It took him less than a minute to disable the cars and the pair of four-wheelers—buying time for Charles to return and save Mackie. The knife had a real sharp edge; Charles had taught him how to sharpen it.

No getaway car. What would the fae do?

Kill Maggie.

His heart clenched and his teeth bared in a silent growl. The fae didn’t need her, didn’t want her, and his Maggie wouldn’t let anyone take Mackie without a fight.

He faced the fact that the fate of the woman he had loved for over half a century was entirely out of his hands. All he could do was go into that house and die beside her.

He’d do that willingly, except for Mackie.

There was nothing he could do to affect Maggie’s fate. Live or die, she would do it without him. He swallowed hard. Maggie would be happy to die if it gave someone a chance to save Mackie.

So.

The fae would come out of the house with Mackie and discover that it could not use the cars to run. If it tried to walk out of here, Hosteen’s wolves would notice that. If they were still alive to notice anything.

The horses … maybe.

There was a truck in the back of the barn. They never left the trucks hitched up overnight, so it would be parked next to the trailer they’d brought Nix back in. Mackie would know that.

Probably the fae could get Mackie to talk.

Another fact, like Maggie’s fate, to absorb and not react to. He had to use his head if Mackie was to be saved.

Instead of running into the house as his heart wanted to do—oh, Maggie—Joseph ran toward the barn as fast as he could. Which was plenty fast. He couldn’t run like one of his beloved horses, or a werewolf, either, but he had run everywhere when he had been a young man.

He stabbed the tire of the truck and then ducked back inside the barn. There were a lot of empty stalls because the barn was where they kept the show horses. The breeding barn was a quarter of a mile down the road, along with the paddocks where the rest of the horses were kept.

He stared at Hephzibah, who stared back at him with wicked eyes. He caught her and saddled her. Then he put her back in her stall and hung her bridle next to the stall door. They did that sometimes with horses they were planning on taking out or showing to clients so that they could move from one horse to another quickly.

The rest of the horses in this part of the barn were yearlings and two-year-olds—none of them trained to ride. He was trying to figure out his next move when he heard Mackie’s screams.

Mackie liked most of the people at the day care. Miss Baird was her current favorite, but she liked Michael’s teacher, Ms. Newman, too. She was predictable and strong—like ánáli Hastiin. When she said something, she followed up on it. She’d told Michael that. Michael didn’t like being away from his family at day care, but Ms. Newman made him feel safe so he didn’t get scared and make them get Mackie for him anymore. He was glad when Ms. Newman brought his class to the horse show so that everybody saw him ride.

Mackie wished that Miss Baird had come to see her ride.

Ms. Edison was scary. She would smile and say nice things, but Mackie didn’t think that her eyes were nice at all. Grown-ups liked her, though, so she seldom said anything about it—except to Max. Max listened to what Mackie said, and even if he disagreed, he didn’t make her feel stupid.

When she had told Max she didn’t like Ms. Edison, Max had said, “Listen to your instincts, pipsqueak. I trust them. She’s not your teacher, right? Okay. If she does something that makes you feel uncomfortable, you make a lot of noise. I mean, really scream. That one you have that makes Hosteen grab his ears. People should come running and when they do, you make them get Mom or your dad or me, right? You don’t shut up until you are happy with the situation.”

Max had given her a plan of attack. So when Grandma had fallen against the wall and Ms. Edison grabbed her arm, she did what Max said and screamed and screamed.

She screamed when Ms. Edison carried her out to the car, and kept screaming when the principal changed her mind and carried her down to the barn. Even when she knew that there was no one who could hear her. Max had said to scream—so she did.

She screamed right up until the thing wearing Ms. Edison’s face and body made her stop.

Charles gave Anna a wild look and hopped off Portabella, tossing his reins to Max.

“If I told you the fae was a woman,” he asked her, “who would you pick?”

“Ms. Newman,” she said. “Or Ms. Edison.”

“Mackie thinks Ms. Edison is bad,” said Michael. “She said I shouldn’t be alone with her.”

“Did she?” Charles breathed. “We should have talked to Mackie.” He changed then, in one of those instantaneous changes he could do when the need was great enough, and then he was off and running.

“What’s going on?” asked Max.

“Joseph called to tell us that the fae is here and she’s after Mackie,” Anna told him. “The man that they have in jail was a fetch, like the one who took Amethyst’s place.”

“She’s after Mackie?” Max said, and his horse settled back on his hind legs, ready to go.

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.