I stepped back and went to grab my saddle. “If you keep this on, you get two apple cookies.”

I saddled her the same way I would Sali; not being rough but not treating her like glass, either. When I reached under her belly she nickered a little, but that was all the protest she made.

I didn’t buckle the girth strap, but straightened and stood back. “That’s my favorite saddle on your back, and you’re going to stand there all day with it on, aren’t you?”

Rika lifted her head, and her ears flicked before she laid them back.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Gray’s truck coming back up the drive. “Blast it, I thought he’d take longer.”

Rika backed away from me, her muscles bunching as she pawed the ground and then wheeled around, sending the saddle and the blanket flying. She ran to the farthest end of the paddock, and trotted back and forth along the fence as if searching for a gate she could kick open.

Gray appeared on the other side of the fence. “Are you crazy? Trick told you not to work alone with her.”

“That’s the problem,” I told him as I picked up the blanket and shook it out. “Did you call the police?”

“Yeah. I had to hang up because they were asking me too many questions.” He gazed at the Arabian. “How did you get that saddle on her?”

“It’s my saddle, so it only smells like me and Sali.” I handed the blanket over the fence. “She likes girls. I imagine it’s the other smells that are driving her crazy.”

“What’s smell got to do with it?”

“Everything.” I retrieved my saddle and hoisted it over. “She isn’t afraid of the other horses, or the barn, or anything on the farm. She’s not scared of me or Mena, and she behaves whenever Dr. Marks is here. Rika isn’t dangerous, Gray.”

“Then why does she run away?” he pointed out.

“Simple. There are two things on this farm that terrify her.” I looked up at him. “You, and Trick.”

Ten

While I was riding the bus into town the next afternoon, I thought about everything I had to tell Jesse. So much had happened that I started running a mental list: Jesse and Mena had been right about Rika being afraid (of my brothers), Gray had psychic visions in his dreams (was that part of his Van Helsing finder ability? I needed to ask Jesse what he thought), and (if Gray was right) Melissa Wayne had not been grabbed outside her family’s church, but had gone willingly with the kidnapper.

I also used the opportunity to read a little of Dracula, the novel I’d borrowed from the shop. I skipped through a long, droning introduction by some modern critic I’d never heard of to read the first page, which had been written as a journal entry. It was mostly a travelogue about traveling around Europe on a train. It seemed almost as boring as the intro, although I did smile when Jonathan Harker complained about the spiciness of a dish made with lots of paprika.

Someone sat down next to me, but by that time I was so caught up in the story that I didn’t pay any attention until I heard a distinctive click.

I looked into Kari Carson’s camera lens. “What happened to ‘Hi, Cat, can I take your picture?’”

“Shoot first, worry about law suits later.” She grinned and shifted position. “Plus you photograph like a Vogue cover girl, Youngblood.”

I held up my book to block her from taking another picture. “Does that mean I can charge you a thousand dollars an hour?”

“No. What are you reading?” She cocked her head to see the front cover. “Ah, Bram Stoker, who never met a diary or letter he didn’t like. I used to read that book whenever I couldn’t sleep. Knocked me out better than a sedative. So anyway, how do you like being a working girl, in the non-prostitute sense of the term?”

I told her a little about my job, leaving out only the fact that Jesse Raven was my boyfriend and came every night to help me. I liked Kari, but I wasn’t ready to confide all my secrets in someone who worked for a subversive underground newswire being secretly passed around our school.

She listened without comment until I mentioned the collection, and then she looked around the bus before she asked, “You know what happened in the cemetery last month, right?”

I thought for a minute. “I remember my brother saying someone vandalized a grave.”

“That’s the official story. Aka a complete lie.” She unzipped her backpack and took out a plain spiral notebook, opening it before she handed it to me. “Seek made it the lead story for the winter break edition.”

I read the headline. “Lost Lake has a grave-robber?” I put down the notebook. “Seriously?”

She nodded solemnly. “Whoever broke into the Hargraves tomb stole all three bodies inside. Now Mom and Pop had been there for like fifty years, so they were only skeletons, but they’d just had old Julian’s funeral the day before. He was probably still pretty juicy.”

“Oh, gross.” I cringed. “Did you have to tell me that?”

