Page 25 of My Wild Horse King

“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 ahorse. 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.

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