Marshall trotted along the pavement as a well-made park horse should, head tucked in neatly and at a gentle pace. As the autumn wind toyed with his wispy mane, he couldn’t help but imagine the young mare he’d met on the bus. What about her had him so fascinated? Her sparkling blue eyes? Her intricate overo pattern? Or maybe it was her race-fit, muscular figure. He was so busy imagining her from the bus, quietly fiddling with her mane while she watched the fall colors go by, that he didn’t notice his rider steering him left until he was corrected sharply with the curb. He was startled a little, but continued on his way.

  This was not the usual road, and he had only ever passed through enough times to know that it wasn’t a nice neighborhood. Most of the streets in Norfolk were peaceful and well-to-do, but there were a few to watch out for. Undoubtedly, the property values around here were bound to crash ever since they built the school. It wasn’t a preppy school, like Rosewood Academy. This school was a plain brick building he didn’t know the name of, only knew that its students were typically assigned to go there by Services themselves, who were parked right across the street. His tail clamped at the thought, but he trotted onwards.

  As he passed through the empty sidewalk, he again thought of the mare, this time daydreaming about what she must be doing at this time of day. If she didn’t go to Rosewood, she must be studying eventing or some other noble profession at Evergreen. He could easily place her flying over three foot, no, four foot classes and stealing all the blue ribbons from some country stock horses who had wasted their time flying in to compete. Or maybe she was a master of dressage, tempi changes and half-passes so perfect they floored the judges. In any case, he was sure she would impress even his stickler parents, who insisted his bride be someone of impeccable character.

  They approached the school, and Marshall heard screams flooding the building. He slowed his gait and his rider allowed him to pause in front of the building, both of them concerned by the sound. Suddenly, the front doors came crashing open and a terrified bay pinto mare came flying out. Her knees buckled underneath her, and she fell down the steps helplessly, her eyes rolling back and flashing white. Marshall winced as her head and hip slammed into the stone staircase, blood rushing out all over the scene. Trailing behind her were two Services horses, one toting a tranq gun that must have been responsible for the incident. He stared down into the empty eyes of the mare, and through her stupor he could tell she recognized him. A tear slowly rolled down her delicate cheek, and the blood from her pretty nose and mouth was puddling under her head. Marshall thought his heart might split in two. His rider hauled back on the curb to yank him away from the sight, and Marshall quickly backed off. The Services horses grabbed her by the crest of her neck roughly and dragged her onto a yellow backboard, and it took everything in him not to shove everyone out of the way and cradle her face and tell her it would be alright, even though he knew it wouldn’t be.

  He scrubbed his saddle hastily, wanting to go home as soon as possible. The image of the bloody mare on the steps persisted in his thoughts. He couldn’t help but remember the apathetic faces of the officers, the complete disregard for her dignity, the shock of recognizing her. His cousin Houston taught him plenty about what happens at Services, but she didn’t seem like the horses he described at all. They must have made a mistake. Surely, Laci didn’t belong with all the foamy-mouthed psychopaths that his cousin had to deal with. He gave his bridle a final swipe with the rag before tucking it away in his locker.

  He rushed off the bus and into his house, determined to find out more about Laci. His mother offered him banana bread, but he declined. This was serious. As soon as he closed his bedroom door, he told his phone: “Call Houston.” It only had to ring twice before he answered.

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  “Marshall? Hey, buddy, nice to hear from ya!” Houston answered.

  “Hey, Houston! I’ve got a random question for you-for a friend.” He tried working Laci’s rubber bands out of his hair as he spoke, but they were stuck on tightly.

  “Ask away, kiddo!” Houston said.

  “If I-hypothetically, of course-needed to contact a horse detained at Services, how does that work?”

  “Oh, that’s easy! You just give the office desk a call and ask for the horse.”

  “They don’t even ask for a birth date?” He tried to hide his excitement.

  “Nah, you just need their show name. No one tries to call horses at my branch except parents anyway.”

  “Thank you so much Houston, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “Oh, no problem, kiddo. Call me any-”

  Marshall hung up, and was just about to look up the Services number when he realized he didn’t know Laci’s show name. Luckily, he knew exactly who could find it.

  He knocked on the door softly.

  “Hey, Pixie? Can I ask you for a favor?”

  There was some rummaging as his sister came to the door and opened it slightly, giving him an unimpressed look.

  “What do you want?”

  Marshall pulled out his phone and showed her a picture of Laci on HorseSpace. “I need to know her show name,” he begged.

  “Why do you need-Marshall! Is this your girlfriend?” Pixie grabbed the phone and stared at Laci’s picture with wonder and confusion.

  “No! Don’t ask. I just need-”

  “I heard you the first time. Do you have any clue what it might be?”

  He recalled the lettering on her bag. “I think it’s Laci L-something.”

  His sister started typing on her massive keyboard, then paused to wait for the search. “Laci of Lebanon? Marshall, you are one lucky guy,” she teased.

  His ears flickered. A Lebanon? At Services? “No, that has to be wrong. Search again,” he asked.

  “You’re sure this isn’t her? If not, she’s got an evil twin that’s been running around with you.” She turned her screen around to show him a video of Laci clearing a jump taller than he was. Marshall was amazed.

  “Well, don’t drool over her in front of me. Keep that to yourself, freak.” Pixie shoved him out the door. He turned back to his room to make the call.

  The phone rang for some time before anyone bothered to pick up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally heard the click of the phone being answered.

  “Eastern Feral Horse Services Office. What can I help you with?” a mare’s bored voice responded.

  “I’m looking to contact a friend,” he said quietly. His eyes darted to his bedroom door nervously. If his parents heard this, that would make for an awkward dinner.

  “Sure, just tell me his name and I’ll call you back when I find him,” she said dryly.

  “Laci of Lebanon. It’s a she, actually.” He hoped it would be quick.

  Some careless typing sounded on the other end of the line. “Oh, okay. Can’t guarantee you can talk to her right now, she’s a new intake. I’ll check.”

  Marshall sighed. “Well, we’re close friends. She’s like my sister,” he lied.

  “I’m sure she’s important to you. Rules are rules,” the secretary said curtly. “I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.”

  Marshall leaned back in his desk chair, annoyed. To his surprise, not even five minutes later his phone rang again. Equally excited and nervous, he answered.