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“Whoa,” Mirdza says. “Look at that.”
A jockey I’ve never seen in colors I don’t know prances up on a striking golden pony. A palomino, which isn’t that notable, except there are almost no palomino thoroughbreds in the world. The ones that exist are usually sold so fast that they never make it to a little track like this one.
I’ve certainly never raced against one.
Actually, I’ve never even seen one before today.
“That’s a palomino mare,” Mirdza says. “Wow. She’s stunning.”
Quicksilver’s head twists around so fast that I find myself gritting my teeth. Does he really care what another horse looks like? “She is beautiful,” I begrudgingly say.
Why am I feeling jealous about a palomino mare? I should be jealous of her owner. But why’s Quicksilver still looking at her?
He whinnies then, loud and long, which he never does. Not unless he’s trying to get my attention, anyway. Unlike other horses, he’s never herd sour, or barn sour, or calling out to other horses.
But the palomino mare’s head whips toward him immediately, and her head and ears both perk up.
She screams right back.
“Do you know her?” Mirdza asks, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Is she. . .one of you?”
Quicksilver paws the ground.
And then he nods.
24
I’d been counting on winning.
I mean, what horse can beat a magical freak of nature? All the guys in their horse forms are unbelievably talented. It must be part of the magic, but they run faster, jump higher, and they can think.
It’s a deadly combination.
But it never occurred to me that there might be another one running against us in this race. “I’m suddenly wishing we’d trained a little harder.” I feel sick.
“It doesn’t matter whether you win, though,” Mirdza says.
They’re calling for us.
“Remember that.” Her smile’s forced.
She’s wrong.
I may not need to win for Mr. Rimkus any more, but I could really use that prize money. Also, I’d rather be dragged by a rope from the back of a car all the way home than lose to some gorgeous blonde mare whom Alexei calls over and over. She probably shifts into an even more gorgeous woman, and now I feel sicker.
I lean low against Quicksilver’s withers and whisper. “We’re going to win today, do you hear me? Forget all that pacing and crap. You aren’t going to lose to that. . .that mare. Got it?”
He snorts.
I pat his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
He tosses his head.
“Good. We’re on the same page.”
But he’s smirking, I can tell.
“So I’m jealous,” I say. “So what? I can’t turn into a beautiful horse, and I’ve never dated anyone before, and I saw you looking at her—screaming at her. It’s upsetting.”
