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

6. Leonid

Chapter 6

Leonid

I hate this Heaston guy.

Even without seeing him, I can tell he’s got a dark soul. The odds of two men like that coming after someone good are quite low, but with the way he spoke to her on the phone. . . I don’t need my powers to see that he has bad things coming to him. But why can’t the girl see it? She seems bright, so how did he dupe her?

I have a lot of things to worry about, most importantly, regaining my powers and ensuring that Kristiana and her brother Gustav can’t ever challenge me. With Aleksandr, Grigoriy, and Alexei behind them, killing them’s the only sure way to keep myself safe. But before I deal with them, I’m going to eliminate this Heaston guy for fun. He deserves to die, I’m almost positive.

My best bet at regaining my powers and being freed is to cooperate with this girl. She’s smart, she’s kind, and I’m even more sure she’s good than I was before. To figure out what’s connecting us, I’ll need to spend more time with her, so I’ve decided to be a ‘good boy’ for a while. Plus, if she tries to abandon me, I’ll pass out again at the very least.

Could I die if she keeps moving away after I pass out? Would she even notice? What if she leaves me in here to go to the store?

I’m not really keen on finding out.

She’s planning to ‘train’ me, so I need to be good enough to keep her interested, but not good enough that she thinks she can sell me yet. For her to really try and work with me, she can’t be afraid of me. I hate thinking how far I set back her trust with my ill-advised bolting, but taking that bullet must’ve helped to restore her faith. Unfortunately, it also absorbed the end of my protection spell. Another hit like that one, and I really will be gushing blood from an open wound.

Until I regain my powers, an injury like that could kill me.

“Alright, boy. You eat and rest. I have some work to do and some emails to send, but I’ll be back out in a few hours. I was going to give you today off, but I’m kind of in a hurry. Maybe I’ll come back out this afternoon to see what you can do.” She smiles softly, and I know it’s just for me.

It makes me happy in a way I can’t explain, and I hate it. I can’t be giddy about some little girl smiling at me. I’m not really a horse, and it’s vital that I not forget my purpose here.

After she disappears inside the house, I try to focus on my next steps. I pace back and forth while I review them. First, I need to figure out how I’m connected to Izzy Brooks. Then I need to figure out how to sever that connection. And finally, I need to make sure that once I’m free of her, I can still regain my powers. I should have control of all five elements now, but when I reach for them. . .there’s nothing there.

When I try to shift back into my human form, it’s the same.

It’s so frustrating that I want to kill people. At home, it was easy to round up petty tyrants, murderers, and mob enforcers. Here, though, there’s no way to vent my fury. I could shout, but when I scream as a horse, people, namely Izzy Brooks, think I’m unhinged. I drag my hoof through the dirt and realize that I’ve been pacing back and forth all over the hay Izzy brought.

Why do horses have to eat dead grass dumped on the ground?

Since we’re in Utah , there’s no live grass right now. Everything’s brown or gold. It’s so disgusting that I’d rather just die than eat it. . .until I involuntarily take a bite and my teeth start working, and suddenly the dry, dirty bits of hay—why don’t they rinse it before drying?—are disintegrating in my mouth and it’s actually not that bad . How have I never realized how delicious grass could be? I was probably biased by the fact that I walked around on it. It’s a little embarrassing when I realize that I’ve eaten nearly every speck of hay that was piled up, and now I’m using my enormous, floppy lips in conjunction with my air-blowing nostrils to try and sort dirt from hay so I can find just a few more bites.

How pathetic have I become in less than one day?

I force myself to walk away from the hay, and just to kill time, I walk to the other end of my paddock and finally greet the horses who have been watching me this entire time. The mare whinnies and tosses her head, her mane rippling in the breeze. The gelding, clearly much older, paws at the dirt beneath his hooves and shrieks.

I whinny back, but it’s not like I have much to say. Within a minute or two, I find myself walking back and snuffling around on the ground for more shreds of hay. It’s so undignified. The only things worse are the piles of poo that just sort of pop out whenever they feel like it. At least when I finally go pee, I appear to have impressive equipment in this form.

