My Wild Horse King (The Russian Witch's Curse Book 4)

6. Katerina

I’m not a total idiot.

This may not be my century, but I’ve done an alright job figuring things out. I can use the internet, now, kind of, and I know some things. Before leaving Russia, I went back by Aleksandr’s house, and wonder of wonders, the staff let me inside. They must not have gotten a message from Aleksandr saying that I’d run.

I’m also delighted to find a list of addresses among Kristiana’s personal belongings—the servants are too afraid to stop me from rummaging around when I tell them it’s a favor for Kristiana, who left something behind—and it even has an address for this elusive Daniel Belmont. The internet says the address is in New York City, and I press some buttons and the phone magically locates it.

Maps may be the most wonderful thing on the internet.

Which I have access to all the time, thanks to a very nice man who helped me figure out how to work my new phone and download a few pictures called apps. Everything looks good, and with the money Aleksandr helpfully left for me, and the passport, I book a flight to New York City.

I board easily, actually. Most people are so helpful this century, especially the men.

It’s a little unnerving that I can’t use my powers. I’ve grown accustomed to always having them as a fallback, but even without them, no one really seems threatening.

Until I reach the United States.

My biggest hurdle should have been the language, but before we went to the airport, Kristiana explained something, something amazing. You see, somehow she was the key to freeing all the shifters who were stuck by Leonid’s actions in their horse forms. When she forgave us? Or something like that? We could suddenly shift freely again. And tied up in all that, somehow, we’re all connected to her. We can all speak the languages she can: English, Russian, and Latvian.

I never knew Latvian, but I understand it now.

I’m hoping it’s true of English. . .and thankfully, when I land, it holds. I can’t read the letters on any of the signs, but I understand what people are saying, and I’m able to respond in kind. Most people would probably be freaked out by something like that, but as a child who was taught to shock things early, I’ve always accepted magic in stride.

More concerning was the man who practically pounced on me when we landed. He has a big head of bushy white hair, and he really, really likes to yell. I start tuning him out about the third time he tells me the same thing, but I can’t seem to ignore one word. He says it over and over and over: visa. It’s the reason he’s so hot under the collar, apparently.

See, I didn’t get one, and everyone from Russia needs one.

“In order to even apply for a visa, you need a sponsor,” chick-fluff-head says. “So you’ll need someone in the United States who will agree to sponsor you, or you’ll have to turn right back around and fly home to Russia.” His lip curls, and he sounds like, instead of saying Russia, he meant to say raw sewage.

“But I’m not from the United States,” I say. “I’m from Russia. So how would I get a sponsor who lives in the United States?”

“Without contacts, you would have no reason to visit.” His tone is flat. “If you don’t have any, you never should have come. I’m not sure how they even let you on the plane without a visa.”

I can’t very well tell them that I had one, but when I ditched the chumps who booked this ticket in the first place, they kept it. I figured we’d sort it out on this end, once I was already here. In retrospect, I possibly should have looked into that part a little more.

Another man shows up, this one with dark skin and a less angry face. He speaks slowly, and he’s very intent, looking at me the whole time. “Miss Yurovsky. If you don’t know anyone here who can be your sponsor, you can’t get a visa. Think very carefully about why you came to America. Isn’t there someone we can contact here who could be your American contact?”

It finally hits me that I do know someone here, sort of.

Daniel Belmont.

He doesn’t know me, and I’ve actually tried to betray him spectacularly, but with the information I have, I could save his life. Also, if Kristiana and Aleksandr have already reached him, they could have told him who I am. There’s an outside chance he might actually vouch for me, and then I wouldn’t have to turn around and fly back to Russia.

I give the man his name, and I tell them his company name, which I also overheard. “Can you look him up, do you think?”

“You said he’s the president of a company named Trifecta, and that it’s a horse gambling company?”

“Not a horse gambling company,” I say. “A horse race betting company.”

The dark-skinned man sighs. “I’ll search for him and give him a call. We’ll wait to see what he says until. . .” He glances at his watch. “Close of business tomorrow, anyway.”

Chick-fluff-head explodes. “Who exactly is paying for her hotel tonight? The US Government? Do you think that’s appropriate?”

“She’s a young woman, clearly a little lost, and she’s scared.” The dark-skinned man shakes his head. “She can’t leave the premises until she’s been cleared, so she’ll have to stay in one of the interrogation rooms.”

