He looked around the room for … something. “I don’t suppose there’s still a cello around here someplace, is there?” There used to be. Kage had played cello.
Max frowned. “Actually, I think there is. Kage’s old cello is still in his room here. Grandma makes him play it every Christmas. He starts sneaking practices in along about November. He says he doesn’t take it home because it just sits there and makes him feel guilty for not practicing an hour a day like Grandma used to make him do. Hold on.”
As soon as he was gone, Anna said, “You want me to play?”
“We need music,” he said, knowing it was true. “I think I need you to start it, and the cello is where your music lives.”
“They’re talking to you today,” she said. “The spirits. What are they saying?”
“That’s the problem,” he said. “Usually I know exactly what they want me to do. All I have to do is decide if I’m going to accommodate them or not. This time … all I can do is follow my instincts.”
“Good enough for me,” she said as Max came back into the room with a cello in a canvas carry bag.
Anna took the instrument, stripped away the wrappings, and gave it a cursory examination. “New strings,” she said as she tuned it. “Not a bad instrument.” She took the bow, rosined it briskly, and drew it across the strings.
Her eyebrows rose at the tone. “Better than I thought. Not as good as the one you got me, but it’s better than most student instruments. Do you have a song in mind?”
“Something … beautiful, but still upbeat.” He tried to put his feelings into words.
She nodded and then started playing.
“Lord of the Rings,” said Max, startled.
Charles closed his eyes, listening, and it was all right. He raised his voice in answer to the cello. No words, just music, until the words became necessary. By that time he was so lost in music, which he and Anna had morphed into their own song, that he didn’t even know what language he sang in, let alone what the meaning of the words were. They were just a shape in the music he and Anna made together.
The music built and the power burned down his arms into his hands, so he placed those hands on Joseph. When it was over and the heat was gone, Joseph slept comfortably. The heat, the fire in his veins, was gone. The room was silent, and he knew that his earlier theory was right.
For some reason, the dead, the children killed by the fae who’d attacked the Sani family, were very interested in Joseph. That was something he wasn’t going to share with Maggie and her very Navajo view of the dead. Maybe he should tell Joseph.
He covered the sleeping man while Anna put the cello back in its case. Max took it without a word and they all left, shutting the door quietly. Max started down the hallway farther into the depths of the house and stopped.
He turned back to them and met Charles’s eye.
“Anyone hearing that,” he said, “has to believe in magic.”
He left them. Anna took Charles down the hall in the other direction, toward the main part of the house.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” he told her. “I find that somewhat unsettling.”
She took a deep breath, like an actress going onstage, pasted a big smile on her face, and said, “I find it somewhat reassuring that I’m not the only one who feels like I should be running around shouting, ‘Where’s the script? Where’s the script? If only I had a script I’d know what the freak I’m supposed to be doing.’”
While Charles had been making magic, Maggie, Mackie, and Michael had made sandwiches for everyone, since Ernestine had the day off. Maggie had also made a huge effort at cheer for the sake of the children.
“Where’s Chelsea?” Charles asked. Anna remembered that Chelsea was planning on coming home with the kids.
“Teri ate something that disagreed with her, so Mom borrowed an outfit and she’s going to take over Teri’s ride in the western pleasure futurity elimination round,” Max said.
“ánáli Hastiin said she should,” added Mackie.
“Eat,” said Maggie, setting a giant plate of sandwiches down at the table where she’d already set a stack of dishes.
“What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?” asked Max. “If you aren’t busy, Hosteen suggested I take you for a ride around the ranch. He said to remind you that you are guests, not guards. He had two of his pack follow us from the show grounds. They’re patrolling the grounds.”
Anna looked at Charles.
“Fine with me,” he said.
“What horses is Hosteen having you look at?” Max asked.
“I left the list upstairs,” Anna said. “Let me go get it.”
Anna and Mackie did the dishes while Max looked over the list with a pencil he used to make notes.
“We could go out for a ride, Anna,” he suggested when he was done scribbling. “Merrylegs is here. We’re not showing her at the big show this year. She’s more of a trail horse than an arena horse, though she’s not nearly as bad as Portabella that way.”
And, Anna thought, it would get them out of the house and her out from under Maggie’s glower. It was Charles who’d made her stay downstairs. So why was Anna getting the cold shoulder? Maggie hadn’t so much as looked at her since they’d come down the stairs.
Okay, she had to be honest. She understood. She didn’t like it, it upset her sense of justice, but she understood. Charles had explained his reason for leaving Maggie downstairs, which Maggie could accept. But Anna had gone up with him and with Joseph. Anna, young and werewolf Anna, had taken Maggie’s place.
“A ride sounds like fun,” Anna said, and Charles nodded.
“Can I come?” asked Michael.
“Sure,” said Maggie.
Mackie started to say something, but she looked at her grandmother and hesitated. Anna saw the moment she made the decision.
“Grandma? I’m tired of horses today. I don’t want to go for another ride.”
“You can stay with me, then,” Maggie said. “We’ll go play some Candy Land.”
This time they tacked up their own horses while Max found saddles that fit and bridles that would work.
“First time I ever rode a horse, I was eight,” he told them, helping Michael brush the horse he’d picked for him, a short, stout, brown-and-white-spotted half Arab named Romeo. “Kage was dating my mom and he was like, ‘Come ride some horses.’ When she and I got home that night I said—”
“‘You gotta marry him, Mom,’” said Michael. “‘He has horses.’”
Max laughed. “That’s right, pipsqueak. Maybe if I didn’t like horses so much, Mom wouldn’t have married Kage. And then you wouldn’t even be around.”
“Yes, I would,” Michael answered. “Because Daddy says I’m his penance for past sins.”
Anna hid her grin as she picked up Merrylegs’s foot to clean it. Merrylegs was a seven-year-old mare of indifferent breeding (Max’s words) who’d come to the Sanis as a training prospect. When her owner discovered boys, she’d turned over the mare’s registration and ownership in return for back board and training fees.
“She’s sweet as pie,” Max said. “Not a show horse of any kind. But she’ll try her heart out for you and take care of you. Mackie rides her a lot on the trails.”
For Charles, Max brought Portabella.
“She’s on your list,” Max said. “And she’s a fun ride on the trails.”
Merrylegs, as promised, was sweet and responsive. She also had a trot that made Anna glad she’d inherited her mom’s teeth and not her dad’s because if she’d had any fillings they’d have been gone by the time the ride was over. Merry’s canter was better and her walk was brisk, but that trot was horrible.
“Yeah,” said Max, though Anna hadn’t said anything. “It’s those really short and straight pasterns. She’s like riding a jackhammer. But she’ll canter forever, and her canter is lovely.”