I kept driving up into the mountains. I’d just passed a moving truck and a smaller van parked on the side of the road, their giant drivers standing in between them and conferring about something, when Owen pointed to a turnoff up ahead.
“That’s it,” he said.
I turned and steered the Escalade onto a bumpy dirt track that seemed to lead into the middle of nowhere. We drove about a mile back into the woods and up a ridge. Tiny flashes of light sparked in the trees to my left, almost like fireflies winking on and off, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. It took me several seconds to realize the flashes were from bright metal shapes reflecting the sun. I squinted, but I couldn’t quite make out what the figures were before we rounded a curve and a large house came into view.
It was a massive structure made out of gray river rock, the kind that could be found in the waterways in and around Ashland and the surrounding mountains. The smooth stones fit together beautifully, while the house’s A- line roof looked like a blanket of coal that had been thrown over the rocks.
I parked the SUV, and we got out. Owen and Kincaid stood side by side staring at the house, memories filling their faces of all the good and bad times they’d shared here.
Finally Owen shook his head, as if banishing his thoughts. “Come on,” he said. “Cooper will be around back in the forge. He always is.”
Owen led me to the right, and we walked around the house, with Kincaid bringing up the rear. We stepped into the backyard, which was clear of the trees that crowded around the front of the house. More of the river rock had been shaped into flat stones and placed on top of the grass, forming a patio and a winding path that led over to a forge that was almost as large as the house itself. The forge was made out of the same gray river rock as everything else. Two sides of it were open to the air, and I could see a variety of blacksmithing tools hanging down from the ceiling and stacked on the tables inside. A fire burned low in the hearth, sending out wisps of smoke and adding to the growing heat of the day.
Owen frowned. “It’s not like Cooper to go off and leave the forge hot when he’s not around. Too much risk of sparking a fire. Maybe he stepped into the house for a minute, after all. I’ll go inside and look. He always leaves the back door unlocked.”
“I’ll go with you,” Kincaid said.
I reached out with my magic, listening to the stone around me, but the rocks only whispered of the rivers and streams they’d been plucked out of. They also emitted a faint ringing sound—like a blacksmith’s hammer hitting metal over and over again. I concentrated on the deep, throaty, vibrant sound, but there were no uneasy murmurs, no notes of worry, anger, or fear rippling through any of the stones. No one was here who shouldn’t be, including Salina. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to think that she would come after Cooper, especially since he was the one who’d forced her to leave Ashland—and Owen. But she wasn’t here now, so I didn’t voice my concern to the others.
“You guys go on inside. I’ll search out here. Maybe he went into the woods for some reason.”
Owen nodded, and he and Kincaid moved off toward the house. I headed over to the forge.
“Cooper?” I called out in a loud voice, not wanting to startle the dwarf in case he was engrossed in his work. “Are you here? My name is Gin, Gin Blanco. I’m a friend of Owen Grayson’s. . . .”
No answer.
I walked through the forge, looking at all the tools and the items Cooper was crafting—everything from swords to sculptures to a very large and elaborate metal birdhouse. Once again, sly gleams of metal in the trees beyond caught my eye, and I slipped out of the back of the forge and headed in that direction, searching for the source of the flashes, if only to satisfy my own curiosity. I was rather like Fletcher that way.
A hundred feet into the woods, I found a sculpture garden.
Dotting a wide clearing and the landscape beyond, sculptures perched here and there among the trees. They were shaped like every figure you could possibly imagine. Birds, bears, rabbits, foxes, sunflowers, rainbows, and everything in between. The sculptures were made of various types of metal, from iron to steel to silverstone that glimmered like a star as the sunlight warmed its smooth surface. Iron benches had been placed along the paths that wound through the area, so folks could sit and look at their favorite pieces.
I traced my fingertips over a beautiful statue of an eagle with its wings spread wide, as if it was getting ready to fly away. Despite the fact they were made of silverstone, the wings bore such intricate detail that I almost imagined they were ruffling as the spring breeze danced through the air.
I wandered farther out into the garden, following the path of flagstones wending through the woods, amazed by all the pieces hidden among the dappled shadows. I could see why Owen continued to craft sculptures and weapons in his own forge. He’d been given the skills to do so by Cooper, just like Fletcher had instilled his love of cooking and the Pork Pit in me. More important, Owen shared the dwarf’s obvious love for working with raw ore and shaping it into something smooth, supple, and wondrous.
Footsteps slapped on the flagstones behind me. I put a welcoming smile on my face, but then I realized the footsteps were approaching far too quickly for this to be a friendly encounter. Instinct took over, and I ducked to the right.
Good thing, since a red-hot poker hit the sculpture of a bear I’d been admiring just a second before.
Sparks hissed through the air, a few landing on my T-shirt and jeans and creating smoking holes in the fabric. I ignored the sparks, whipped out a knife, and turned to meet the danger.
A dwarf stood behind me. He was tall for his kind, topping out at just over five feet, and incredibly muscled. His chest, biceps, and forearms looked as hard and unyielding as the sculptures, as though he’d been made from the same metal he could shape so well. His hair was a soft silver, with a few black patches sprinkled here and there, and was spiked to a high, wavy point above his forehead, like he’d run his fingers through the thick locks more than once today. A pair of goggles covered his face, making his rust-colored eyes seem that much bigger and brighter in his tan, speckled face. He wore a blue work shirt and a pair of matching pants, along with brown boots.
Instead of being concerned about the knife in my hand, the dwarf immediately drew back his poker for another swing at my head.
“So you’re the one who’s been sneaking around stealing my fountains. I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget! That knife won’t save you, missy—nothing will!”
He swung the poker again. I ducked behind the statue, and the clang of metal on metal made my ears ring.
“Cooper!” I said, yelling louder than I should have, since I couldn’t quite hear myself think at that moment. “Put down the weapon! I’m not here to hurt you!”
The dwarf snorted. “Right. And pretty girls carrying knives just show up on my doorstep and creep around my woods every day of the week, and twice on Sunday.”
He stepped around the statue and took another swing at me, forcing me to back up. Normally I would have rushed forward, knocked his weapon away, and put my blade up against his throat. But Owen wouldn’t have liked me attacking his mentor, even if Cooper had started things. So I slid my knife back up my sleeve and held my hands out to the side, showing him I was unarmed.
“See there? No more knife,” I said in a soft, easy voice, trying to calm him. “Now why don’t you put that down so we can talk like reasonable people?”
The dwarf studied me through his thick goggles. “We can talk, all right,” he muttered. “After I’ve bashed your head in.”
Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but grin. I was starting to like the dwarf. Maybe because he seemed to have the same violent streak Finn always claimed I did.
Cooper came at me with the poker again, but once more, I ducked out of the way. This time, he slammed the rod into the sculpture of another eagle, this one perched on a tree stump. Unfortunately, the sculpture didn’t hold up against the dwarf’s assault and he knocked the beak right off the bird.
“Damn,” he said. “That was one of my favorite pieces. You’ll pay for that, missy!”
I sighed and kept up my dance with the dwarf. Around and around the sculpture garden we went, with Cooper trying to split my skull open and me sidestepping out of the way time and time again. Despite the fact that Cooper was nearly three hundred, the dwarf moved with the ease of a much younger man, and all the long hours and years working at his forge had given him incredible strength and stamina. I was already sweating from all the bobbing and weaving, but Cooper looked like he could swing that heavy poker at me all day. He probably could,
