“No,” said Peter. Then, much softer this time, “That won’t be necessary.”

Cooper looked up, his face noticeably bruised by such a statement and what it could mean. Peter gently shook his head, willing him not to press the matter further, when two plumes of smoke emerged just above Cooper’s head. Except it wasn’t smoke at all, but breath. One plume for each nostril of the black horse behind him.

The horse stood like a shadow inside the steam. The clop of hooves across the boards hadn’t even broken once to alert them of its arrival. It was as if the beast had simply appeared, carried in by the mist. The velvety sheen of its black coat shimmered beneath the orb of light hovering above it. But nobody was holding the staff. The saddle was empty. Before Peter had time to realize that the stranger was already standing there, his eyes were drawn to Cooper’s waist.

A gloved hand, with fingers as slight as smoke, moved across the wolfskin still folded over Cooper’s arms, making the grey fur bristle like a snake creeping through grass. They didn’t carry a weapon or draw blood. The hand hadn’t even alerted Cooper to the presence of a stranger standing there. He remained lost inside his troubled thoughts and the hand was free to withdraw back behind him as silently as a shadow.

Peter drew the gun from his side, feeling the hammer flex against his thumb, and Cooper’s eyes widened. He responded to the threat of danger now that Peter had alerted him to it and turned, the ribbons of his hair whiplashing his face. But Peter had it covered. He brought his second hand up to the handle to steady the gun from trembling and brought the muzzle into position.

“Cooper, get down!”

“But—”

“I said get down.”

Peter released the hammer.

His other finger pulled the trigger.

There was a crack. Cooper dropped to the boards, hands clasped over his head, and the stranger flew back inside the mist. Peter winced. The shock of the bullet bolting the barrel reverberated into his shoulder. And it stung. He staggered forward, shaking his arm out furiously. But only one thing mattered. He stared into the mist. The sound of the stranger’s body hitting the boards should come any moment now. Any moment. But it didn’t.

The silhouette of a man with a crown of antlers rose up from the horse’s back, at once becoming one with the beast. Breath chugged from the steed’s flaring nostrils and the horse reared. It turned on silent hooves, dashing back across the boards inside the mist and was gone.

Cooper spat hair from his mouth and held Peter’s gaze. First his eyes told him that they loved him. Then they told him, this wasn’t done.

4