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It’s all about this stupid, idiotic brute who keeps biting me and smashing Good Samaritan’s phones. “Ugh. Why did you crush that guy’s phone? And why did you bite me earlier? When people try to help, you should be nice to them, not rude.”
Quicksilver snorts, and I’m almost positive it was a reaction to my comment.
It had to be, right?
Compared to fireballs and electric zaps coming from people, is this really that strange? Could he be, like, some super duper smart horse? Like, maybe Kristiana and Aleksandr got involved with some kind of illegal horse trading or horse breeding scheme, and that’s why. . .could that be why he was loose? Maybe he’s Leonid’s horse, and those other people stole him! Maybe they really want the horse back, but that jerk was telling me they were coming for me.
We’re finally approaching the back side of the race track, and I realize that if Kristiana was asking all those questions about the horse, and if this horse is super smart. . . Maybe ditching him is my only way out.
“Alright.” I haul on his reins, pat his neck, and swing off. “Well, I can’t really see a way for us to help one another anymore at this point.” I unbuckle his bridle and pull it off. Then I undo his cinch on one side, and then the other. I could just ditch the bridle and saddle, but they’re literally the only things of value I have right now. Even if they only buy me dinner, I’m carrying them to the track.
“You’ve been a really great partner in crime, but I think it’s time we go our separate ways.” I pat his rump. “Hopefully there’s a stream around here or something.” I feel a little bad about ditching him. He’s pretty sweaty and probably thirsty.
Then again, he’s smart. He should be fine. Horses can eat wherever and surely there’s water around.
But Quicksilver shakes his head.
The gosh-darn horse shakes his big old head at me, like he’s emphatically turning down my proposition.
“The thing is, I have a friend here, sort of, and I’m going to see if he’ll hide me for a little while.” For a saddle and a bridle, he should give me at least two or three meals, right? I mean, they’re used. But they have some value. “You should head south.” I point. “There are a lot of low density little towns sprinkled all over for a day or two’s travel, but then if you keep south and maybe a little east, you’ll wind up in a no man’s land called Khotnezha, and I heard there were some wild horses there.”
If he’s not a genetically modified kind of bizarre beast, that may be where he came from.
“Maybe they grow them smarter there.” I pat his nose. “I really do appreciate your help, and I wish I had some treats to offer you, or really anything at all.”
I remember something.
“Okay, there’s a watering hole maybe two miles down that path.” I point again. “I went on a trail ride with my friend Gavriil about two years ago, and if you follow that street right there, it’ll open up and behind the big bushes, you’ll see it. Maybe that’ll be my parting gift, if you really do understand what I’m saying.”
Quicksilver throws his ears back and paws at the ground.
“Alright, well.” I brush my hands against themselves and pivot on one heel.
I’m about ten strides down the path toward the stables—really hoping that Gavriil is still in charge, and wishing that I’d kept in touch better—when I realize the stallion’s following me.
Quicksilver’s staying a few paces away, and he stops when I look over my shoulder, but he’s following me. He’s walking right behind me like he’s a dog who just adopted me.
“You can’t come.” I turn around and fold my arms across my chest. “You need to go that way.” I point.
He just looks at me.
No pawing. No snorting. No pinned ears. Just looking.
It makes me feel pretty guilty. He did save me, not once, but twice now. And his reaction to me was the reason Viktor was willing to keep me around at all. If not for him, I’d be back in that horrible cement cell smearing waste on myself, or worse, dead.
Plus, I promised God to try and help him. Sort of.
“How am I supposed to do anything with you? Huh?” I exhale and curse fate. “Look, you’re like a neon sign pointing them at me. I’m small. I can hide. You’re huge. You can’t hide anywhere.”
He tosses his head.
“I know, I know, you’re fabulous. But the thing is, they own you—either the bad men I just left, or the bad men chasing me, and either way, I’m in the wrong, legally speaking. I’ve stolen you. The only thing worse than a Russian jail would be that horrible Leonid guy getting hold of me again. I swear, if that guy burns me to ash. . .” I shudder involuntarily. “Boris is almost as bad, with his electric zaps. Trust me. Neither of us wants to see them, and our best bet is splitting up.”
Quicksilver freezes, his nostrils flaring, his eyes widening.
He looks like a horse that’s just seen a plastic bag, blowing round and round like a ball, tossed by the wind—basically, he looks ready to bolt and pee himself at the same time.
“Whoa,” I say. “What’s going on with you?” I look around.
