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

17. Leonid

Chapter 17

Leonid

W hen I was young, lots of women told me that my face was a blessing—a blessing from my mother, I assumed. I don’t remember her or what she looked like but I learned as I grew that I didn’t resemble my father in the slightest. Everyone just assumed I took after my mother, and I believed they were right.

It brought me no joy—my mother had left us. I didn’t want to be like her, but thanks to my face, women noticed me. As I grew older, they made eyes at me. They flirted with me. And then, Katerina Yurovsky pretended to like me in the hopes of making another man, a rich and powerful man, jealous.

It put me in the right place at the right time.

But I also came to realize that having a beautiful face without having power—having a comely appearance without wealth—is more of a curse than anything else. And now that I have power, wealth, and this face? Honestly, it still just makes my life more difficult nearly all of the time. People, mostly men, don’t take me seriously. Women are distracted from what I’m telling them, from the point of our interactions. I’ve considered acquiring a nasty scar down one cheek, or perhaps a burn that covers one side. At least then, people would stop being distracted by something that doesn’t matter.

From the moment I won the Russian election, or honestly, possibly even before then, power players have sent women to me hoping to win me over. Other women have come to me of their own will. All of them want something from me, but they’re careful to tell me that they’re happy to be sent.

Because of my face.

When I refused to ever take the bait, those same men started sending little boys. Cue my retching. The entire world seems to be unable to accept that someone with a beautiful face may, nevertheless, not be romantically inclined. I’m not the kind of person who has ever wanted a partner, a companion, or a soulmate. I’ve left my cursed good looks intact only because I believe they helped me win the election.

My face and my body are tools, like any other.

But when I finally wake up after a long night of playing catch-up, I feel someone’s fingers stroking my cheek, and I know immediately whose they are.

Isabel Brooks.

For the first time in my life, I want those fingers to touch me.

I’m grateful for this stupid, useless face.

Does she like it? Does she enjoy looking at it? And most importantly, if I open my eyes, will she dart away? Or will my mother’s infernal face finally prove to be the blessing it was promised to be all along?

I’m too nervous to open my eyes for a long time—a full minute at least. Maybe two. But finally, the fingers freeze, and I realize she must have noticed that my breathing changed or my traitorous eyes moved beneath my lids. Something gave me away, so I go ahead and look at her.

She’s staring at me, her large, cornflower blue eyes wide. “I’m—” She snatches her fingers back. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t help my grin. “Don’t ever be sorry around me, love.” I shift a little, rolling from my side to my back so I can look at her. “Did you get enough sleep?”

She yawns and stretches, and I follow the line of her graceful arm up and backward. “Yes, but I’m embarrassed that I fell asleep with all these people here.” She straightens then, and looks around.

But they’re all gone now.

I sent them all away.

A tiny wrinkle furrows her brow. “Where—where did they all go?”

“They have rooms of their own,” I whisper. “I told them to find them and stay there.”

“You are human, then,” she says softly. “You do have to sleep.”

I chuckle. “Of course I am. It’s my only vulnerability.”

She sighs and falls back against the pillows, her eyes closing. “Other than me, I guess.”

“Right.”

“I—I wasn’t—I shouldn’t have been hovering like that. I’m sorry. It was rude.”

“Rude?” I can’t help a bemused smile. I’m not sure I’d call tracing the line of my cheek rude, but I don’t know what I would call it instead. I want to ask her whether she likes my face, but I’m afraid she might say no.

“Did you finish all your stuff?” She yawns again. “Are you free again?”

This time, I find myself yawning back. “Everything urgent has been handled. Once you take a job like mine, you never really finish. There are always new problems that crop up, and there’s always more to decide.”

“Why are you here—in the United States, I mean?” She rolls onto her side, stuffing a pillow underneath her head.

“There was a weapon being prepared here, to turn on me.” I watch her carefully, waiting for a reaction. One call from her mother or stepfather, and she might already know. I’ve been wondering when that might happen. They might be the architects of our connection. For all I know, Izzy’s also in on it, but I don’t think so. She was far too shocked when I shifted. “I came to disarm it.”

“And did you?” She narrows her eyes. “Are you safe, now?”

I shake my head slowly. “I—I didn’t disarm it. But the people who were creating it, they took a misstep. Instead of firing on me, they powered me up.”

“How?”

“Context,” I say. “I’ll get there, but I have more to tell you first.”