“Oh. Well.” Chick-fluff-head nods. “That sounds miserable.”

Apparently he’s only satisfied if I’m uncomfortable. I’m not gum on his shoe. I’m a person. “I’ll be fine to sleep here.” I point at the floor behind the small table and chairs in the room. “I can use my bag as a pillow.”

The dark-skinned man frowns. “I’ll have a sleeping bag sent in, and a meal tray, too. And hopefully this Daniel Belmont will rush right over.”

I’m not holding my breath for that, but it would be nice.

Although, if he is the kind of guy who rushes over to help damsels in distress that he doesn’t even know, I’ll feel especially bad for trying to trade his life to Leonid, not that anything I did even mattered. Leonid already knew everything, as usual. And on top of that, even if he hadn’t already known everything, it was always only a matter of time before he discovered who Kristiana’s brother was.

I shove my guilt down deep and let my little shred of hope expand instead. That’s a lot more comfortable, at least.

I’m tugging things out of my bag to make do until tomorrow—a toothbrush, deodorant, which is new to this time period, and basically magical, and some toothpaste, when the chick-fluff-head walks back in my room.

He’s smiling, so that means he has bad news. “Agent Price is soft.” His grin widens. “I’m not. I called my supervisor, and he’s ready to send you back now. I’ve talked to the airline, and they have a spot for you. Get your junk together. It’s time to head back to where you belong.”

But if I’m not here, I can’t warn Daniel Belmont to stay away from his powers. I can’t tell Alexei about his restored powers or see how he and that girl are doing. I have no idea how long it’ll be before they all come back to Russia—if they ever do at all. With Leonid in charge, they may flee, and Latvia might be the closest they ever come again.

With my Russian passport, Latvia’s not going to be too keen on me emigrating, either.

I can’t get on that plane.

But they’re about to force me.

“Be back in five,” chick-fluff says. “Be ready to go.” He leans closer. “That means go pee now so you aren’t squawking when it’s time to board about us mistreating you.”

He closes the door behind him, and I run through my options. I could hope that Agent Price will intervene. I could get on the plane to Russia, or. . .

An idea hits me.

I don’t have my powers, thanks to Leonid’s perverse sense of humor or desire to punish me or whatever. But I do still have the ability to shift into my horse form, thanks to Kristiana restoring that power herself. Which means. . .

Before I have time to agonize over my decision, I shift into a horse. It’s really a shame, because now I’ll be stuck leaving all my stuff behind. Unless. . . In the split second between when I hear the doorknob turning and when the door opens, I snag my bag between my teeth.

When it swings open, chick-fluff-head staring at me with wide eyes and an open mouth, I surge forward, slamming my bag against his face. He leaps backward, shouting something nonsensical.

I can, however, make out his next words clearly. “There’s—there’s a—there’s a horse in here.” He grabs handfuls of paper off the desk next to him and flings them at me.

If I were a real horse, that might work. I’d probably backpedal into the room, eyes wide, nostrils flared, hooves scrambling on the tile, absolutely terrified of the horror of fluttering paper. But I’m not a real horse. I have more than a third of a brain, and I know how to use it. I surge past him, kicking up fluttering papers as I race for the door marked “exit.”

Of course, it’s not that easy to escape, merely finding a marked exit.

America’s Department of Homeland Security is full of people, and all of them mobilize pretty quickly. Apparently one palomino pony poses a pretty dire threat to their country’s well-being. But that’s when I have my stroke of brilliance. I brought my bag, which I figured I would need when I shift back, but maybe since I can shift, I can come up with something a little better.

When I shift, I can manifest clothes. Usually. I’m not sure whether that’s tied to my powers, or tied to my ability to shift. Back when I couldn’t shift right after we woke up—when Leonid had to touch me to shift me—I couldn’t make clothing. But when I was younger, I always could. I pound my way around the corner, watching as personnel scatter, including two people in tan coveralls with name tags, marking them as janitorial staff. I finally shove past a turn in the large hall and see what I’ve been looking for.

A janitorial closet.

I drop the bag and use my lips to open the door, kick the bag through, and then I shove through myself, barely getting my butt inside. Once in, I shift, trying with all my might to make clothing like the coveralls with the name tag ‘Edith.’ It’s one of the few American names I can think of off the top of my head—the name of President Wilson’s wife, the ‘first lady,’ back before we all got cursed to sleep for a hundred years.

