My Trojan Horse Majesty (The Russian Witch’s Curse #5)

4. Leonid

Chapter 4

Leonid

A fter hours in that horrible metal box, a box that still stinks of the excrement of all the other horses who have been stuffed in it, the trailer finally stops. I’m proud of myself when I wait and let the girl unload me. I can’t see whether her soul’s light or dark, not now, not without my powers, but I can guess. She looks like depictions of Elena the Beautiful from the Ivan Tsarevich fairy tales, and Elena’s always the pure and innocent princess.

Even so, I can’t stick around here, hoping my powers return.

I have to get away while I can. Once I’m sure I can break free without harming her, as she stoops over the lock on the gate, I sense it’s my time. At first, she seems to have anticipated that I might bolt—yanking me sideways, and keeping control of my direction. But there’s no way a hundred and fifty pound girl can really control a massive horse. It was never a fair fight.

Once I’m free, I toss my head sideways to swing the lead line back over my neck and keep my legs free, and then I really take off. Racing at full speed in this form has a strange effect—my bowels loosen, and I find myself crapping.

Right in front of that girl I just left.

It feels terribly embarrassing, but I suppose it shouldn’t be. I’ll never see her again. I speed up once again, moving faster than I ever thought I might when spots start to appear in front of my vision.

Vision that’s already extremely strange in this form.

The design for horse eyes is moronic. I can only see with any depth perception in a narrow funnel right in front of my body, but on either side I can see nearly to my rump, and I have to choose which to focus on, only one at a time. At first, the spots seem like flecks of something that has sprayed up and covered my eyes, dimming the light. But then it worsens, and suddenly I can’t see.

A second later, I lose control of my legs and crash into the ground.

When I wake up, the girl’s back. This time, she’s threading a chain through the halter she’s already strapped to my face. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I must’ve given you too much sedation.” She straightens some, squaring her shoulders. “But I’m not too sorry, since you took off like a maniac—I guess you needed to be sedated.”

I whinny.

“We have to go back to the paddock now. You were very naughty before, but I don’t think you’ll find it quite so easy to escape this time, not now that I know what tricks you’ll try.”

I can’t help noticing that she’s also carrying a large red crop. And wearing gloves.

Delightful.

“I’d rather not use this,” she says, “but better safe than sorry.” She stands up. “Now, it’s time for you to get up, too. Carefully. Slowly.” She tugs on the lead she’s holding, and the chain tightens down over my nose.

Yowch.

“Stand up, Drago.” She tugs again.

This time, I will my body to listen to the commands I’m giving it, and it finally does. A surge of energy shoots through me, and my muscles ripple, and I roll to my feet.

“You’re not so graceful when you’re flat on the ground.” She snorts. “I’m just glad you don’t seem to have done any real damage. You hit the ground hard.” She pats my neck. “Now, let’s keep this simple. Okay?”

She’s nice enough, but I’m definitely not going to let her stupid sedative ruin my bid for freedom. I walk along next to her nicely until we get close to the stallion paddock again. The ground here’s tiny pea-gravel, and she won’t have much of a chance at keeping her footing when I pull. I yank my head sideways and bolt away from her.

Only, with the chain, she has a much better hold on me.

It hurts when she yanks, and I swing out wide, trotting in a circle, the sensitive front of my nose downright crunched. I act like she’s convinced me to listen for a few strides, and then I twist again. This time, I do it fast enough and sharply enough that she loses her grip, blessedly.

If I could smile as I race away, I sure would.

My hoof strikes the stupid lead line once, and I slip, nearly slamming into the ground again, but I right myself. I’ve almost reached the far end of the pasture, her two idiotic horse-friends racing along with me on the other side, when the spots return. Perhaps it’s the level of exertion that forces her sedative to kick in.

I slow to a walk, but my vision continues to worsen, and it’s nearly black. I stop entirely, but I can hear the irritating girl drawing closer, and that’s when I realize I can also feel her drawing closer. That connection I felt before, when I woke, it’s still there. In fact, it almost feels stronger than it did before.