“Last night.” She closes her mouth and frowns.

“Last night?” I like where this is going. “I almost slept on the couch, but after everyone left, you looked so. . .peaceful. I don’t often pass peaceful nights, and I couldn’t quite resist the draw of sleeping beside you. I hope you’re not upset.”

“That you slept here?” She sits up and pulls the blankets up under her armpits. “I guess I should be.” She frowns. “You could have slept on the sofa instead.”

“I didn’t bond us,” I say. “It’s not my fault we’re stuck together. And I haven’t done anything horrible since we met.”

“I’d call incinerating two men pretty horrible.” She shakes her head as if to clear the image. “And they were trying to harm us, but. . .”

“But what?”

“Maybe it’s because you were sleeping so close.” Her brow furrows again.

“What’s because of that?”

“I had a dream last night,” she says. “A really strange dream.”

I can’t help my smile. “Was I wearing clothes in this strange dream?”

She slams me with a pillow. “Stop.”

I shrug. “I guess we didn’t have the same dream.”

Her gasp is so cute.

“Tell me about yours.” I sit up and fold my arms. “I’ll be good.”

She blinks. “You’re—you’re not wearing.” She clears her throat and turns away. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Are you wearing. . .” She coughs.

“I’m wearing pants,” I say. “And I had a shirt on last night, but I get hot when I sleep. Sometimes I yank things off.”

“But not your pants, right?” She clears her throat and hops out of bed, still wearing the flowy dress she had on yesterday, and hunts around until she finds my pale blue t-shirt, discarded in a heap on the floor. She chucks it at my head. “Here. Put that back on.”

I’m laughing, but I pull it on dutifully, and then I pat the bed. “Sit, and speak.”

“I think we should go out into the mountains where no one else is around that we can hurt, and we should check out what we can do—what you can do.” She nods. “We can talk about all of this out there. Away from. . .” She’s glaring at the bed like it might bite her.

Like I might bite her.

She’s probably not wrong to be wary. I am a little ferocious when there’s something I want, and the more time I spend around her, the more I want . “Fine.” I climb out of the soft, fluffy blankets and straighten, stretching. “I’m going to shower. You’re welcome to do the same.”

She blushes bright pink. “I’m not—I know I was touching your face, but it wasn’t that kind of dream.”

“It’s a suite.” I point. “There are two showers.”

“Oh.” Her laugh’s so awkward it’s adorable. “Right. Okay.”

It takes her longer to get ready than it takes me, probably because of the whirring of the blow dryer. When she comes out, her hair looks fluffy and perfect, falling in little layers around her face. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m not the fastest.”

“I’m not in a big rush.” Except I do want to hear about her dream. “Let’s go.” I grab the keys.

“What’s that?” she asks. “Those aren’t mine.” She’s holding her purse, staring intently at my Mercedes keys.

“Ah, well, now that I’ve been discovered, I have duties and people making demands. But I also have all my toys back, including my SL 63.” I can’t help my smile. “It has a bit more horsepower than your little cobra without all the accompanying growl, but you insisted on a truck from that dealership, so my options were limited.”

She swallows and nods. “Fine.”

“I have a meeting later with the governor of Utah,” I say. “Apparently there’s no way around it, now that we’ve been seen in this city, but we have a few hours before then.”

She barely speaks while we walk to the elevator, and she doesn’t bother pressing the button for the first floor. She pressed it on the way up yesterday, smiling like a little kid when it lit up for the penthouse.

“Are you alright?” I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help worrying that she’s looking at the floor. It’s not like her.

“I’m—I’m fine.”

“So you’re clearly not fine,” I say. “No one who’s actually doing well says they’re fine .”

Her eyes snap up. “That’s not true. It’s exactly what I am—fine.”

I inhale slowly, and don’t say another word. I give her a minute to process whatever weird thing she dreamed about. But once we reach my car and she’s safely ensconced in the passenger seat, I say, “Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me whatever weird thing you dreamed so I can reassure you that it’s not real.”

She frowns.

“My dad used to have dreams,” I say as I follow the map toward Emigration Canyon. “He’d dream that we’d been betrayed, or he’d dream that he was finally crowned, or he’d dream that he’d buried some treasure in a strange place. The only way he could let go of his anger or his fear or his hope was to speak the dream out loud. Sometimes we even had to travel to whatever place he’d imagined and try digging around.” It was actually one of his more harmless delusions. I found it sort of endearing, most of the time.

