"You know a lot about this poem."

"When I was human, Gottfried Burger's ballads were very famous. Some considered them the finest ever written in German." He hesitated, and added, "Just after we were changed, my parents read everything they could find about vampires. Some scholars believed Burger witnessed or learned of a vampire attack in a graveyard, which inspired him to write 'Lenore.'"

"Supposedly Stoker did the same thing." Seeing the line from the novel written in the dead man's journal was just too much of a coincidence for me, though. "Is it possible that Julian knew about you and your parents?"

"My parents and I have never had any personal contact with the Hargraves family," he told me. "They were not our people, so they were never included in our circle of trust."

"Maybe Julian found out about you anyway," I said. "He lived here all his life, which was pretty long, and there are things you can't hide. Like the fact that you and your parents don't age. If anyone would have noticed, it would have been him."

He looked worried now. "He did live here more than a century."

"I think we need to read these journals and find out what he knew." I checked my watch. "You'll have to do the reading part. I can't risk sneaking them home, and besides, Gray will be here to pick me up in ten minutes." I explained how Trick had vetoed me taking the bus home.

"Good," Jesse said, surprising me. "I have been worried about you walking to the bus stop at night."

"You've been standing on top of buildings watching over me," I reminded him as I put the journals back in the bin. "There isn't a girl in this town as safe as-" A hammering sound from the front of the shop interrupted me. "Oh, wonderful, he's early."

I went to the front of the store, but the person banging on the door wasn't Gray. It was Mrs. Johnson.

My steps slowed as I saw how wild she looked, but I forced a smile and walked up to the door. "Mrs. Johnson, hi."

"Open this door," she demanded, jerking on the handle. "Now."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't let anyone in the store." I took a few steps back and glanced at the phone. "Why don't I call your husband? I'm sure he's worried about you."

That seemed to calm her down. "That won't be necessary." She turned and went to a little station wagon parked at the curb and drove off in it.

I retreated to the back of the store. "That was the mother of one of the missing girls," I told Jesse. "She thinks I know something about it, and she's a little crazy, but she's gone now."

"You handled it very well." He kissed my brow and picked up the bin. "I will read through these tonight. Don't leave the store until you see your brother's car."

After Jesse left with the journals, I put away my paperwork and went around to shut off the lights. Then I stood by the front door and watched for Gray, and when I saw his headlights I set the alarm and let myself out.

A blur rushed at me from one side, and as I saw the hands reaching for my neck something hot and angry billowed up inside me. I brought up my arm and knocked away the hands before I grabbed my attacker's upper arms and shoved as hard as I could.

Mrs. Johnson went down on her backside and slid four feet down the sidewalk. She scrambled back up and shrieked, "Where is Sunny? Tell me!"

"I don't know." As she came at me again, I made a gliding movement to one side, circling around her. How I did that, I didn't know-my body was calling the shots, not me. "Mrs. Johnson, please, stop."

She turned around, panting now. "I'll make you tell me." Her hands curled into fists. "I'll beat it out of you."

"No, ma'am, you won't." Gray stepped between us, and caught Mrs. Johnson's wrists as she tried to hit him. "You leave my sister alone now."

The woman stared up at him, and then collapsed against him, sobbing hysterically. Gray glanced at me. "Go inside and call the sheriff, Cat."

It only took Sheriff Yamah two minutes to arrive at the store, but by then Gray had managed to calm down Sunny's mother. He led her to his patrol car, and locked her in the back before he came to talk to us.

I briefly described the strange way Mrs. Johnson had been acting since meeting me, and how she had tried to get into the store earlier. "I don't know why she thinks I know something, but I honestly don't, Sheriff," I added. "I've never even met Sunny."

"Nancy's been under a terrible strain," he said, glancing at the patrol car. "I'll take her home and have a talk with Jack." He turned to Gray. "I appreciate you taking care of this."

Gray nodded, and then walked with me to his truck. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I wondered if the complete calm I felt was my own form of hysteria. "Thanks for saving me as usual."

"She won't give you any more trouble," he said, as if she were nothing more than another bully at school.

No one ever picked on me after Gray had a talk with them, and now he'd done the same thing with Mrs. Johnson. He'd confided in me about his dreams; maybe he could do other things. "How do you know she won't?"

"I just do." He got in and started up the truck. "You'd better tell Trick about this."

Yet another good reason for my big brother to make me quit my job; I'd been attacked by the grief-crazed owner of the shop across the street. I slumped back against my seat. "Do I have to?"

