had touched it yet, but one of the detectives was taking pictures of it.

  There was magic here. I held my hand out, careful not to touch anything, but allowed it to hover just inside the stall.

  I could feel it, a residual taint in the air. Like when I held the honeyed blood mead Qindra had shown me. Holding the vial had allowed me to experience the electric buzz of the power.

  I wish she was here for this. I had no doubt she could throw some squiggles in the air and tell me a hundred times more than I could figure out.

  The detectives had been here awhile. There were chalk marks in several areas, where the cam
era guy demarcated sections of the scene. The uniformed officers stayed outside. I couldn’t blame them.

  My cell phone rang. I stood, brushed the straw and dust from my hands, and walked out of the barn. Charlie was talking with Detective Carmine, so I walked around the other side of the barn. It was Gunther.

  “Heather just got here,” he said. There was city noise in the background, so I could tell he was walking to his bike.

  “Stuart is driving out now. I asked Trisha to keep an eye on Anezka, but I asked him to bring Bub.”

  “Interesting choice,” I said, keeping an eye on Charlie and the detective. “Why, pray tell?”

  “I have certain prejudices,” he said with a chuckle. “But I see he wants what’s best for Anezka, and lately I’ve discovered he wants what’s best for you as well.”

  That was sweet. “Besides,” he continued. “He has a nose for magic and wards and such. He may see or smell something we miss.”

  “Okay, then. Cops are just wrapping up and the vet tech is here. I guess he’ll be here a while longer.”

  “We should wait until he leaves, I think. How about we all meet up someplace near there and you call me when he leaves.”

  I nodded. “Good plan. I’ll be in touch.”

  Charlie was done with the detective and was heading back into the barn with a camera around his neck and his messenger bag over his shoulder. I jogged over to catch up with him, but he stopped short and we kind of collided. He didn’t drop anything, but I juggled my phone. It hit the hard packed earth, bounced over his feet, and landed just to his right.

  “I’ll get it,” he said, bending over. Once he had my phone in his hands, he rubbed the readout with his thumb, to brush aside the dirt, then looked over at me. “Nice phone,” he said, grinning. “Seriously nineteen nineties. Do you also have a Walkman at home?”

  “Funny man,” I said, holding out my hand.

  He placed the phone in my open palm and grinned. I closed my fingers around the blocky, silver phone and looked down. For a moment, I got a clear view of a tattoo on the inside of his wrist, but he pulled away, like he didn’t want me noticing.

  “I should check on the rest of the horses,” I said, avoiding looking at his arm.

  “Good plan,” he said, lifting the camera off his chest. “I’ll get some more pictures of the remains.”

  The rest of the horses were overwrought. I counted six in the barn, but I knew there were two other barns. The paddock was empty and the gate closed. The horses were stomping and prancing around, their eyes wild with fear. They’d hurt themselves if they hadn’t already.

  One at a time, I opened a stall door and took a shaking and rearing horse by the lead rope. They didn’t want to be touched, wanted to run wild, escape the smell of blood and the memories of what had happened in their safe place.

  I got them all out to the paddock and shut the barn door. There was water in the trough, and I’d grab some hay to put down. Eating would calm them.

  By the time I had the horses settled, the cops were wrapping up. I hopped the fence and made my way toward the house. Julie was talking with Detective Carmine and Mrs. Campbell while Mrs. Sorenson hung back on the porch. The uniformed officers drove away, and the neighbors began to wander back to their homes.

  I walked up to Julie and Mary.

  “How’re you holding up?” I asked Mrs. Campbell.

  “The other horses are okay, right?” she asked.

  “Panicked,” I said. “But I don’t think they are injured in any way. I’ll inspect them each with the vet tech before we leave.”

  “Thank you,” Mary Campbell said, quietly. “I can’t believe someone could come here and do this while I was here all alone.”

  She shivered, and Julie put her arm around Mary, who then turned and put her head on Julie’s shoulder.

  “I’ve called Black Briar to come out as well,” I said, mainly to Julie. “They’ll get here after the vet tech vacates.”

  “Good idea,” Julie said, patting Mary on the back. I could hear her quietly sobbing. After a minute, Mrs. Sorenson trundled off the porch and down to us. She smiled at me sadly, said something in Yiddish I didn’t understand, and pulled Mary off Julie’s shoulder.

  “Come inside,” she said, her accent thick and throaty. “Let the young ones do what must be done. You come and lie down.”

  Mary allowed herself to be led away. Julie patted her on the shoulder as she walked past, then turned to me, speaking in urgent, hushed tones.

  “Did you see?” she asked.