The downside is that, even though I stretched my back legs out as far as I possibly could, I could still feel pee splattering on the front of my back legs and on the back of my front legs. I’m trying to work out a way to wipe it off that doesn’t involve my nose when I hear the door to the house open.

It’s a little embarrassing how excited I am to see Izzy again.

But at least she can’t really tell. After my initial reaction, I drop my head and go back to nosing around in the dirt. Then I start to wonder whether being attentive to this tiny, powerless human or being a dirt-nuzzler is more pathetic. When Izzy disappears into the barn, I know the answer.

I call out for her involuntarily, almost. It’s not really my fault. I sensed the bond connecting us easing as she drew near, and then it tightened again as she walked away.

“I’m coming.” Her voice is sing-songy in a way I’ve never noticed with anyone else. “Be right there, Mr. Whiny Pants.”

Whiny pants ? I don’t even have pants. What’s she saying? Maybe it’s an American phrase I simply haven’t heard yet. She emerges a moment later, lugging a saddle, a bridle, and a thick, ugly saddle pad.

“I stole you in Manila, Utah.” She huffs, clearly winded from carrying such a large saddle. “I’m guessing any training you’ve had has been Western.”

She’s cute, but also kind of dumb.

I never understood why humans like those dumb, ugly dogs, but maybe this is like that. I like her because she’s so dumb. She unlocks the paddock and picks the saddle and gear up again, shoving her way through with it into my enclosure.

“Alright.” She sets it down near the fence, and then she approaches me with a halter. “Let’s see if you’ll let me handle you this time without any evil henchmen nearby trying to beat money out of me.”

I shy away twice, just to keep her on her toes.

“Does it take the threat of danger for you to behave?” She frowns. “Maybe I should go pick up?—”

I shove my face into the halter and stand still. Can’t have her leaving to pick anyone up. I ought to shift and stomp around a little to sell my unease, probably, but her feet look really small. I’d hate to clip one.

Not because I care about her.

Just because a wounded Izzy won’t help me get any closer to discovering how we’re connected. She’d probably go to the hospital, and I’d die while she was gone.

“Normally I’d tie you up now.”

She’s always got a running narrative. It’s kind of cute. She must know I can’t understand her, in theory, but she’s clearly not someone who has trouble rolling with the unexplainable.

“But if you flip out, you might hurt yourself trying to get away, so I’m going to hope you’ll stand still and pray I can duck out of the way if you have a crazy moment.”

I blow air out of my nose and stomp once.

She looks suitably nervous, but then she picks up the saddle pad and slowly moves it toward me. When I don’t react, she places it on my back. After a moment, she smiles.

Again, for some reason, that makes me happy.

So I chuck the saddle pad off and into the dirt.

She throws her hands up into the air. “You know, I used to think I was good at everything.” She leans against the fence. “I used to think I was smart—brilliant, really. I got perfect grades in school. Teachers all sang my praises. Once, when I was in first grade, they gave me a test called the CogAt. It’s supposed to measure your cognitive abilities.” She snorts. “I got a perfect score, and they called my mom to tell her I was one of only two students in the entire country who got a perfect score.”

I lower my head a little and turn to the side so I can see her better.

She smiles. “You have no idea what I’m saying, which is why I’m saying all this to you. You’d think I’d be happy to find out I was smart, but it wasn’t good, not really. My siblings all got mad about it, for one, and for another, everyone had all these expectations. So if someone else failed a test, oh well. They just didn’t study enough or had a bad day. If I failed it was like, ‘whoa, Izzy, what’s going on? You’re not fulfilling your potential.’ And my mom would kind of freak out.”

She kicks the saddle pad.

“And then if I did well, no one was like, ‘nice work, Izzy. You worked so hard.’ Because I’m a super genius, and I didn’t work for that, so you know, nothing I do really counts.” She huffs. “That’s why I like breaking horses so much.” She holds out her hand.

I press my nose into it.