“It’s not like that,” she snaps. “Or. . .” She slumps in the seat. “Who knows? Maybe it is.”

I like driving toward the mountains. They’re much steeper here than back home, but with mountains visible in most directions, it’s easy to orient where you are. Following a path here is predictable. It’s reliable. And as the path to the mountains passes outside of the city, I breathe a little easier. Mountains, like most land masses, are honest. You know where they are and what their limitations will be.

“Last night, in my dream, I was like a ghost, watching you and your father.”

“What?” I can’t help my smirk. “Isabel, he died a very long time ago.”

“Yes, he probably did,” she says. “But he was very alive in my dream.” She leans her face against the cool glass of the window. “It was the night Vasily and Sergei and two other men came and stole your father’s relics.”

“What?” I look at her, confused now. “Did I mention their names?”

She shakes her head. “No, you didn’t. In fact, there were a lot of things about that night you failed to mention.”

“But—”

“I saw them, Leonid, and I saw you. You didn’t say this either, but I watched them beat you badly. Your father looked dead by the time they were done, but you proudly told him that you stole a coin pouch, and then you wrapped your dad with a blanket, and you dragged him into the woods all by yourself.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. She—she couldn’t have seen it. It’s. . .crazy. But is the idea of her seeing my past any weirder than the way in which we’re already connected?

What bothers me is that I don’t understand what’s going on or who’s behind it. In my life, I’ve learned that when something inexplicable happens, there is an explanation—you just don’t have it yet.

“I think we need to try to figure out exactly what’s going on,” she says. “And why it’s happening.”

“I wonder whether it’s related to my mastery of all five powers. I was knocked out. . .I’m not sure for how long. When I woke up, I was stuck as a horse, and you showed up moments later.”

“Did my parents stick you in that pasture?” Her eyes are intent on mine.

“No,” I say. “Some people had come to talk to your family friend, a woman named Amanda Saddler. They were distant relatives of hers from Latvia. I followed them, because they were from the two lines I hadn’t yet acquired powers for—wind and earth.”

“Did you kill them?” She doesn’t look away when she asks, which is progress.

“I did not,” I say. “In fact, I healed your family friend Amanda Saddler, though I doubt anyone there credits me for doing it. Her heart was actively failing, but I swear I had nothing to do with that either.”

Her face looks terribly pained. “Is she alright?”

“She was better when I left than when I arrived.” I can’t help my frown. “She was bright-faced—I wouldn’t have harmed her. I told you I only kill villains.”

She doesn’t speak as I drive up, up, up, winding a path into the mountains, but once I find a small clearing and park, she follows me out of the car and down the path. Ours is the only car in the parking lot, and I wonder how long it will be before my team follows us out here.

“At least there’s no one else to overhear or interfere,” I say. “Yet.”

“Because it’s freezing,” she mutters. “I should’ve brought a heavier coat.”

I reach for her hand. “That’s easy to fix.” I’ve had the fire magic for so long, I can do most anything with it—including warming the area around us—without much thought.

She arches one eyebrow and pins me with a look.

“I have to be touching you or this won’t work, but have a little faith.”

As the air warms, she gasps.

“See?” I don’t release her. “I think this may be the key to understanding what this is and how it works. I can show you what my magic does, and you can tell me what you feel when I use it.” And if it draws her to me a little bit, like my stupid face, well, I won’t hate that either.

“I guess.” She looks around. “It’s not like there’s anyone to see us. I guess that was the point.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Let’s start with fire. As I already showed you, I can heat things up.” I pick up one hand, palm up. “I can burn most anything, without a spark, and without a power source. I guess I’m the power source.”

When she smiles, I can’t help smiling back. “Don’t burn yourself up, please.” She squeezes my hand.

“I’ll try,” I say. “But how about that sagebrush?” I point, and it bursts into flames, catching the small scrub next to it on fire as well. “It behaves as all fire does, but thankfully, I can also suppress the flames—putting it out.” I demonstrate.

Her eyes widen and she nods. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Thanks.” I point. “Or, if I didn’t want to just snuff it out, another element, water, would be able to stop it. The difference between fire, a destructive power, and water, a life-giving power, is that I need to draw water from the surrounding environment. Luckily, there’s almost always water somewhere close. I can sense it in the air, the ground, and any standing water nearby.”