"If you don't," he warned, "the sheriff will."

Fortunately when we got home Trick was asleep, and the next morning he left before I woke up. I made my own breakfast before I tackled my ch.o.r.es, and when the housework was done I went out to the barn to talk to Gray.

I saw two box fans whirring just outside the end stall that Trick had mucked out and sprayed down the previous morning. The strong smell of varnish made me cover my nose as I got close to the stall and looked in.

My brother wasn't putting down new bedding, but was swiping a wide paint brush back and forth over the wall panels. "Whew. Can't you wait until spring to do that?"

"Not unless you want to foal Rika outside." He bent to dip the brush into the tray of clear varnish he had sitting on a stool. "We can't keep the wood clean unless it's sealed."

I picked up a bottle of Tek-trol, which we used to disinfect the stalls every couple of months. "Good idea." I saw that along with the bedding he'd cleared everything out of the stall, including the feed bucket. "Are we going to starve her, too?"

"Trick doesn't want anything in here when she delivers," he told me. "It's to protect the foal from bacteria until he nurses for a day or two. And don't put any fresh bedding in here until we know Rika is ready to deliver."

"We should get a foal alarm," I said, remembering a little electronic kit that included a sensor that hung from the mare's tail, which sent a signal to a monitor the owner kept in their office or home. Even with an alarm, it wasn't going to be easy. "The vet said there's like a dozen mares foaling this month. What if he can't get to us, and we have to do this on our own?"

"Then we do it." Gray set down the brush and took the bandanna from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his face. "She'll be all right."

"This is her first time foaling," I reminded him. "She's not going to know what to do. Neither do any of us."

"Breeding means foaling." He hesitated before he added, "That show girl stopped by this morning. She said she'd come over and help."

My brows rose. "That show girl? Are you referring to Mena, your arch-enemy?"

He moved his shoulders. "She's okay. For a pushy girl who think she knows everything about horses."

"I'm pretty sure she does, actually. She also seems to like you a lot." I observed his lack of reaction. "You should feel flattered. Not that many people like you."

"I'm not interested."

Oh, yes, you are, I thought. "I was going to make a big batch of meatb.a.l.l.s and sauce to freeze for future meals. I can leave some in the fridge for you guys to have for dinner tonight."

"I'm tired of pasta," my brother complained. "Trick overcooks it so much it tastes like mush, even with your sauce. Anyway, he was going to grill something tonight."

"Make something else, then," I suggested. "Heat up the sauce and meatb.a.l.l.s in a pan, put them on hoagie rolls with some provolone cheese, and you've got meatball subs. Versus eating whatever Trick turns into charcoal on the grill."

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it.

"No problem." I decided to take advantage of his improved mood. "Can I ask you something?" He gave me a wary look before he nodded. "Last night, when Mrs. Johnson jumped me, did you see what happened? I mean, what I did to her?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said. "You didn't hurt her."

"The thing is, I've never been in a fight," I lied. I had been, with Barb Riley, but I wasn't supposed to remember that. "I didn't know what to do. So she should have been able to beat me into the sidewalk. Only she didn't, because I pushed her away."

"You were defending yourself."

"Gray, I pushed her so hard she almost ended up on the next block. I'm not that strong." I saw him avert his eyes. "Am I?"

He shrugged. "It was probably the adrenaline."

"I also moved so fast she never laid a hand on me. Is that adrenaline, too?" I waited, but he didn't say anything. "Okay. What if the adrenaline kicks in again and I hurt someone?"

He gave me a strange look. "Do you want to?"

"No."

"Then you won't." He went back to varnishing.

I wanted to hit him, but as angry as I was I probably would have knocked him over to the next farm. "You know, every time you do something stupid, I stand up for you. I explain things for you. I've probably kept you from being grounded for like half your life. And if you've forgotten, I even helped you with the weird dream thing the other night. So how can you just ignore me like this?"

He dropped the brush and turned on me. "You're strong because you've been riding since you could walk. You move fast for the same reason. Last night that lady scared you, and you reacted. Neither of you got hurt. So now you know you'll be okay in a fight." Before I could say anything, he glared. "That's all I can tell you. Which you could have figured out on your own if for once in your life you'd use your brains instead of running your mouth."

I swallowed hard. "You're not supposed to yell at me. House rules."

A crash outside the stall startled both of us. Gray's expression changed, and he grabbed me, shoving me behind him. I stumbled and almost hit the wet-varnished wall but caught myself in time. I was about to yell back at him when I looked over his shoulder and saw Rika rearing just outside the stall. Behind her I saw the remains of her stall door, lying in pieces on the floor where she'd kicked it out.