“The public has the right to know all the gruesome details.” As the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, she slid down in her seat and pulled her hood forward to conceal her face. In a lower voice, she said, “Seek and I are investigating the break-in. We thought it might be some kid pulling a really nasty prank, but so far this looks like an inside job.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Julian was the last of the Hargraves, you know. When they put him in there, they were supposed to close up the tomb for good.” Kari pressed some buttons on her camera before she showed me the LCD screen. On it was an image of a huge marble tomb, the front of which stood open. “See the edges?” She pointed to them. “Bare marble. They were never sealed. Whoever stole the bodies just had to push in the front panel.”

Something was wrong with the picture, but I couldn’t tell what. “Did Seek run this photo in the Ledger?” I touched the notebook. When she nodded, I realized something. “Your boyfriend is the editor of the Lost Ledger?”

Kari winked. “I cannot confirm or deny that statement.”

Which meant yes, I thought. “Can I show this to someone?”

“Sure, as long as you tell me what you find out.” She took out a pen and wrote a phone number on the corner of one blank page. “I’ll be home every morning through New Year’s. Or come over to Tony’s Garage the day before Christmas Eve.” She looked up. “Oops, this is me.” She reached over me to tug on the stop cord. “Don’t work too hard, Youngblood. Santa’s elves will picket you.”

Kari’s warning made me feel a pang of guilt; I hadn’t given a single thought to what I would give my brothers for Christmas. Gray always gave us T-shirts, black for Trick and white for me, but he made up for his lack of imagination by recording Christmas movies for us all to watch. Trick always liked to surprise us with something special; last year he had found a beautiful black leather saddle for Gray, and had given me a gorgeous red and white fountain pen along with six bottles of fancy-colored inks.

My usual thing was to make a batch of Gray’s favorite cookies and put a tin of them in a basket with a book, a mug and some hot cocoa mix. I did the same for Trick, except I made him an apple pie instead of cookies. Neither of them ever complained, but I wanted to do something different this year.

Then there was my dark boy. Jesse couldn’t eat food, which ruled out baking, and since I’d handed over my paycheck to Trick I didn’t have a lot of money to spend on a store-bought gift. I didn’t even know if Jesse and his parents celebrated Christmas.

I stopped in front of the bookstore and glanced across the street. I’d never been inside the Junktique, and on impulse I crossed the street to look in the windows. The Johnsons displayed lots of little holiday-themed oddities, like Christmas tree salt and pepper shakers, and cookie jars shaped like snowmen and angels. I put up my hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun on the window, and saw Mrs. Johnson standing on the other side.

I dropped my hand, smiled uneasily and turned to go back to the bookstore.

“Catlyn.” She came out and held the door open. “Would you like to come inside?”

“No, ma’am.” That sounded so panicky I added, “Thank you, but I have to get to work.” She looked so disappointed that I felt even worse. “Maybe just for a few minutes.”

Mrs. Johnson followed me into the store. “Are you window shopping for any particular reason?”

“I might need a gift for a friend.” I looked around the shop, which was crammed with all sorts of old and interesting things. “He, uh, likes art.”

“Come this way.” She went around a big table stacked with vintage linens and led me to a wall with various old paintings. “The framed oils are rather expensive, but we have a few watercolors.”

“They’re very nice.” I’d actually been thinking more along the lines of art supplies versus finished art.

“They are.” She took out a rag and dusted the edge of one frame. “Did you have any classes with my daughter?”

The abrupt question flustered me. “Um, no, ma’am, I didn’t.”

“Sunny’s very friendly. It’s why she’s so popular at school.” She put away the rag and straightened one of the paintings. “Maybe you sat with her at lunch one day.”

“I’m sorry, but I never met your daughter, Mrs. Johnson.” I pretended to check my watch. “I should really be getting to work.”

“I know she told her friends where she was going that day,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard me. “They won’t admit it because they’re afraid of getting in trouble, but they know. I can see it.” She turned to me. “You have the same look in your eyes, Catlyn.”

“Nancy.” The man I’d seen arguing with her near the bus stop appeared and took Mrs. Johnson’s hand. “We should close up and go home early tonight. This young lady can come back another time.” He gave me a direct look.