Page 24 of My Wild Horse King

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 ahorsein 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’mnota 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.

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