A large crowd was gathered around the front of the forge for the latest demonstration. I stood on my tiptoes, but I couldn’t see if Owen was leading the event, and I couldn’t hear his voiceover the loud, constant hammering. So I skirted around the edge of the crowd, then zipped through a gap between two people. Eventually, I wound up on the left side of the forge.
It wasn’t as crowded back here, and I spotted a guy in the rear wearing a black leather cap and using a hammer to shape a red-hot sword. Relief filled me, but I forced myself to wait until he’d plunged the blade intoa trough of water before I hurried over to him.
I grabbed his arm and turned him around. “Owen! I’m so glad I found you—”
The words died on my lips, and my relief was snuffed out just like the heat from the sword had been in the water.
It wasn’t Owen.
The blacksmith stared at me, obviously wondering who I was and why I was babbling about some guy named Owen.
I dropped his arm, stepped back,and gave him a sheepish grimace. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
The guy shrugged, accepting my apology, and went back to work.
I turned around, scanning the area. Another blacksmith was at the front of the forge, although he’d finally stopped the loud hammering and was now explaining his process to the crowd. A couple of other blacksmiths were also working on their own projects. Kidswere running around, while their parents were admiring the weapons, horseshoes, and other items on display. Everything was perfectly normal except for one thing: I didn’t see Owen anywhere.
“Owen!” I called out. “Owen!”
No answer.
I was getting more and more worried and more and more desperate, so I went around to the back of the forge, hoping that he was taking a break. But of course, he wasn’tout here either.
I looked out into the park beyond, but it was more of the same. Kids playing, adults shopping, costumed characters posing for pictures.
No Owen.
I turned around in a slow circle, just in case I’d missed anything, but I hadn’t. I stepped forward and opened my mouth to call out to him again, and my boot scuffed across something on the grass.
A black leather cap with long earflaps was lying on the ground—the same sort of hat that Owen had been wearing.
Icy dread flooded my heart, but I crouched down and picked up the cap. The leather was crumpled, as though it had been snatched off someone’s head, thrown down, and then stomped on for good measure. Part of the leather looked a bit darker and shinier than the rest, so I rubbed my fingers over that spot. Sticky moistureclung to my skin in a sickening, familiar sensation. I froze a moment, then slowly pulled my hand up where I could see it.
Faint smears of blood were streaked across my fingertips.
I sucked in a ragged breath, even as more and more worry shot through my body.
Owen was gone.