She tugs on my hand. “And as we’re walking along, as long as you’re touching me, you can feel it all around us? How far out?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, “but close to a mile. Maybe more.”

“That’s amazing.” She looks like she means it.

“Water’s the best one, I think. You can do the most with it. I can heal people’s injuries, like Amanda Saddler’s, or a broken leg, or a gaping wound, or even cancer. I can make it rain where that’s needed, pulling from the ocean or a nearby lake. I can attack with water, and I can kill if I have to, removing water from people’s bodies. It’s the most versatile element.”

Her face is scrunched up now. “Kill?” She shudders.

Instead of letting her dwell on that, I press on. “The other power I’ve had for a long time is the manipulation of currents. All humans have electrical currents, as do the more obvious things, like electric lines and cellular phones. Like the fire, I don’t have to pull from a power source—I can make one.” I pick up the same free hand and pop a small crackle up and out before it absorbs back inside my body. “It can be a little uncomfortable to learn, but once you do.” I shrug.

“That feels like fire—a mostly offensive power.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But if there was a power surge or a lightning strike, I could simply absorb and ground the power, preventing it from harming anyone. It has plenty of practical uses as well, and when combined with fire and water. . .” I shrug. “Like all the other elements, it has the potential for both good and bad.”

“None of the other magic users can combine powers?”

“Aleksandr, Grigoriy, Alexei, Boris, and Mikhail. They’re the men who came forward with me from around the time of the Russian Revolution. As far as I know, only the five of them and Katerina were pulled through, and none of them can.” I feel a little guilty leaving Gustav out, but I haven’t explained why it was important that he not be allowed to threaten me yet. I’ll get to it, once I’m sure she’ll understand.

“Boris and Mikhail—as in, the two men I just met?”

“They’re the men who surrendered their magic to me before I tried to force it—Boris is Katerina’s older brother. When I met him, he was a complete mess. He’s come a long way since she had to haul him around, drunk all the time.”

“But they—can they still use the elements?”

“When I allow them to, yes.”

Except I’m not sure what happens with Gustav added to the mix. His control’s similar to mine—that’s the big unknown. His impact’s my big vulnerability, other than Izzy.

“And the other elements are?”

“I just acquired earth and wind,” I say. “You can fly with wind, once you learn how. I’ve never even tried.”

“Fly?” Her eyes light up. “I’ve always wished I could fly.”

“The last thing I’m doing is trying it with you for the first time.” I pull on wind and it picks up all around us, whipping through her hair, and shoving it into her eyes. “See?” I shake my head. “It’s too dangerous at the beginning.”

“Well, you can’t use it without me.” She tugs her hand away. “So I’m not sure what choice you have.”

I step closer. “I think you’ll have to let me try some smaller things and work my way up at the very least.”

Her breath hitches, and I smile.

She isn’t running, and that’s progress. I close the space between us, my hand cupping her cheek. “Like this.” I drop a kiss on the side of her mouth, my finger stroking the smooth skin of her cheek. “Or this,” I whisper, pressing a kiss lower, right on her soft, full lips.

She softens, tipping her head up toward me.

The beast inside of me unfurls, growling mine.

“You must have kissed a lot of women,” she whispers. “Every girl we meet stares at you.”

I freeze, my hand still curled around her face, my fingertips brushing the edges of her hair. “No, actually. None.”

“None?” She pulls back, her arched brow and incredulous eyes focused on me. “I don’t believe you.”

I release her face and step back. “You should. I never lie.”

“Never?” She snorts. “I don’t believe that, either. You’re like the wind—tempestuous and uncontrollable. You must have women chasing you from every continent.”

“I can’t be caught,” I say. “I’ve never been caught.” I step alongside her, one hand encircling her wrist. “At least, not until now.” I whip my free hand around in a circle and snag a pinecone in loops of air, swirling it up, up, up in front of us, and then freezing it mid-air. “You say ‘mid-air.’” I chuckle. “I’d never thought about that English phrase before now, but it’s apropos for what I do. This is literally hovering amid bands of air.”

“What’s the last element?” she asks. “What can you do with earth?” She’s not meeting my eye, and I can’t tell whether she’s embarrassed that we kissed, or upset at her reaction, or avoiding me because she disliked it. Interpreting her feelings is more disconcerting than trying to master two new powers.