The spots go away, so before she can reach me again, I take off. But as soon as I reach the road and start moving fast, my vision darkens again. It’s like she’s tied to me somehow, and every time I try to escape, I. . .pass out. Could that be correct?

Am I effectively leashed ? If I am, she doesn’t seem to know it.

One more course change, and I race the opposite direction, barely crossing her path before she would’ve intercepted me. Once again, as soon as I pull very far away from her, maybe a hundred yards or so, my vision darkens.

It’s very, very vexing, but for now, I don’t think I can escape. I’ll have to figure out how we’re connected and break it before I can get free. Which is why, when she reaches me this time, my sides heaving and my face and neck lathered, I stand politely.

She looks almost as tired as I feel.

“I’m beginning to think you’re insane.” She wheezes, and reaches for my lead, her hand moving slowly, her eyes wide. “Are you going to bolt again? Bite me? Fall over and crash to the ground?”

I snort at that.

She narrows her eyes. “I think I’m going nuts. I swear you act like you understand what I’m saying.”

I bob my head.

“You do?” She arches her eyebrows. “Sure, you do.” She chuckles, exhaling. “Now I’m interpreting horse head bobs as affirmations.”

I whinny, and I step closer, tossing my head so my choked-down lead will be nearer to her hand. If I’m stuck with her until I can work out why I’m stuck, I may as well be cooperative. The last thing I want is for her to try and kill me off, too.

I doubt she could, but evading attacks gets tiring.

“Alright, the third time’s the charm, right?” She arches one eyebrow. “If you don’t come with me this time, I’m going to call animal control and let them come pick you up.”

I walk meekly, almost like a real horse, right up to the gate.

When she glares at me before swinging the gate open, I wish I could laugh. “Do not act like an idiot this time. I’ll get fresh hay and water for you as soon as you’re through, but I could arrange to have it be moldy hay.” She scowls as she opens it. “Remember that.”

The villain in my current predicament’s threatening me with. . .moldy hay. It’s pretty humorous. What’s next? A stern talking-to? I sigh as I follow her through.

“Tell me about it,” she says. “You think you’re sick of this? I’m way more annoyed than you.” She reaches for the buckle on my halter, but she stops before undoing it. “I know you can’t really understand me. I’m not a total moron. But you do act like you’re listening, so I’m hoping you can somehow intuit my tone. After all that nonsense earlier, I almost want to leave your halter on and detach the lead, but I worry that with the little scratch on your nose already from your idiocy with the chain, it’ll rub.” She scowls. “I’m going to take it off. Please don’t make me regret this.”

She moves her hand to undo the buckle, and I bow my head enough that it slides free.

“You didn’t race away,” she says. “That’s a surprise.” She walks forward three steps. Then she turns back toward me and clicks. “Come on. Follow me.”

So I do.

She beams. “Okay, a little more.” She walks forward again, and I follow. Her wide smile broadens even more.

For some reason, it makes me happy.

Which would be embarrassing if anyone else knew.

I shake my head to remind myself that I’m not really a horse.

“Alright, now we’re going to walk and stop.” She clucks and starts walking.

I want to walk alongside her, but I can’t think of a good reason that I should be doing this, and it makes me feel stupid. I’m not really a horse. Acting like her little ‘good boy’ just to see her smile is beneath me. I lift my head and neigh. Loudly.

“Alright, alright. You just got off the trailer. I bet you’re hungry.” She raises her eyebrows and tosses her head. “Water’s over here.” She takes off at a run.

I could run her over. I could trample her. Her behavior doesn’t show a lot of sense. It makes me concerned for her well-being when I’m not around anymore. I hope with other horses, she exhibits a bit more caution. I finally trot off behind her, because I am thirsty, but that’s the only reason.

It’s certainly not because I wanted to see her smile again.

But if I did, I’d be happy to see that she is.