I’m rewarded with a smile. “All it takes to break a horse right is patience and time. That’s it. Horses are a problem I know how to solve. With enough patience, with enough hard work, you can always take a horse and make him something useful. You can take a horse that might be a danger to himself or other humans and make him safe. Only, you’re a little different.” She tilts her head, and she moves her hand up my face to rub the flat part between my eyes. “You—I’m not breaking you. I’m trying to figure out what you know, and what deficits there are in your education that make you dangerous.” She grimaces. “And the hardest part of all is that my stepdad, Steve, he’s basically the best trainer I’ve ever known. He never gets overly emotional. He’s hard-working, he’s fair, and he’s an amazing rider.” She sighs. “If he agreed you were a lost cause, then what am I doing?”

Her shoulders slump.

“I should just call my parents and beg them to loan me money. That’s the safe thing. But if I tell them what I did—that I stole you? There’s no way they’ll help. So now I’m stuck. If I die trying to train you, then what will they put on my tombstone? ‘Here lies an idiot criminal who also sucks at training horses’?” Her laughter sounds a little. . .off. “They’d be right.”

She picks up the saddle, and I jump back.

“No, no, I’m not coming at you with this. Maybe you had a bad experience with a saddle. So let’s not work on that for today. You let me on your back just fine last time. Let’s see if that was a one-time miracle, or if it’s the saddle you don’t like.” She puts the saddle near the gate, and she grabs the bridle, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m going to take this halter off. If we aren’t saddling, I don’t need it.” Her hands are steady as she reaches up and lifts the strap and releases the buckle, freeing my face. Then she buckles it instead through a chink in the fence so it just hangs there. “Alright. Now let’s see whether you’re scared of bridles and bits.”

Before she can try to stick that metal bar through my teeth, her phone rings. She rolls her eyes, but she whips it out of her pocket. Her eyes widen. Whoever she thought was calling, it’s clearly not them. She shoves it back into her pocket, her face falling.

I bump her hand with my nose. Then I blow air on her pocket.

“If I really was crazy, and I thought you could talk to me and understand what I was saying, I’d assume you were asking me why I’m disappointed.” She chuckles. “I was hoping it was Tim.” She groans. “Which is silly.”

She picks up the bridle and shows it to me, holding it just far enough in front of me that I can see it with both eyes at once, which means I can see its shape and depth as well. Clearly she knows something about how horses see.

“My parents don’t like him. My friends don’t like him. In fact, they all complained about him so much that I just stopped talking to them about our relationship at all, really.” She shakes her head. “It’s tiring.”

She sidles around the side of me. “I’m going to try and put this on you and see if you’ll let me lead you around with it.”

I snort, but otherwise I don’t move.

She rubs my nose again, and she says, “Okay, here goes. Let’s hope no one slammed you in the teeth with a bit, because that just makes this way harder for all of us.”

But when she bridles me, I stand utterly still, opening my mouth as the bit comes closer. She slides the leather straps up my face and over my ears, and then she beams. I can only see it from my left side, of course, but it still makes me happy.

“See, you were amazing for that. You’re a stunning horse. You’re clearly athletic, and you’re really smart. You took the bridle like a champ.” She sighs. “But no one else sees it.”

She frowns.

“It’s just like my relationship. Tim’s amazing in so many ways. He’s handsome, rich, smart, and at the top of his field. He’s decisive, and he knows just what he wants. And anything he wants, he just goes and gets. My family and friends dislike me dating him because he’s older than me.” She scratches behind my ears. “But I’m sure his are just as frustrated that he’s dating a loser like me. He’s just so far out of my league.”

She doesn’t realize how great she is—that’s her problem. I wonder why, but if I had to guess, I’d place blame somewhere around Tim.

“And it’s only getting worse.” She sighs heavily. “I just found out that I didn’t even get into vet school, and he’s not only a vet, he’s an equine orthopedic surgeon—the best in the state. But he’s patient with me, and he never acts like he’s too good for me, even though he is.”

I’m sick of hearing her talk about this guy like he’s a saint. Clearly he’s the problem. I toss my head.