And, it works.

Mostly. My coveralls are blue while theirs were tan, but hopefully it’s close enough. I grab my bag duck out of the closet, head bowed.

“Did you see a horse?” a woman with a long, poky stick with a loop at the end asks.

What on earth do they think they’d do if they got that loop around a horse’s neck? Be dragged to death? “A. . .what?”

“A horse came running down this hall.” The man beside the woman is holding a dart gun, ready to tranquilize the terrible, horrifying horse that’s running wild.

I didn’t shift back a moment too soon.

“Keep safe,” the woman says. “It’s crazed, probably sick.”

“Where did it come from?” I’m pressing my luck. I should have stayed quiet—who knows when they’ll notice a hint of my accent.

The man frowns. “No one knows. Head back to the central office. They’ll tell you when it’s clear to be out again.”

Since I have no idea where that is, I wait for them to move on before following more signs to the exit. Once I reach a door out, I realize I’m in the employee parking lot. Now, if only I owned one of these cars. . . I can’t help staring at one longingly.

“Car won’t start?” A young man with big teeth tilts his head. “It’s been a bad day all around. I can give you a ride to the metro, if you want.”

I’m not totally sure what the metro is, but any kind of ride would get me out of the airport complex, I hope. “That would be great.”

As we leave, the young man flashes a badge at the security guard, who’s on the phone, yelling. “Of course I haven’t seen a horse. Do you think I’m drunk at work? Is this some sort of joke?” He waves us through without even checking our faces.

“What a weird day, right?” Big teeth keeps smiling at me.

I nod, learning from my past mistakes. I won’t be overly gregarious this time.

The guy takes the hint, luckily, and stops trying to make small talk. “Is Jamaica Beach okay?”

I have no idea what he’s saying, so I just smile dumbly. A few miles from the airport, he drops me off. I think it’s some kind of train station. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to get on the train or what the rules are for riding it. Then I see someone hop over the barricade. . .and no one says a thing. I wait a moment or two, and I do the same thing. Thankfully, it works. No one chases me or shouts, and pretty soon, I’m staring at a bunch of maps while trains lumber past, the air from their movement blowing my hair in every direction.

“Confused?” An older woman with a magazine in her hand tilts her head and looks up at me. Her accent sounds strange, but I can’t place why.

“It’s my first time in New York,” I confess. “I’m not sure how to get to my friend’s house, and the phone I had with a map on it. . .well, it’s been a weird day.” I echo what the nice guy said.

The woman smiles, showing a mouth full of missing teeth. “You tell me about it. My dentures broke, and now I’m stuck traveling all over creation to get them fixed. You know they wanted seven hundred dollars for new ones?” She shakes her head. “No thank you.”

I realize it’s not an accent—it’s a lisp because her teeth aren’t quite right. “I’m sorry about that.”

She shrugs. “Not your fault. But you’re in luck, because I do have a phone with a map, and it even shows subway routes. Tell me where you’re going, and I’ll tell you how to get there.”

Three minutes later, I have a plan. I take this train, she points me at the right platform, two stops, and then I transfer. After that, I’ll go straight up, and I’ll walk three blocks, and then I’ll have reached Daniel Belmont’s home. He may not have wanted to sponsor me, although who knows? Maybe he did.

But he’s about to have no choice.

He’s really my only tie to finding Alexei in America, so if I have to camp out on his front step, I’ll do it. Unfortunately, when I reach the stop she said, getting off and up to the top level isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. And when I finally make it topside, it’s raining. A lot. I’m completely soaked by the time I find the right street, and people keep striking me in the head with their umbrellas by mistake—one of the downsides to being tall, I suppose. By the time I know which direction to go, my stomach’s rumbling like a bus engine. The kind that pumps out a lot of dark smoke.

Luckily, there’s a little stand selling sausages wrapped in bread—the signage calls them ‘hot dogs’—and since I managed to salvage my wallet, I can get one. Or at least, I thought I could. I didn’t think about the fact that their money would be different here. It’s pretty frustrating, watching other people buy these ‘hot dogs,’ which have amazing yellow and red sauces and small, green, pickled cucumber pieces. The smell’s tantalizing, and I can’t help looking at them longingly.

