Page 23 of My Wild Horse King

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 sohelpfulthis 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 sayingRussia, he meant to sayraw 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.

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