“Yes, I’m sure you get it—you’re just like that. They didn’t understand you either, and that’s how you wound up headed for the kill pen.”

I stomp my foot, hard. I hate that’s she’s comparing me to that jerk.

“I’m just as upset as you,” she says. “Is that it? You’re frustrated?” She has a bemused expression like she’s just playing a game.

I shake my head.

“There aren’t any flies, you know.” She laughs. “I swear, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were answering me.” She leans against my neck, holding the reins in one hand. “The thing about dating someone who’s, like, ten times better than you, is that you always feel like a loser. It’s worth it to be with him, but imagine how the moon would feel, dating the sun.” She lifts the reins, showing them to me closely. “All the stars keep telling me to dump the sun, but the moon can tell the sun is the best thing out there. Can you fault her for wanting to be near its magnificence, even if it makes her light not look so bright?”

But stars are also suns—I’ve learned that since waking. She’s just too close to the situation to see how he intentionally dims her light. I wish I could talk. I’d tell her what she’s missing.

Sounds like plenty of other people have already tried, though.

“I should lead you out into the courtyard where I have a mounting block,” she says. “But I’m too worried you’ll bolt.” She glances at the water trough. “I could maybe climb up on that, but I swear, if I ever told anyone this story, they’d think I was certifiable. I absconded with a horse who was going to the kill pen, and then he knocked my saddle over, so I just climbed on him bareback. Easy peasy.”

I whuffle her hand.

“You and I don’t make sense,” she says. “There’s no way anyone would understand what I’m about to do, but when I learned to train a horse, it was with liberty. It’s a method that’s about seeing and interpreting what the horse is telling you. It’s about communicating in whatever way works, and I swear, it feels like you understand me. It feels like I can trust you not to hurt me.” She laughs. “Which is stupid. You’re a horse. Your primary directive is to keep yourself safe, and you’re scared of everything. Bags. Trash. Wind. Small dogs that couldn’t even get their mouth around your ankles.” She sighs. “Nevertheless, here we go.”

She leads me over to the water trough, and I stand, still as a lamb, while she hoists herself up on the metal rim with one foot, the other floating in the air.

I take one small step closer to her and turn my head to watch.

Her smile’s brilliant. “Aren’t you a sweet boy.” She slides her leg over my back. “And such a lovely top line.” She runs her free hand down my back and side.

A shiver runs through my entire body.

I want her to touch me more .

Which is crazy. Why should I want her to touch me? It must be something about our connection. That’s probably why I feel this way.

“Alright.” She pats my neck. “Now let’s see what cues you know.”

None. I know no cues. I’ve never been ridden by anyone—at least, not in this form.

When she tightens up on the reins, I become acutely aware of the strip of segmented metal between my teeth. She’s not pulling, but it’s like I can feel her hands right there in my mouth. It’s strangely. . .intimate. Someone on my body, telling me what to do with her hands.

When she bumps my side with her feet, I shoot forward. That was almost. . .intuitive. I don’t really like anyone telling me what to do—never have, but for some reason, I don’t hate this.

“Okay, that’s a trot,” she says. “Good. But you don’t have to shoot off when I ask you to move. You can simply step off.” She pulls back, just a hair, on the reins and the bit pivots on my tongue.

I stop.

“Good boy.” She pats my neck. “Alright, now let’s see if you know how to move over.”

A moron would get this one. She presses on my left side with her left foot, so I move away from the pressure, shifting to the right. It takes me a minute to realize that when her foot is forward, she wants the front part of my body to move right, and when her foot shifts back, she wants my butt to move over.

“Good!”

Aaaand, we’re right back to me feeling annoyed at how happy I am to have pleased her. For the czar of Russia, I sure am pathetic.

It’s all a means to an end , I remind myself.

But I can’t think of quite why I need to be good at letting her ride me, except I like to see her smile. So if I’m a little squirrelly, and if I take off at the start a few times, well, I suppose I’ve always been rebellious at heart. We work for a while on walk, trot, walk, trot, stop. And then, she drags in a breath. “I think it’s time to see what you can do at a slightly faster speed.”