Rika eyed Gray and made an awful screeching sound as she reared again, this time bringing her hooves against the side of the stall.

I started forward. "It's okay, girl. I'm okay." When Gray tried to stop me, I shrugged him off. "She isn't going to attack me. You're the one she wants to trample."

I eased out of the stall, talking in a low, soft voice as I approached her. Once she focused on me, she stopped attacking the stall and put herself between me and Gray.

"Come on, girl." I took hold of her halter and tugged her toward the end of the barn. "Let's both get some fresh air." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gray starting to follow us. "No, don't get near her. Stay in the barn. I'll be right back."

On some level Rika had decided to trust me, because once we emerged from the barn she didn't try to jerk free or run. I put her in the bathing pen and gave her a minute while I looked her over. I didn't see any injuries from her tantrum in the barn, but once she seemed more at ease I felt her legs and belly.

"You make a great bodyguard," I told her as I went around her front, checking her mouth and shoulders. "But in a fight with the barn, honey, the barn usually wins."

Her belly still hung low with the foal, and I didn't see any show of blood or fluids that would indicate she'd aggravated herself into delivering early. We'd still have to keep an eye on her-or I would, I mentally corrected myself. As far as I was concerned only I was going to handle the Arabian.

When I went back into the barn Gray met me at the door. "She's all right, and I don't think it affected the foal. We should call Dr. Marks, though, and see if he wants to take a look at her anyway."

"I've never heard of a horse getting in the middle of shouting match." He shook his head as he surveyed the damage she'd caused. "You really think it's me?"

"You, or she hates the smell of varnish." I went over and picked up what was left of her stall door. "G.o.d, look at this. If you hadn't been inside the birthing stall, she might have killed you."

"Why?" Gray demanded. "I've never hit her, or hurt her, or even yelled at her. Why would she think I was going to? I wasn't even in her stall."

I went still. "That's it. She thought you were going to hurt me."

He measured the distance between the stalls. "No way. From that angle, she couldn't even see us."

"No," I said thoughtfully. "But she could hear you yelling at me."

Twelve.

Trick arrived home from his job hunting just as Dr. Marks finished examining Rika, and after getting a brief explanation from me spoke to the vet.

"She has some minor bruising, but the foal wasn't injured, and I don't think we're looking at an early delivery." He came out of the pen and nodded toward the barn. "She caused a lot of damage in there. I'd like to know what got her that agitated."

What he meant was, he wanted to know what Gray and I had done to her. I would have told him my theory, but I wasn't sure he'd believe me.

"It was my fault, sir," Gray said. "My sister and I were working in the barn, and I shouted at Cat."

Dr. Marks actually chuckled. "Horses don't care for people yelling at them or around them, but I don't think Rika would bat an eyelash over it. Old Man Hargraves did nothing but yell at his horses."

"I didn't buy her from Mr. Hargraves," Trick said.

"Not directly, you didn't," the vet agreed. "When Old Julian got sick he boarded out his horses; when he pa.s.sed away his estate manager let the stable owners make offers. Doug Palmer bought her, and was probably planning to use her as a brood mare, but after he lost his stallions he gave up, sold out and moved back up north."

"Sir, what happened to Mr. Palmer's stallions?" I asked.

The vet's expression darkened. "Some lunatic drifter got into his barn one night and used a knife on them. By the time Doug went out the next morning, five had bled to death. The other two died a day later."

The thought of someone killing horses just for fun made me want to throw up. "Was Rika hurt?"

Dr. Marks shook his head. "Whoever did it wasn't interested in the mares." He looked at Gray. "You might want to search the stalls and see if there are any snakes hiding in the bedding. That might be what caused this. Oh, and wear protective gloves in case you run into a coral snake or a pygmy rattler."

Trick walked the vet back out to his car while I helped Gray clean up the last of the mess in the barn.

"She really did a number on this." He sorted out a couple boards that were still mostly intact. "There's not enough left to even cobble it back together."

"We can take the door off the birthing stall," I said. "It's the same size. I'm sorry I got in your face before and made you yell. You're right, I don't always think things through, and I should."

"I wasn't exactly using my intellect." He dumped the wood into the barrow. "Man. I never saw a horse go ballistic like that."

Trick came back in, stomping mad. "Nice work, you two. Tell me why I shouldn't ground you both until New Year's."