  “The little pig message? Yeah. Very pleasant.” I rubbed my eyes. “But why did you think it was a warning to me?”

  Julie looked puzzled. “Did you not see the other message? The one written down the length of the roof beams?”

  “I didn’t see anything,” I answered truthfully. “Only the one message in the stall where the ritual stuff was done.”

  She looked at me with that exasperated teacher look and turned me by my shoulders. “Go look again,” she said. “And pay attention.”

  “Geez, yes, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes at her.

  I walked away from her toward the barn. Before going in, I turned back to see her watching me with her arms crossed over her chest.

  That’s when it dawned on me. She wasn’t using her cane. That was a bright spot in an otherwise creepy day.

  Charlie was taking pictures in the stall where the horse had been butchered. “Hey, Beauhall. You see anything I might’ve missed?”

  I looked around, looking at the pillars and cross-joists. If there was a message there, I didn’t see anything.

  “Not that I can see,” I answered. “You looking for something specific?”

  He stood up, holding the camera in one hand. “I thought maybe you recognized that weapon the cops took,” he said, motioning to where the serpentine blade had been stuck into the ground. I’ve heard you had a keen eye and were some sort of weapons expert.”

  “Collector,” I said. “Looked like a stereotypical ritual blade,” I said. “Wouldn’t fight with it. Twisted blade like that wouldn’t stand up to real punishment.”

  He watched me, waiting for me to say the magic word. I wasn’t sure what he wanted. “Anything else catch your eye, besides the blade?”

  I walked up and down the length of the barn, looking from one beam to the next—one stall after another.

  On the third pass through the place, with Charlie standing in the kill stall watching me, I caught a glimmer of something.

  Near the top of the third stall, there was a glamour. That’s the only way I could think of it. If I looked directly at it, I couldn’t see anything but old wood and dust. But if I turned my head to the side and let the sunlight hang in the corner of my eye, I could see something sparkling, something that looked like runes.

  I suddenly didn’t want to mention this to Charlie Hague. He of the secret tattoo and cavalier talk of horse necropsies. “I got nothing,” I said.

  He looked at me skeptically, then shrugged. “Thought you may have caught something there at the last. Something I missed, maybe?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Sunlight got in my eyes, that’s all. We should see to the horses, don’t you think?”

  He pulled the camera from around his neck, wrapping the strap around the body and stuffing the whole thing into his satchel. “Let me grab my medical kit,” he said, walking out of the stall. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Cool.” I walked down through the barn, but a tickling caused me to stop and turn. He stood in front of where I thought I’d seen the runes, stood staring at the wall for a good long minute, before jotting something into a notebook and turning back to get his kit.

  I hustled out of the barn and walked out among the horses. They were much calmer, but I’d forgotten to get them their hay. I went back inside to grab a bale when I caught a flash from where Charlie stood. He had his back to me, but it had that distinct flair of magic I’d seen from Qindra. Was Charlie Hague
a witch?

  “Grabbing some hay,” I called out.

  He startled, quickly grabbed his kit, and turned back. “On my way,” he said. A neutral smile painted his face as he walked down the aisle toward me.

  Who are you, Charlie Hague? I thought. Whose side are you on?

  We examined each horse. Two had to have small abrasions cleaned where they’d obviously knocked against the stall in their panic and one I had to walk around for a bit, keeping her head low with the lead rope and speaking calmly to her. I like to pet them on the neck when they are agitated. I feel like it helps calm them, letting them know you are there for them, that you will keep things safe.

  “You have a subtle touch,” Charlie said from a stack of hay bales. He’d left the last one for me to calm down while he worked on his report. By the time I had the little mare breathing evenly and willing to eat some oats from my hand, he’d uploaded all the pictures from his camera and was sending e-mails off to his office.

  “If you give me your e-mail address, I’ll make sure you get a copy of everything,” he offered.

  I gave him my account and watched him send me a zipped file.

  “Should be enough for the insurance company, as well,” he said, closing the lid on his laptop. “I’ll just go inside and have Mrs. Campbell sign a couple of release forms, then I’ll send a truck out to remove the remains.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll stay out here until things are cleared up.”

  “Good idea,” he said, smiling. “And here’s my card. Call me if something comes up.”

  He flipped a card out of his pocket with the flair of a three-card monte dealer and held it out to me. I took it from him, and, as our fingers brushed, I got a flash of young Mr. Hague’s true self. Just like when I first met the dwarf, Rolph Brokkrson, only this time, instead of the forge, it was books and dust, secrets and sorrow. There’s a bit of the cloister in him, I decided. Something quite different from a hotshot vet tech on the rise.