“Get behind me,” Ashley said fiercely.

  Daphne grabbed onto Marshall tightly and shielded her eyes from the blazing headlights with his mane. He tucked her close and backed away from the truck, head raised in fear. Eliza stepped up by Ashley’s side, evergreen branches curling out from beneath the snow and waiting for her command. Glacier spiraled into a panic, ears swiveling from uncertainty.

  “This is all my fault. Oh my Epona, they’re coming for me,” Glacier gasped.

  Greg put himself in front of Glacier and pushed him back gently. “Don’t worry. Just let us handle this.”

  “Come on now, don’t be shy,” Ashley whispered.

  Two twin Friesian stallions came trotting out, a coal black sport horse mare between them. Her chest was adorned with a leather breastplate that read Nighthawk Solutions. She had a sharp expression to her, eyes like guillotine blades.

  “I’m only going to say this once. You’ve already lost. Make this easy for both of us and turn yourselves in, or I will make light work of you,” she said, in an accented voice that Ashley recognized right away.

  Ashley stepped closer to the mare, her grey face shining in the truck lights. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Frieda. I will, however, offer the same kindness to you. Walk away now, and no one gets hurt.”

  The black horse looked surprised that Ashley recognized her, ears flicking back. “Very well then.”

  Frieda lifted her arm and tried to take a hold of her mind, but Ashley was one step ahead. An irresistible grip was placed on her, and she couldn’t move a muscle. Ashley wandered closer to her, slowly, enticingly. The two Friesian stallions tried to stop her, but Eliza quickly lashed down their legs with her vines, long roots reaching out and slapping the guns from the paws of their riders.

  “Shhh, Frieda,” Ashley quieted, her hoof creeping closer to her neck.

  Frieda would not soften, her anxiety ripping through Ashley’s magic when she tried to feel her mind. She scrambled for a memory, hoping something familiar might get Frieda to relax. She began to pull one, but it was very old and distant-containing only sound and feeling. It was warm, and there was a soft swaying motion swaddling her.

  “Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf,” a stallion’s voice soothed from above.

  Ashley pushed the memory as far to the front of Frieda’s mind as she could, cradling her head in her arms to comfort her. Just as she was starting to fall asleep, a Fell pony mare ran up behind them.

  “Ashley, look out!” Eliza shouted.

  The grey Arab turned too late, and the pony grabbed her by the mane and threw her to the ground, motionless. Frieda struggled to stay alert, still drowsy from Ashley’s spell. The little pony slapped her neck firmly to wake her up.

  “Come on, Frieda. You’ve got work to do,” she barked.

  Eliza tried to entangle Frieda with her vines, but she pulled away from them far enough to take her by the arm and pull her down. In the blink of an eye, she was unconscious. Frieda laid her ears back and flicked her tail, trotting off toward the others.

  “Do I still need to prove myself to you? Be as obstinate as you like, and just see how far it will take you,” she taunted.

  Glacier slipped out from behind Greg, brushing the snow from his arms. “You must know something about obstinance yourself. I know who you’re really after, and she doesn’t take kindly to being held down.”

  “I’ve seen you. You are inefficient, unskilled, and arrogant. So is everyone else who has tried. It’s not rocket science,” Frieda said.

  The two Friesian horses freed themselves from the decaying plants and tried to apprehend Glacier. Ice shot out of the ground and entrapped them again, and they cried out from the sharp pain of frostbite. He summoned the ice to his hooves, forming two small blades. He let one of them jump and roll in his frog. Frieda watched him with a stone face, unamused.

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  Glacier stared into her dark eyes. “I’m not as nice as Ashley.”

  She ran up to him, struck him across the face with a swash of her magic, and grabbed the top of his mane. He wrestled against her, but her magic stung, making his ears ring. In the corner of his eye, he spotted a golden flash running past him. He panicked, but couldn’t make a sound with Frieda’s hoof pressed against his throat.

  “Neither am I,” she said.

  Daphne’s scream pierced the night as she was pulled away from Ashley. The Fell pony mare had seized her by the tail, but she hadn’t been quick enough. Ashley began to lift her head, blood already boiling with anger.

  “Don’t touch her!” she shouted, ears flat against her head.

  Her mind was spinning, and her heart was pumping too fast. The flow of magic was rushing, like a flood in her veins she couldn’t stop. A deafening shriek rippled forth from the dimension of the dead. Ashley’s ghost was making an accidental debut. Frieda dropped Glacier at the sight, and he dragged his body away from her desperately, staring up at the creature. It was incredibly tall, with a narrow silhouette illuminated from behind by the headlights.

