I opened my door with a bright smile. “Let’s go see this customer, then.”
Relaxing, he fell into step beside me. “You’re not mad, are you? I didn’t think it’d be a problem, especially since … well, he basically walked his horse into the yard. No idea how he got here and there are no other farriers in riding distance …”
He’d walked his horse here? Several farms had horses in this area, but a farmer wouldn’t show up out of the blue. “What sort of horse is it?”
His face lit up as we stepped into the cool shade of the stable. “Saber, it’s the most gorgeous horse I’ve ever laid eyes on. Wait ’til you see it.”
Suspicion chilled my innards. Ríkr?
A quiet snicker answered me. Have fun, dove.
That little weasel.
My eyes adjusted to the dim interior, and I gritted my teeth at the majestic blue roan stallion standing in front of the tack stalls.
His ears perked toward me. Nostrils flared. Neck arched with tension. Tail up. If he were a mortal horse, I’d have checked my approach and watched for the first sign of outright aggression—but unlike a mortal horse, a fae wouldn’t give me clear warning signs before attacking.
Unconcerned about his mount’s behavior, the stallion’s escort stood in front of Whicker’s stall. The big gray had his head through the door’s V-shaped opening, and he was bumping his nose against the man’s chest and lipping at his shirt in search of treats while the man rubbed his forehead.
The gentle, confident way the druid touched the horse made me want to carve the bones out of his hands, one by one.
At the sound of our footsteps, he shifted away from the stall and turned. Last night, he’d radiated danger in his black leather and shadowed hood. Today, likely in an attempt to blend in, he’d shed the jacket and belt of alchemy potions, leaving him in a long-sleeved shirt and worn black jeans. His dark hair was tousled, locks falling across his forehead as he observed my approach.
His stallion was an extraordinarily beautiful equine, and I reluctantly admitted that horse and rider were a matched pair for stunning looks.
As I drew closer, the druid’s eyes widened. They raked across my face, then flashed down to my boots. His gaze came back up more slowly, following my snug jeans with threadbare knees up to my baggy gray t-shirt.
I added his eyes to the list of body parts I wanted to gouge out of him.
When I halted ten feet away from him, his gaze finally returned to my face. We stared at each other, tension crackling in the air. Colby looked between us, vaguely bewildered.
“Good afternoon!” I chirped, beaming in welcome as I folded my hands in front of me. “And welcome to Hearts & Hooves Animal Rescue. How can I help you?”
The druid blinked, then squinted at me as though wondering if I was the same woman who’d threatened him with a knife last night. “Are you a farrier?”
“An apprentice farrier, yes,” I said brightly. “Is your horse in need of attention? We normally provide farrier services only to the animals in our care.”
“Can you make an exception? It shouldn’t take long.”
Very aware that Colby was observing our every word and facial expression, I kept my cheery smile in place. “In that case, I’d be happy to help. Can you please tie your horse in the tack stall?”
“I don’t have a halter.”
Was the druid a free-riding purist, or did his fae mount not like bits and saddles?
“You can borrow one,” Colby said helpfully. “I’ll grab it, one sec.”
He darted into the tack room. I continued to smile, hands clasped together. The druid gazed at me silently.
Colby reappeared, a halter in his hands. He tossed it to the druid. “That one should be big enough.”
The druid caught it with a frown, then turned to the stallion. The fae pinned his ears. The druid slowly approached, and the fae stamped a hoof, then lowered his head. The druid slid the halter on, backed the horse into the stall, and clipped a line to either side of the halter. The stallion tossed his head, the ropes snapping taut.
“Just deal with it,” the druid muttered.
My smile widened. I turned to Colby. “Could you please bring Houdini in from the pasture and put him in the small pen? I need to look at him later.”
Colby pulled his mesmerized stare off the stallion. “Sure, no problem. I’ll be right back.”
As he trotted away, I said to the druid, “Let me get my tools.”
He nodded, wariness lingering in his eyes.
