I was only passing through town when I met Luke Castellan. That's all I ever did—pass through. Staying in one place for too long wasn't good for me, and I knew it. I never worried too much about money; there was always work for a traveling veterinarian, especially when I showed people the articles written about me back East.

Luke Castellan was an odd guy; I noticed him as soon as he walked into the bar, and I didn't know whether or not to be afraid. He slammed a stack of papers on a table and demanded information from the bartender.

The tall, skinny guy dropped the glass of whiskey he was supposed to be serving me. "Goddammit!" he yelled to the newcomer. "Now look what you've done! There's glass on the floor, and I've dropped this poor man's drink."

When he looked at me, I fought not to stare too long at the giant scar on the side of his face. "Sorry 'bout that," he said in a smooth baritone. "Let me buy you another one."

"It's no problem," I said, not making eye contact. If there was one thing I had learned since moving out West, it was that kindness didn't get you too far. I was always polite—my momma raised me right—but never in excess. That was how you got taken advantage of.

My whiskey was finally placed in front of me and I took a slow sip. Yep, that was imported. I couldn't complain though—real good American whiskey was hard to come by when you lived in the middle of buttfuck, nowhere. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

I stared at a stain on the bar and listened to the conversation between the bartender and the new man, who I was discovering wasn't from New Rome.

"Have you heard anything about a criminal gunman riding a black stallion?" asked the man.

The bartender, who over the past couple of days I'd learned was named Carter, said, "Now, what do you think you're doing coming here and freakin' everyone out just to interrogate me?"

I almost chuckled; Carter was a good, well-meaning guy who ran a hospitable bar, but he didn't take shit from nobody.

"My name is Luke Castellan," the newcomer said, "and I'm the mayor of Olympus."

Carter scoffed. "What's a mayor doing outside of his town, then?"

"I'm investigating a crime."

Carter took a rag and wiped down the bar. "Don't you have a sheriff for that sort of thing?"

Luke's hand balled into a fist beneath the bar, so I kept an eye. It would be a shame if the bartender found himself with a black eye, even if his whiskey was mediocre, at best.

"My sheriff is also investigating," he said. "Our deputy sheriff was killed last night, so I'm going to ask you again. Do you know anything about a gunman on a black stallion?"

"A lot of people ride guns and shoot horses," said the drunk on the other side of the bar, whom I thought had been passed out this entire time. "Wait..." he said, catching his mistake.

Carter turned around and put the rag away. "What he said, except not so... you know. You'll have to be more specific, Mayor Castellan."

Mayor Luke Castellan was hiding something, I thought, but I wasn't sure what. There wasn't a man who wanted his town to look weak, but he'd need to provide more information if he wanted justice for his friend.

He lowered his voice, so I had to lean in to hear. "This maniac harassed my sheriff and deputy last night and then led my deputy through town only to kill him, so none of us got a good look. Sheriff Chase said he was small. Calls himself the Ghost King."

Carter slammed a glass on the table. "Don't talk to me about the Ghost King."

"Why not?" Mayor Castellan pressed. "I'll make it worth your while."

Carter said, "My word is worth a lot, but so is my life. I've seen what he can do, and let me tell you, it ain't pretty. You oughtta do whatever he says."

"And give up just like that," said the mayor. "What if I told you he might be practically useless now? He escaped the scene of the crime on foot. We have his horse."

"His horse?"

"What breed?" I asked, revealing that I'd been eavesdropping.

Mayor Castellan didn't seem to care. "Never seen anything like her. Don't know where he got something like that."

I returned to my drink.

"So I'm safe to tell you about the Ghost King because he has no horse. Big whoop," said Carter. "He'll just get another."

"Not like this one," said the mayor. He dropped something on the bar. "Just tell me what ya know, buddy."

Carter took the object and sighed. "I haven't been in New Rome long—just long enough to get a job and a room at the inn. I'm actually from New Brooklyn. My sister and I moved out after the Ghost King came. Had a huge fight; she wanted to go back North. I said no way. Guys like me are better out here where there aren't any rules."

"I don't care about your personal drama," said Mayor Castellan.

Carter shrugged. "You asked for my story about the Ghost King. Do you want it or not?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Go on."

"The Ghost King came through town and accused the mayor of being corrupt, which of course, he was, but the mayor wouldn't leave despite his threats, so the Ghost King punished us all. New Brooklyn is a ghost town now. There ain't any gold left for the prospectors, so they all left, and Sadie and I had to pack up and leave 'cause we weren't gettin' any of their business no more."

"Uh-huh," Mayor Castellan said. "And what did the Ghost King do to dry out the gold?"

He shrugged. "That's the mystery, I guess. Nobody even saw him. I remember hearing about that black horse, though. You don't see those up North," Carter continued. "Don't you know about those?" he asked, turning to me.

Oh, boy. "I'd have to get a good look," I said. It could have just been a black horse. Those existed. I wasn't lying though; I really would have needed to see the horse to help this guy out.

"Do you know anything else?" Mayor Castellan asked Carter.

He shook his head. "Just that nobody lives in New Brooklyn anymore. What a waste of a nice space."

"I believe it," said the mayor of Olympus. I wondered if he had the chance to visit New Brooklyn before. Probably not; mayors typically stayed put and ran the town. That was in the job description unless I was mistaken.

"Sure," Carter said. "Is there anything else I could help you with, Mayor Castellan? Preferably not related to criminal activity? A drink, perhaps?"

Mayor Castellan took the barstool next to mine and said, "Whatever this guy's having," pointing to me.