  “Oh my Epona, it’s him,” Miracle gasped.

  The horse was restless, constantly rippling with energy. It went for the Fell pony mare first, a single swing from its forehoof enough to send her flying. The horse’s tail switched wildly, and its powerful neck muscles strained as it galloped after its next target, a Shire mare who had just jumped off the truck. The hotblood grounded the mare on its first pounce, plaits tight against its skin and casting a scalloped shadow in the snow. Frieda raced over, trying to hold the hotblood with her magic, but was grabbed by the horse’s teeth and tossed into a tree. The horse approached the place where she laid, leaving a bloody trail behind. She had fine dark bay hair on her face, and her oversized brown eyes bulged at Frieda, whites showing.

  “Who the hell are you?” Frieda screamed.

  “You’re about to find out,” she said, her hoof grazing Frieda’s cheek.

  Frieda thought the truck lights snapped off. The sky was completely black, and everything felt eerily warm. She heard her father’s lullaby again, right next to her ear.

  “Am Himmel ziehn die Schaf,” he sang.

  The light returned, in the form of fire, candles burning in sconces on the wall. The floor sounded beneath her feet when she trotted-she was already trotting somehow. The hallway where she was walking was long and narrow, with dark stone floors. There were metal bars lining the walls, on rolling doors leading to cages smaller than a closet. There were hundreds of them, their inhabitants silently mourning their existence, like lambs waiting to be slaughtered. Frieda felt her way through her body as she trotted, foreign but familiar all at once. She felt huge, yet lighter, legs moving in perfect rhythm, feet tracking exactly as they should. Her powerful strides lifted her higher than she was used to.

  Her sight was sharp, and she was watching the horses she passed by uncontrollably. She had no choice in her actions. It was like she was in a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. The hall reeked of blood and decomposing flesh, and every horse she watched was in complete misery. They all had inhumane cathedral bits in their mouths. Some moved them around incessantly, trying to get the pain to stop, while others accepted their fate, letting them hang loosely in their mouths. Still others had their mouths clamped shut with flash bands and tongue ties. Though it was nearly silent, every noise sounded loud to her. She could hear feet tapping on the stone long before she had company, and could tell by the footfalls whose they belonged to. A short-strided, hurried Arabian mare.

  “Cleopatra!” a shrill voice called out.

  She snapped her attention to the sound, eyeing a black Arabian mare. She looked abnormally small to Frieda, from inside the body of such a massive horse. The little mare was carrying a whip, and Frieda could feel Cleopatra’s fear of her like it was her own. She could hear a name amongst the tangled mess that was Cleo’s stream of consciousness. This is Rhapsody.

  “Find 227 for me. The dappled Mustang stallion,” Rhapsody said. “Put him to work on the West hill.”

  Cleopatra galloped off down the hall without delay, and caught the scent of the stallion she was looking for. She tracked him down to his stall, where he lay motionless on the floor, covered in dried blood and weeping sores. He was wearing an old cavalry bridle like the others, but this one had a large copper bit attached to it, and a little blue string tied to the cheekpiece as some kind of keepsake. She unlatched the door, rolled it back, and grabbed the poor horse by the reins. He tried to get up, but his knees were failing him, his hooves cracking apart like chalk. She kicked him in the back, where there was already a line of wounds from other horses doing this to him, and he finally managed to stand, body trembling from cold and pain.

  She dragged the horse to the door, shrieking at him and pulling on his mouth to keep him moving. Something like guilt was stabbing her heart as she did, a feeling familiar to Frieda but nameless. The stallion reared and contorted all the way down, but Cleo persisted until he followed her outside into the snow. It was snowing heavily, and she sighed with relief, loving the bite of the wind against her skin.

  “Cleo! You’ve got to be faster than that. Come on now,” Rhapsody chastised, snapping the whip behind her.

  She tossed her head and screamed, but accepted the punishment, pulling the Mustang to a cart. She beat him down until he was too weak to resist her throwing the collar over his head, and hitched him tightly.

  “That’s more like it,” Rhapsody called after her.

  Everything became quieter, and the bitter cold against her hot, sweaty skin began to subside. She felt the world growing darker and softer, and heard the steady beating of her father’s heart against her face.

  “Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf,” he whispered, rocking her gently.