“Earth,” I say, casting about for knowledge on something I don’t yet have. I gained these powers and then was knocked out immediately. “It’s a power that allows you to grow things. It’s mastery over dirt, rocks, and the elements, including. . .” I smile, and I reach out and around with my senses. I feel quartz—plenty of quartz. That’s boring. Feldspar, I think? There are a few garnets here and there. But then I sense it, something valuable. Something precious.

An emerald.

I tug, and it barely budges.

I tug again.

“Are you alright, Leo?” Izzy’s waving her free hand in front of my face. “You sort of froze, there.”

“I’ve never used earth, but I’ve heard there’s a trick you can do to pull rocks you want toward yourself.” I sigh. “It’s harder to do than I thought it would be.”

She smiles. “Poor Leonid, struggling with something superhuman. That must be terrible for you.”

I scowl. “I’m not struggling, I just. . .” I dig deep, and I pull hard, and then I take that power and magic and might, and I yank as hard as I can on the little piece of emerald I feel, deep, deep down below us.

The ground splits open in front of me, and I shove Izzy backward to keep her from tumbling into the crevasse. There’s a massive groaning in the earth, and a small, blue rock shoots out of the crack, landing at my feet.

“Got it.” I lean over and pick it up, frowning. “Well, shoot. This isn’t green. It’s not an emerald at all.”

“It’s a blue beryl, you idiot,” a woman’s voice says.

I spin around, finally spotting her, perched on the edge of a tree limb twenty paces behind us. “Who—or what—are you?”

“What on earth was that insane stunt?” She drops to her feet and stalks toward us. Her hair’s blue, her pants look like studded leather, and she has a glinting, sparkling stone stud in her nose. “Are you that desperate to unleash the end of the world?”

“The—what?” I ask.

“You don’t even know who I am.” She shakes her head. “Ridiculous.”

“You must be Baba Yaga’s contemporary here,” I say. “Squannit, right?”

Her entire face contorts. “She knows that’s my least favorite name. She uses it just to irritate me. Squannit, like squatting?”

I glance at Izzy, who looks even more confused than I do. “What are you—are you the end of the world?” Izzy steps toward me, reaching for my hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” Squannit-who-hates-that-name says. “Not a speck more magic out of you, or he’ll wake up for sure.”

“Who will wake up?” Izzy beats me to the question.

Squannit-who-hates-that-name growls. “I swear, it’s like she taught you nothing. Xolotl. Ta’xet. Whatever name she uses for the Lord of Mictlan. The death God of the Aztecs.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Do you two really know nothing at all?”

Izzy shakes her head.

“Baba Yaga told me she has three sisters, and she said their names were Squannit, Boohag, and Chedipe,” I say. “But that was a very long time ago.”

“Oh, won’t Tituba be angry if she knows Baba Yaga’s been calling her Boohag again.” She actually smiles. “I’m Lechuza, and there are four of us, but your mother left out the most important part. We’re only half of the balance of the circle of life on earth. Our powers help restore and heal and strengthen all living things.”

“Half?” Izzy’s now standing right beside me, and she slides her hand into mine, twining our fingers together.

“You know, the balance that Yamauba’s responsible for—the one you call Baba Yaga—was destroyed when she shared her magic with a human man.” She snorts. “The balance that keeps living things growing and yearning was just shattered thanks to her actions.”

“Okay,” I say. “But what’s the other half, the non-living and growing side?”

“At least you’re asking the right thing, finally. Ding, ding, give the baby boy a prize.”

Izzy glances at me with the exact expression of baffled confusion I must share.

“You and your stupid little war here almost woke up the local horseman.”

Izzy wants to ask. I want to ask, but we both wait. The questions seem to annoy her.

“Tell me you’ve heard of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.” She lifts both eyebrows. “Do you just wander around using magic, ignoring every single legend we left to explain the truths of the world?”

“I guess we do,” I say. “I thought that was all make-believe.”

She casts her eyes upward and shakes her head. “Oh, it’s all real, and you two are a hair’s breadth away from waking the horseman of death who’s been sleeping right here, under these confounded mountains.” She points at the crack. “This right here?” She clenches her fist. “Pure idiocy.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I had no idea?—”

“That’s clear.” She sighs. “You were about to undo the damage control I was doing when I linked the two of you in the first place.”

“Linked us?” I suppose Izzy couldn’t help herself that time.

“You didn’t know you were linked?” She frowns. “It was so easy to connect the two of you because you were already a soul match.”