But she doesn’t do anything. She doesn’t lean forward. She doesn’t bump me. She doesn’t click. She sits perfectly still.

I swivel my head to the side and eye her.

“I know.” She sighs. “Is it bad that I’m nervous to ask you to canter bareback?” Her hands tighten on the reins. “If you can’t be saddled, maybe I should call it a day.”

I whinny—I wish there was a better way to tell her that I won’t be crazy, but after my bolting and dashing. . .

“My sister Whitney would be making fun of me right now.” She leans down low over my neck, dropping to a whisper. “She’s the fearless one. She’s the one who does crazy things all the time. I’m the one who plays things safe. I’m the responsible older sister. I don’t do insane things, like steal horses and lie.” She stiffens. “Except, this time, I did.” She sits up, and she gathers the reins again, and she slides her left leg back just a hair. Then she squeezes with her right leg, bumps me with her left, and kisses at the same time.

“Let’s see what you know.”

I don’t really know what she’s asking, other than more speed, so I take off at a run. She tugs back on the reins just a little, so I slow to a jog.

“Whoooo,” she says as I slow up. “That was a little scary. You sure can move, though.” Once I realize what she’s asking, I maintain the speed, jogging along in big looping circles.

She starts and stops me a few times.

“You don’t seem to know your leads, but that’s hardly surprising. It feels like you were meant for speed, and they don’t bother with leads much on the track.” She exhales. “Which is good, I guess. But. . .I wonder what you’ll do if I ask you to really go.”

She bites her lips, and her eyes squint up. “This paddock isn’t enormous,” she says. “But it’s pretty big.” She walks me slowly to one end. “Let’s see how fast you move when I ask you to really go.”

I barely wait for her to ask—for some reason I want to impress her.

She crouches low over my neck, her body moving with mine, her hands staying impressively steady. We race from one end of the pasture to the next, faster with each run, as I figure out how quickly I can stop and as she becomes more comfortable with my movement and being bareback.

When she finally stops, I notice something odd. Her leg seems to be shaking . She digs around and pulls out her phone.

Of course. Maybe being a horse has damaged my brain.

“Ugh, it’s that same number. They called six times while I was working you.” She groans. “I guess I’d better see what’s going on.” She cringes. “But what if it’s Steve’s client?” Her hand trembles for a moment, and then she swipes to answer. “Hello?”

Again, I can barely hear the voice on the other end of the line. “Is this Isabel Brooks?”

“Uh, yes.” Her free hand tightens on the reins. “That’s me.”

“Your boyfriend, Tim Heaston, told me to call you. I guess he’s out of town.” The man has a German accent.

“Yes.” She clears her throat. “You must be Mr. Müller.”

“I am,” he says. “Tim said to email you about a horse you’re working with, but I thought calling would be faster.”

“Oh, well, sure. Good.” Izzy relaxes a little, clearly pleased it’s not someone calling to yell about me being here. “I’m actually out with him now, but maybe I can call you back later.”

“Actually, I was able to pull up the feed from Tim’s paddock cam, so I’ve been watching you ride.”

“His—what?”

“A few months back, I had one of my horses at Tim’s for a week. He gave me the website address to watch his paddock cam, so I could check in on my rehabbing stallion.”

“Oh.” Izzy sounds confused. “I didn’t even know he had one.”

“Well, he told me that he wasn’t sure how talented this horse was yet, and he wasn’t sure how broke he was either, but I think both are clear from the video footage I just saw, and I don’t want him to reach out to anyone else.”

“About—you’re saying. . .I’m sorry. What are you calling me about? Tim said people would call me with questions.”

“I want to come buy that stallion you’re riding, Miss Brooks, before someone else snatches him up. I can bring the money in cash tomorrow.”

Izzy drops her phone.

I think about stepping on it, but I’m not sure that will solve our problem. Mr. Müller sounds pretty determined, and if he shows up tomorrow with a fistful of cash and Izzy hands me over, I’m going to pass out before I can kill her criminal boyfriend or anyone else.

I might even die.

This is very, very bad.