With a glance to ensure Colby was on his way, I slipped into the tack room. He wouldn’t “be right back.” It’d take him ten minutes to walk all the way out to the far pasture where I’d seen Houdini on my drive in. And there was Houdini himself: a hundred-pound goat whose favorite game was making humans chase him. Colby would spend the next hour jogging around the pasture while Houdini stayed just out of reach.
I surveyed the tack room. Horizontal posts stuck out from one wall, saddles stacked on them. Halters, bridles, and lead lines hung from hooks. On the other wall was a table piled with random equipment. Beneath it, the toolbox and my farrier kit.
Ensuring the druid was out of sight, I heaved the toolbox out and set it on one side of the threshold. I grabbed a wrench, picked up the pitchfork Colby had left behind, and tucked myself into the corner beside the door, opposite the toolbox.
Bounties and money didn’t interest me. But abusers, kidnappers, and murderers did, especially when they were invading my territory. I didn’t know whether the druid was here because of our encounter last night or for some other reason, but I didn’t care either way. His presence on the farm was far too dangerous in far too many ways, and I wanted him gone.
Or dead. Dead worked too.
I held out the wrench, then let it go. It hit the floor with a loud clang.
Gasping as though startled, I called, “Can I get a hand in here?”
Silence. I waited.
A moment later, the druid appeared in the doorway, cautiously scanning the tack room as he stepped across the threshold.
I lunged for him, pitchfork extended.
He whirled toward me, hands coming up as he instinctively stepped backward—into the toolbox.
He tripped, and as he slammed down on his back, I thrust the pitchfork at his chest. He caught the prongs, the long sleeves of his shirt pulling taut as thick muscles in his arms bulged. He shoved upward, pushing me off. I lunged in again, throwing my whole weight behind the handle.
He caught the prongs again, halting them an inch from his chest.
“Fuck,” he snarled as he shoved the pitchfork back a second time, twisting the prongs sideways. It tore out of my hands—and he kicked my shin hard enough to throw me off balance. A second kick caught my other ankle and I pitched over.
I crashed to the floor and he jumped on me with a martial artist’s reflexes. I went wild, teeth bared as I attacked with fists and knees. We rolled across the floor and my back slammed down again. Hands caught my wrists, squeezing hard.
With a grunt of effort, he shoved my arms above my head and sat on my diaphragm. The air whooshed out of my lungs.
“Fuck,” he said again, panting. “You’re strong.”
He didn’t say “for a woman” but I heard it anyway. “Rot in hell, you bastard.”
“Didn’t I save your life last night? Nice way to thank me.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for stalking me?” I gasped. “What the fuck do you want?”
He glowered at me with eyes that looked more human than they had last night—a striking green with a distinct limbal ring, but not iridescent. “I didn’t know you worked here. If I had, I wouldn’t have come.”
I sneered. “Like I believe that, Ghost.”
He chuffed in disgust—then froze when a long white snake dropped off the table and landed on his back. The serpent reared up, cobra hood flaring.
Hello, druid, Ríkr crooned, his serpentine tongue tasting the air. You smell deliciou
s.
The druid pressed my wrists harder into the floor, half an eye on the snake on his shoulder. “You sure you want to play this game? You’ll lose.”
Ríkr brought his face closer to the druid’s, displaying his fangs.
“Your familiar is tied up,” I taunted, trying to hide how breathless I was.
“Tilliag isn’t my familiar.”
I faltered—and an unearthly chill ran through my bones.
Darkness spilled out from the ceiling overhead, and a shape dropped through the solid wood like a phantom. Shadowy wings spread wide as a massive black eagle dove down. Ríkr bailed off the druid’s shoulder as the eagle landed on his back, its wingtips brushing the walls. The raptor fixed its luminescent emerald eyes on me.
Dark, electric power rolled off the fae.