“Good boy.” She’s leaning against the fence near the water trough when her phone rings. “Shoot,” she says. “I shouldn’t really be in here if I’m distracted.” She sighs as she fishes the phone from her pocket. “I’ll call them?—”

She freezes.

I can’t help lifting my head from the water trough, which tastes surprisingly good given how greenish the water looks. It’s easy to glance at the screen, given that I can see in a 320-degree field of vision right now.

It says the Salt Lake County Metro Jail is calling.

That hardly sounds promising. Why would someone in jail be calling her? She taps the phone and whips it to her ear. “Heaston?”

“It’s me,” a man’s voice says. I can barely hear him, but I can make out his words. Their eyesight may be whack, but at least horses have decent hearing.

“I thought you could only call once?”

“The sheriff who runs this place is chill,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a recorded line.” It almost sounds like he’s reminding her. “I wanted to see if you’d had any success asking your parents for money.”

Someone from the jail ’s asking her for money? From her parents?

It hits me then—Steve and Abigail? Is this their daughter? The one I heard them say wanted to be a vet? It would explain why she was there. Maybe this call will explain why she stole me without telling them about it. Most importantly, maybe I can puzzle out how we’re linked, why, and how to terminate it.

“I didn’t ask them,” she says. “It’s a weird thing to ask for.”

He’s silent.

She squirms. “I’m sorry, but they already don’t like you much, and?—”

“You know, almost every girl in Utah would be delighted to date me. All the parents I’ve ever gone home to meet have loved me.”

He’s implying it’s her fault they don’t like him. I don’t really like that.

“I know,” the girl says. “I’m so sorry.”

“Look, Izzy, I’m going to be vindicated, even if I have to rot in here until the trial, but the longer I’m in here, the more my practice will fall apart. The longer I’m here, the more time my partners have to try and come up with bogus evidence against me and the more time they have to turn my clients against me.”

What partners?

“I know,” the girl, who’s apparently named Izzy, says. “I didn’t get money from them, but I did retrieve that gorgeous stallion you told me to bring back.” She clears her throat.

He’s silent for a moment, and then he chuckles. “Oh. Good.”

“The problem,” Izzy says, “is that I can’t find the papers for it. I can’t sell your chestnut stallion unless it has papers. Papers that show it’s a thoroughbred with a blaze. Papers that someone could use to race it.”

Again, he’s silent for quite a while.

“Tim?” Izzy asks. “Are you there?”

“I’m just trying to remember where I might have put them.” He clears his throat. “Remember about six or eight weeks ago? There was that woman who came in with her chestnut stallion, and we were going to put him down?”

“Right,” Izzy says.

“But then I convinced her to sell him to me,” he says. “And I took him to your stepdad for some training.”

She huffs. “Right.”

“I think the old woman left the papers with me along with all her other paperwork when she thought we were going to put him down, but I haven’t transferred the horse into my name yet. I was waiting until she’d be less upset to sign the transfer.”

“What was her name?” Izzy asks. “I’ll need to find her file.”

“Right.” He inhales and exhales slowly. “Hattie? Maddie? Maybe Harriet something?”

“Alright, well, at least that gives me a start.” She chuckles again. “But how can I look through your files?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “My password’s an important date to you.”

“Good to know,” she says.

“You know, if you’re thinking of selling my stallion, I could do the paperwork myself after I get out. A beautiful thoroughbred stallion like that would be a great fit for Anselm Müller. He has more money than sense, so a recommendation from me for a good stallion would be really appreciated. He even told me that not long ago.”

Izzy nods slowly. “If you were out, you’d email him yourself.”

“Exactly,” Tim says. “I’d email him myself .”

So clearly, he wants her to fake my papers and sell me to the German man. I’m so caught up in interpreting what they’re saying that it takes me a moment to realize the important part of this conversation.

Izzy’s planning to sell me.

Since I pass out when she moves more than a hundred yards away, that’s going to be a real problem.