“You poor thing,” the man making the hot dogs says. “Oh, fine. Once you get that money changed over, you come back and give me eight bucks. Got it?”

I nod, rendered mute by my hunger.

My stomach actually growls as he hands me a hot dog, which is a little embarrassing, but he smiles. There’s nowhere to stand out of the rain, so I eat as I walk.

Unfortunately, a blob of yellowish-reddish goo drops on my already unimpressive coveralls, and even in the rain, it manages to stain the front. Luckily, I’m right around the corner from Daniel’s apartment. Surely Kristiana and Aleksandr have already found him, and they’ll be able to help me locate Alexei. Then I just need to come up with a way to take credit for restoring his powers that doesn’t give away that I bargained with Leonid, or tried, and I’ll be back on track.

Or as close to it as I can get.

I’ve been trying to come up with a way ever since Leonid said he’d give Alexei his powers back, but so far, every idea I have circles back to me bargaining with Leonid. That will not endear me to Alexei. I’m going to try and just find a natural time and way, I suppose. And if I manage to convince this Daniel Belmont to keep his nose out of Leonid’s plans and Russia’s politics in the process, well, even better. That should keep Alexei and Daniel safe.

I’ll also feel better about trying to trade his life for Alexei’s powers.

I finally reach the building, but when I walk inside, some guy with thick glasses and greying hair, wearing a very formal looking navy uniform with red and gold trim, holds up his hand. “What’s your business in the building, Miss?”

I blink.

“You have to tell me where you’re going.”

“Why?” I ask. “Are you a guard?” I didn’t think most people used guards in America, or at least, in the movies I’ve seen, I didn’t see a single one.

“A guard.” The man laughs, and then he straightens, brushing his hands down his uniform. “I’m the doorman for this building.” He smiles.

“But, the door opened itself.” I frown. “So what do you really do?”

Now the man’s frowning.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not trying to offend you, sir. I just don’t understand what a doorman does, clearly.”

“My name is Norm.” He huffs. “I stand here to greet people as they come in. I help with packages. I monitor the building. I make sure if a resident is ever locked out of their apartment, they can get in.”

“Uh, okay,” I say. “Well, I’m looking for my friend, Daniel Belmont. He’s on. . .” I glance down at the note on my phone. “Floor twenty-four.”

“He’s a busy man today.” The man snags a clipboard off his podium stand and flips through a paper or two. “I don’t see any notes about you coming.” He folds his arms.

“Well, Norm, Daniel doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“I can call him and ask for permission to send you up.” He looks at my name tag. “Edith.”

“He doesn’t know I’m coming. . .” I lean closer. “Because it’s a surprise.”

He arches one eyebrow. “Mr. Belmont doesn’t like surprises, and more importantly, he doesn’t allow them.”

I’m sure that, thanks to the rain soaking my hair and body, the coveralls, and the big blotchy stain on the front of my chest, I’m not looking very inspiring. I’ll have to gamble just a little bit more.

“Listen, my friends have already gone up to see him.” Please let that have some hope of being true. “You probably saw them. A blond Russian man, quite tall. Another tall, dark-haired one, and a blockier, really muscular one. They each had their girlfriends—” I cringe at the word, because I hate saying it in reference to Alexei. “With them.”

Norm’s still frowning, but he waves me toward the elevator. “You don’t look particularly scary. I suppose it’s fine.” He huffs again. “You better hope I don’t get fired for this. I have quite a few, very bright grandchildren whose college I’m saving to pay for. I really need to keep this job.”

“I’m not a serial killer,” I say. “I swear.”

“Which is exactly what a serial killer would say.” He looks like he’s thinking about changing his mind and lunging in front of me, much as a guard would do, but he sighs as the elevator opens. “Twenty-fourth floor.”

I hit the button and wait.

It feels like it takes a lot longer than it should to reach the top floor, but the elevator never stops. When the doors open, I know I’m in the right place.

Because Alexei and his stupid girlfriend, her sister and Grigoriy, and Kristiana and Aleksandr are all standing in the entryway. The only person I don’t recognize. . .must be Daniel Belmont.

“Daniel,” I say. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Is it, Miss Yurovsky?” The same dark-skinned man from the airport steps into the entry from behind a short wall, and he tilts his head. “Tell me again, Mr. Belmont, how you don’t know her.” At the airport, he seemed like the reasonable one, but right now, his expression is practically diabolical.