Ríkr coiled beside my head, hissing softly with his hood flared. The druid and I glared at each other, our familiars poised to attack. Since Ríkr wasn’t actually a cobra and had no venom, we were doomed to lose, but the druid might not realize that.
“Look,” he said, his voice husky with impatient anger. “I don’t give a damn about you or your familiar or your job. I came here for Tilliag and that’s it.”
My eyes narrowed.
“I could tie you up and take care of him myself, but I’m not a farrier. If you have the skill, I’d rather you do it.”
My eyes narrowed further. He studied my expression, then growled a curse and looked around for easy-to-reach rope—of which there was a lot, since we were in a tack room.
“I’ll do it.”
He shot me a disbelieving look.
“Just—” I gasped. “Just get off me before I pass out.”
He rose a couple inches off my middle. My lungs expanded and I gulped down air, blinking the stars from my vision.
“Take care of Tilliag’s hoof,” he said, “and you’ll never see me again.”
That seemed like the best deal I would get. “Fine.”
He pushed up from the floor. As he rose, the black eagle perched on his shoulders flared its wings. Its form softened—and it melted into his back, vanishing entirely. His green eyes brightened into an unnaturally iridescent shade of emerald.
Still on my back on the floor, I stared up at him, scarcely able to believe what I’d seen. His familiar had possessed him.
Possessed him.
That eagle fae was inside his body and mind, its presence and power infecting him. Ríkr had been my daily companion for seven years and I would never allow him to do that.
No wonder druids usually died young.
Chapter Nine
“So,” I began, my voice flat with hostility, “what’s wrong with your fae horse?”
With creepily vibrant eyes, the druid watched me tie my leather apron. I was too stunned by his demonstration of fae possession to react properly. Even Ríkr made no comment, his serpentine form curled around my shoulders.
“Tilliag chipped his hoof,” he answered. “The broken edge is catching on rough terrain.”
Depending on the chip, it might only need to be filed smooth. If it was bad, more drastic measures would be required. I picked up my farrier kit and stepped toward the door, then glanced back.
“Anything I should know about working on a fae’s hooves?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t piss him off.”
Helpful.
I strode out of the room. Ríkr uncoiled from my shoulders, and a tingle of magic washed off him as he shifted into a white crow. The bird flew up into the rafters and perched on a beam, his unblinking stare tracking the druid.
Tilliag waited in the crossties, his acid-green eyes burning. Most horses would’ve been throwing their heads around in agitation, but the fae stallion was alarmingly still. I approached slowly and stopped a few feet away.
Tilliag? I attempted, stretching my inner senses toward him.
A hard mental shove smacked me in the metaphysical face. This fae was as friendly and approachable as the druid.
I exhaled slowly. I’d like to look at your hooves.
REMOVE THE ROPES.
His mental voice slammed into me, the equivalent of a full-chested shout inside my skull. Wincing, I set my kit down and reached for the halter. A furious eye watched me as I unclipped the lead lines. I stretched up for the top of the halter to pull it over his ears, and he lifted his head, forcing me up onto my tiptoes.
I dropped back onto my heels. “Fine. Keep wearing it.”
His ears flicked, then he lowered his head. I slid the halter off and tossed it aside.
“Which hoof is bothering you?” I asked, picking up my kit again.
He clacked his right front hoof against the concrete floor.
“I’m coming into the stall.” Normally, I’d spend a few minutes getting to know a new horse and earning his trust, but I didn’t think anything would gain this fae’s trust. I slid in beside him, set my kit down, and faced his shoulder. “I’m going to touch you now.”
He angled an ear toward me. I lay my hand against his withers, then slid it down. He lifted his leg before I could reach his fetlock. I pulled his hoof between my knees and hooked it against my leather-protected thigh.
“How bad is it?” the druid rumbled from behind me.
I examined the chip in the hoof wall. “Not bad. This won’t take long.”