"You don't want this," I muttered, hoping that Carter wouldn't hear me talking bad about his cheap whiskey.

"Sure I do," said the mayor. When Carter placed the drink in front of him, he took a long sip and scrunched his nose.

"Told ya so," I said.

"So you know about horses," he said, skipping the small talk.

I nodded. "That's what they say."

"What else do they say about you?"

Carter smiled. "They call him the horse whisperer, he's so damn good with 'em."

Mayor Castellan smiled. "Is that so?"

Look, I knew people talked about me. I knew I had a good reputation as a veterinarian, especially when it came to horses in need of miracles, but I was no miracle worker. I was just a guy with a decent education in an area where animal doctors were sparse.

Besides, I didn't like to brag about myself. Even hearing Carter do it for me caused me to squirm in my barstool. "Don't be exaggerating, Carter," I said.

"I don't say anything that ain't true. You know how the Asimovs's horse wasn't right after she gave birth a couple weeks ago?"

Mayor Castellan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "No."

"Oh, right. You're not from around here," said Carter. "Well anyway, the Asimovs's horse had a colt and then suddenly everything freaked her out. I mean, it's just a working horse; she would have easily been replaced, but the kids like her, so this here fella," he said, gesturing to me, "worked his horse magic and she's good as new."

"Just doing my job," I said.

"Mayor Castellan, if you want someone to take a look at the Ghost King's horse, it's Percy Jackson," Carter said. "You'd better convince him to work for you now; he's in high demand."

Mayor Castellan, now having heard my name, looked me over. "Mr. Jackson-"

"Just Percy is fine," I interrupted.

He waved off my objection and continued. "I've heard much about your work. It's an honor to meet you."

Fame was a weird concept in the West. Typically, people back in my hometown of New York City became famous when their names appeared in newspapers. Most of the time growing up, the famous heroes in my life weren't even real. They were just fictional characters made up to sell toys at the market. Besides, I always admired the Greek heroes from the stories my mother used to tell me more than the cowboys out West.

Being older now, I realize that those heroes weren't always the most morally admirable folks. There wasn't anything heroic about taking land from people who were here before us or killing animals into extinction.

But out here in the West, people became famous through word of mouth. Nobody knew what I looked like or what exactly I'd done for sure—I'd never actually done anything newspaper-worthy—but they'd heard rumors about me from travelers, family, overly zealous bartenders... I was, perhaps on a local scale, famous.

Mayor Castellan continued. "If you'll come to Olympus with me, we can get you situated in the inn and work out the details of our arrangement. Of course, you'll be generously compensated."

"How do you know I don't got work here in New Rome?" I asked.

He smirked. "If what I've heard about you is true, you don't like to stay in one place too long, and you've already birthed a colt and rehabilitated its mother, so unless you're putting down some roots, it's time for you to leave."

He was right, I supposed. I'd stayed in New Rome longer than I'd stayed in any town thus far. In addition to the horse and its colt, I'd rescued a litter of puppies found in the mine and gotten them all situated in homes. That certainly took longer than I'd anticipated; most of the families already had dogs.

"And your town has a decent bar and a place for me to stay?" I asked.

He nodded. "The best whiskey you'll ever drink and the softest bed you'll ever sleep in."

"You make a compelling offer," I said.

Mayor Castellan held out his hand. "So do we have a deal?"

I wasn't an idiot. "Not until I see what I'm up against."

"Why don't you gather your things and I'll show you this afternoon?"

I pondered his question for a moment. I knew I had a reputation, but never had someone sought me out the way Mayor Castellan had before. Usually, I just showed up in whatever town I pleased and the people living there greeted me with work, a place to stay, and questions about the things they'd heard about me, such as Did you really rescue the mayor's daughter's kittens out of that well? The answer was yes, except the mayor's daughter had fallen in with the kittens and I needed to pull her out as well. My clothes were ruined.

Most of the jobs I took out in the West were more adventurous than those in the East. Back East, I birthed puppies and horses and dressed wounds. I still did all those things out here but with the added spectacles of coyotes and faulty wells and occasionally explosives.

Despite all of that, I had never worked in anything related to crime before.

I supposed there would have to be a first time for anything.

"My things are in the inn right above this bar," I said.

Mayor Castellan smiled. "You go pack up and I'll have my carriage pulled around."

***

There was something strange about Mayor Castellan from the moment I saw him. I had this inkling that it would be unwise to get in a carriage with him and ride to Olympus.

Turns out, he was just an overly eccentric person who happened to enjoy a comfortable life. His carriage was, in fact, an actual carriage and not a covered wagon. It was complete with cushioned seats and doors. I'd never seen anything like it before.

"I had it shipped out from England," he said proudly.

"It must have cost a fortune," I noted.

He shrugged. "Just a perk to being the mayor of a successful boomtown."

"Uh-huh," I said. I could have sworn the path was rockier when I hitched a ride on a wagon on the way to New Rome. Either the road was miraculously cleared, or this cushy carriage rode smoother than honey.

I didn't care to hear Mayor Castellan brag about his wealth any longer. "So about this job," I said. "What exactly is it you'll have me do?"

"Rehabilitate the horse," he said. "The stablemaster says she's walkin' with a limp and needs healing. Then, I need you to work with the horse and pass along all the information you can get to the sheriff. It's important we bring this so-called Ghost King to justice."

I nodded. "I can't promise that I can find the identity of a gunman using just his horse. You should know I've never worked in a criminal investigation before."

Mayor Castellan leaned forward. "Neither have I, but my deputy sheriff is dead and I want to get to the bottom of it."