Pulling out a curved blade, I dug it into the stallion’s sole. He held still as I cut away the jagged edges around the chip. Horses’ hooves were like human fingernails; no pain and minimal sensation unless the living tissue was damaged. I exchanged my blade for a rasp and began filing away the roughness.
“These horses aren’t in great shape.”
The druid’s voice came from a bit farther away—near Whicker’s and Whinny’s stalls.
“They just arrived,” I grunted breathlessly, my arms burning and back aching. “Remember the farmer I mentioned last night?”
“The one whose teeth you wanted to cut out?”
“Yeah. Those two were his horses.”
“I see.” A quiet pause. “Are you treating the gray for thrush?”
“Yeah.”
“I can smell it. Must be bad.”
“Yeah,” I ground out, wondering why the hell he was making small talk with me.
“Are you treating the infection with an alchemic remedy?”
“No.”
“Why not? It works better than regular—”
“Would you shut up?” I snapped. “I’m trying to work.”
“Does filing require that much concentration?”
I ground my molars together. “Fuck off, asshole.”
Tilliag snorted out a breath, sounding amused. Now the horse was laughing at me? Screw them both.
“You’re going to disappear, right?” I growled. “Once you do whatever you came here to do?”
The druid’s boots clomped closer. “I don’t plan to stick around.”
“Good. How long?”
“Until I leave? Depends how long it takes me to get to the bottom of the problem I’m investigating.”
I resisted the urge to ask more about “the problem.” I didn’t care. Didn’t want to care. “Well, hurry up.”
“I’d love to, but it isn’t easy.”
“Why not?”
“You have to ask?”
“Huh?” I gave Tilliag’s hoof a final pass with the rasp. “Whatever. I’m done.”
Grabbing my kit, I retreated from the stall. The druid was leaning against Whicker’s stall while the horse snuffled at his dark hair.
“Tilliag’s hoof should be fine.” I dropped my kit on the floor and wiped my arm across my forehead, mussing my bangs. “Just keep an eye on it for cracks. You can get lost now.”
He pushed off the stall. “Not going to try to stab me again?”
Not while he had a powerful fae literally possessing him. “Just go already.”
Giving me an odd, slashing glance, he strode past me to Tilliag as the st
allion walked out of the tack stall. He took hold of the horse’s fetlock and pulled his hoof up to examine the sole.
“Satisfied?” I asked sarcastically.
“Yes.” He released the fae’s hoof and turned back to me. “Do you really know nothing about what’s happening with the fae in your own neighborhood?”
“Nope.”
“You are a terrible witch.”
I exhaled harshly through my nose.
“There’s a coven around here, right?” he asked. “Do they know anything?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re useless.”
“I’m not trying to be helpful!” I snarled.
“You should be, seeing as you work so close to the kill zone. I’ve found a dozen bodies already and I haven’t even made it to the crossroads yet.”
Kill zone? Bodies? “Like the bear fae?”
His attention sharpened. “How do you know the bear fae is dead?”
“Did you kill it?”
“No. Tell me how you found out about its death.”
My eyes darted between his as I debated whether he was lying. “You’re going to the crossroads?”
“Answer my question.”
“What does the crossroads have to do with this?”
Impatience ticked in his tight jaw, and he didn’t reply, making it clear he’d provide no more answers unless I reciprocated. Which I had no intention of doing.
I bit the inside of my cheek, then let out an explosive breath. “Come with me.”
Marching back into the tack room, I reached for the shelf above the table and pulled out a stack of maps marked with horse-friendly trails for our fundraiser rides. I slapped them down on the tabletop. As I flipped through them, the druid appeared beside me. My skin twitched at the invisible buzz of power radiating off him from that damn eagle fae.
And some people thought I was creepy.
“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“You said you haven’t made it to the crossroads yet.” I spread a map out and pointed to a spot north of the rescue, on the far side of Mount Burke’s summit. “The crossroads is in this valley.”
“I know where it is.”
The One and Only Crystal Druid (The Guild Codex: Unveiled Book 1) Page 6
